Ominous clouds loomed above me, breaking apart with each wave of thunder. Lightning crackled somewhere in the distance and for a moment, it cast a dire glow across the outer edges of the dormitory.
Its peaks were concealed by shadows, and the closer I got, the more it appeared darkness had swallowed the entire building.
I’d thought the storm was an omen for war… but it was only a disguise for the aftermath.
My palms were wet with rainwater as I wrapped my fingers around the iron handle. The hinges creaked as I forced the door open, the air cold as I stepped inside the foyer. A slam echoed through the vastness of the space when the door fell shut behind me, blanketing me in an illusion of nightfall.
A lonely sconce flickered in and out, situated haphazardly at the base of a wooden staircase. Boards were missing, the rail was loose. Cobwebs danced along the ceiling as I ascended. I passed several floors, noting the gold plates on each of the heavy doors.
Sebastian’s room didn’t have a number.
It had a name: attic.
My boots left a trail of water, dribbling over the uneven steps—leaving evidence of my presence behind. It was sort of an unspoken rule that staff were prohibited from entering a student’s living quarters. It was a sensible rule, and a month ago, it was one that made sense to me.
Now, the only thing that made even a measure of sense was him.
The walls seemed to tighten the higher I climbed, the rough brick nearly brushing the edges of my shoulders. It was a blink away from being pitch black. The only light source was a sliver-sized glow, projected from beneath his closed bedroom door.
My shadow landed in the light, my toes a mere inch from the bottom of the door. Knocking softly, my voice was only an octave above a whisper. “Sebastian?”
Silence.
I knocked again, pressing my ear to the chilled wood. My own blood was the first thing I heard, pulsating beneath my skin, throbbing in tandem with the unsteady beats of my heart. Sweat saturated my hairline, slipping down the back of my neck in a way that made me shiver.
“Sebastian?” I called louder…
… more silence.
Adrenaline seized my chest, and for a moment my eyes blurred. Somewhere in my mind, a flare gun went off, blasting flames and smoke into the sky, signaling a cry for help.
“Go to him!”
A crack sounded. Wood split. Pieces of it flew through the air before littering the ground below me. Fists clenched, I stood inside his narrow doorway, surveying his bedroom.
My blood ran cold.
Caution tape was draped across the balcony doors, the handles taped shut. His bed had been turned over, the mattress upside down and sheets missing. Dresser drawers were dumped out and left in a maze around the floor. His backpack was wide open, torn pages falling from it. Posters and photographs had been yanked off the wall, leaving behind pieces of tape and rusted thumb tacks.
Christ.
He was living in a fucking crime scene.
Anger started in the tips of my toes, driving into my chest at a speed that made me dizzy. My exhale was more growl than breath as I spun, eyes wide but focused as I cataloged my surroundings.
A thin door sat crooked on its hinges, half closed and without a handle. The trim that bordered it was covered in faded doodles of stars and trails that led to nowhere. A gargoyle sat hidden in the corner, an angry slash through its center. Blood was smeared beside a decaying hinge. I trailed my thumb around the dried edges of it, crimson flakes staining my skin and floating through the air.
My throat ran dry when I pushed the door open. The pockets of air surrounding me burst when I saw him.
Baby bird…
Oxygen punched through my lungs, and I nearly tripped over my own feet trying to get to him.
Sebastian sat in an empty bathtub, fully clothed, arms wrapped around his knees. His eyes were open, but they were bottomless—vacantas they stared at a crack in the white wall in front of him. His jaw quivered, and his muscles shook as though he were cold. He was pale enough that for a moment; I felt like I was seeing the world in black and white.
Only one color punctured my vision… red.
It was smeared across his flat lips, frozen in a thin line against his chin. The tips of his fingers were soiled with it, and my vision took the exact hue as I approached him.