Wednesday:Shadowbound

A cold draft slithered down the corridor as Adrian and Xavier stepped out, forcing Adrian to tug his collar higher, the coarse fabric of his coat scraping like sandpaper against his neck. Everything in Nevermore Academy felt just a touch off-kilter, as if the building itself were some ancient beast waiting to be roused. The shadows along the walls seemed to breathe, swelling in and out, an illusion created by flickering overhead lights that still hadn't been replaced since the midterms. Or maybe not an illusion at all—Adrian had seen stranger things.

He cast Xavier a sideways glance. His roommate walked with the easy swagger of someone who couldn't be bothered by nightmares or bloodstains, hands jammed into pockets, hair falling into his eyes in that "I don't try but still look good" kind of way. Adrian envied that nonchalance but also found it vaguely irritating—like someone humming cheerfully at a funeral. Usually, Adrian favored a certain brand of swagger himself, a cocky grin, a sarcastic quip, a devil-may-care air reminiscent of those half-mad heroes in dime-store comics. But today, his bravado felt like a threadbare costume. He could still put it on, but it didn't quite fit right.

They passed by a few bleary-eyed students in the hallway—vampires shrugging on black hoodies and muttering about morning blood drives, gorgons fiddling with tinted glasses. Everyone looked one mishap away from collapsing. Adrian couldn't blame them. After the fiasco at the club—albeit in a realm that felt more like a memory or a dream—he doubted he'd ever sleep properly again. He shook the thought away.

Xavier stopped by a wide, arched window. Outside, the morning sky was a blank slate of pale gray, the kind of color that promised a drizzle that would last all day. The campus lawn spread out below, lined with black iron benches and a few gnarled trees where crows perched like ominous sentinels.

"You sure you're up for coffee?" Xavier asked, leaning against the windowsill. He gave Adrian a playful smirk. "You look like you lost a fight to a poltergeist—and I'd believe it if you told me you did."

Adrian huffed a quiet laugh, the sound almost genuine. "I appreciate the concern, Dr. Phil," he said, forcing a half-smile. "But yeah, coffee. And let's make it black. As black as your sense of humor."

"Oh, I'm sorry, do I have a sense of humor?" Xavier shot back, theatrically pressing a hand to his chest. "Thought I just had a knack for irritating you into coherence."

Adrian shook his head. "Same difference."

They continued down the hall, passing rooms that were still sealed shut with thick wooden doors. The occasional muffled voice or scraping of chairs inside reminded Adrian that the day had begun whether he was ready for it or not.

Just before they reached the wide staircase that spiraled down to the common area, a slender figure in a crisp black uniform stepped into their path, poised as if she'd been waiting all morning. Wednesday Addams. Her hair was braided neatly on either side of her head, and her dark eyes shone with the kind of amusement you might see in someone about to dissect a particularly interesting bug. She regarded them both with a quirk of her brow.

"Xavier, Adrian," Wednesday greeted, voice flat but not unkind. It was the sort of greeting that implied you were already late to something important. "I trust you haven't destroyed any property yet today?"

Xavier's smug grin faded just a fraction. "Ah, good morning to you, too. We're just heading out to—"

"Coffee," Adrian finished for him, folding his arms. He allowed himself the faintest smirk, letting a hint of that cunning, offhand confidence return to his voice. "Why, you wanna join us, Addams? I'd kill for an extra shot of cynicism in my latte."

Wednesday's lips curled in a tiny, almost feral smile. "I don't drink coffee. I prefer tea, black, no sugar." She paused, gaze sliding pointedly from Adrian's battered coat to the tension around his eyes. She had a knack for staring right into someone's darkest corner without blinking. "But you two go enjoy your bitterness; I won't keep you. Just remember, Headmistress Weems wants to see you, Adrian. Something about an 'unusual disturbance' in the dorms last night."

Adrian stiffened slightly. The dream. Or memory. Or whatever it was. Had he been screaming? Throwing shadows around again in his sleep? Possibly. The notion sent an uncomfortable shiver up his spine. "Right. Thanks for the heads-up."

Xavier gave a dismissive wave. "We'll swing by her office after we grab something. It's too early for a scolding on an empty stomach."

Wednesday nodded, as if she understood the logic, then turned, footsteps silent as a cat's. "I'd make haste if I were you. Weems hates tardiness. And so do I," she added, glancing over her shoulder. Then she was gone, disappearing around the corner with a whisper of starched black fabric.

Adrian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. For a girl so petite, Wednesday carried a gravity that could hush a funeral parlor. He watched the corner she'd vanished behind for a beat longer, then he and Xavier continued on.

//=//

The campus café was tucked in an alcove near the gardens—a small, stone building with gargoyle statues perched on the eaves, as though they, too, might swoop down for a sip of caffeine. Inside, the scent of coffee beans and sweet pastries drifted in the air, interrupted occasionally by whiffs of more unconventional concoctions for the Academy's more… peculiar students.

Xavier pushed open the heavy wooden door, and the warmth hit them in a wave. A few heads turned—siren girls giggling over cappuccinos, a werewolf reading the morning paper with conspicuously clawed hands. Adrian kept his head down, heading for the counter. He was used to being stared at, but after last night's dream, or whatever the hell it was, he felt raw, like someone had torn open a scab that never quite healed.

He and Xavier lined up behind a wraith-thin boy in a crested blazer who was ordering something that smelled like hot chocolate spiked with mint. Adrian picked at the frayed edge of his coat, mind drifting back to Marcus's face, the moment those eyes went glassy. The memory curled around his thoughts, a smoky tendril he couldn't quite shake. Usually, he'd deflect the pain with a sardonic quip, or bury it under a wave of devil-may-care bravado. But now it felt so real—like it had just happened, like he could still feel Marcus's weight in his arms.

Xavier bumped his elbow, pulling him back to the present. "You're up, big guy."

Adrian forced a curt nod. "Large coffee, black, no room. Make it scalding." He rummaged in his pocket for the crumpled bills. As the barista rang him up, he stared at the swirling pattern of the old marble counter, lost in thought.

Xavier ordered a latte with caramel—an overly sweet pick, typical of him—and flicked out a few coins with a casual flourish, as if performing a magic trick. "Keep the change," he said breezily, then turned to Adrian. "So, you gonna tell me why Weems wants to talk to you, or do I have to guess? Because I'm thinking it's something to do with your screaming last night."

Adrian's jaw clenched. "You heard that?"

"Dude, everyone heard it," Xavier said, half-serious, half-amused. "Thought you were getting murdered in there."

Adrian shifted uncomfortably. He clenched and unclenched his fists. "Just nightmares."

"Sounds like more than a nightmare." Xavier studied him, eyes narrowing. "You sure you're not messing with any new spells or potions or, I don't know, unholy pacts in the middle of the night?"

Adrian felt a spark of anger—just enough to jumpstart his usual façade. "What if I am?" he said, letting a taunting edge creep into his tone. "Worried you'll need an exorcist, roomie?"

Xavier laughed, but the sound was hollow. "I'd prefer not to wake up possessed, thanks. At least not before finals." He took his latte from the barista with a wink. "Seriously, though. You wanna talk about it?"

Adrian swallowed. No, he wanted to say. No, I do not want to talk about how I feel myself dying each night, or how the memory of a dead mentor is clinging to me like some malignant shadow. But he just shrugged. "Not right now."

Xavier eyed him for a moment, then relented with a casual shrug. "Suit yourself."

They grabbed their coffees and snagged a small table near the back, away from prying eyes and ears. Adrian sipped his, the bitterness burning down his throat, each swallow sending a little electric jolt of awareness through him. It was almost enough to keep the nightmares at bay. Almost.

A faint hush settled around them—a lull in conversation as a figure in black stepped inside. Adrian recognized that purposeful stride before he even saw her face: Wednesday Addams. She cast a flat glance over the café's patrons, then stepped calmly up to the counter to order her tea. She didn't once look in their direction, but Adrian got the sense she felt their eyes on her anyway.

"You think she's following us or something?" Xavier muttered, half-joking.

Adrian considered this. "I think she's two steps ahead of everyone here, and we just happen to be in her line of sight." He frowned, swirling his coffee. "Might be best if we finish up and see what Weems wants. The longer we dawdle, the worse the lecture will be."

As if on cue, the door opened again, this time admitting an older student named Bianca Barclay. She strode in with unshakeable confidence, her presence commanding attention without effort. She offered Wednesday a polite nod and took her place in line. Adrian couldn't help but notice the subtle tension that snapped through the air whenever the two girls were in the same room. Rivalry in the neatest sense of the word.

He tore his gaze away, focusing on Xavier. "Ready?"

Xavier shrugged. "Sure. Let's go face the guillotine."

//=//

Headmistress Weems's office was a large, high-ceilinged space with tall windows that looked out over Nevermore's courtyard. The dark wood of the walls and shelves gave the room a somber, almost funereal feel, softened only by the elegant swirl of floral curtains and the faint aroma of vanilla. It was an odd contrast: old-world authority meets grandmotherly hospitality.

Weems herself sat behind a wide mahogany desk, her posture as poised as a statue from some bygone era. When Adrian and Xavier stepped in, she regarded them with the cool gaze of someone who was used to secrets—and also quite used to dragging them into the light.

"Ah, Mr. Corvus," Weems said, addressing Adrian by his last name. "And Mr. Thorpe. Punctual, I see. Or nearly so."

"Morning, Headmistress," Xavier said, feigning an air of polite indifference.

Adrian just inclined his head in greeting, maintaining that confident stance he defaulted to whenever authority figures tried to pin him down. He was good at looking smug—even when he didn't feel it.

Weems folded her hands on the desk. "I trust your night was… restful?"

Something cold and sour twisted in Adrian's gut. He stood a little straighter. "I slept."

"I see." Weems let a flicker of disapproval crease her brow. She opened a leather-bound notebook, glancing at a few lines of neat handwriting. "We had several reports of… unusual sounds coming from your room, Mr. Storm. Shouts. Screams, in fact." Her gaze lifted, pinning him like an insect specimen. "Would you like to tell me about that?"

Adrian felt his hands twitch at his sides, longing for his coat pockets. But he forced himself to remain still. "Nightmare," he said, voice dull. "Nothing more."

Weems studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly, as though sifting through the weight of his words. "Very well," she said, tone measured. "However, due to the intensity of the disturbance, I'm obliged to ensure your… gifts remain under control. For your safety and the safety of the students."

Xavier shifted uncomfortably, likely recalling the swirling darkness that Adrian sometimes wielded—shadows that took on a life of their own. The memory was enough to make him shudder.

Adrian forced a smile, letting a dose of his characteristic cockiness seep through. "I assure you, Headmistress, I'm in control. Always." A blatant lie, but he'd rather chain himself to a lightning rod in a storm than admit that his powers sometimes had a will of their own—especially when he was asleep.

For a long moment, Weems said nothing. She merely gazed at him, that silent intimidation technique that only people in authority can perfect. Then she closed the notebook, smoothing her hands over the cover. "In that case, you won't mind a brief evaluation with Ms. Thornwell this afternoon."

Adrian's confidence wavered. Ms. Thornwell was Nevermore's resident counselor, a formidable combination of kindly grandmother and razor-sharp mindreader. "Of course," he managed, voice steady, if a bit thin.

Weems's expression softened just enough to be noticeable. "I'm not your enemy, Mr. Corvus. But I do have a responsibility here, and so do you. Dismissed."

Xavier exhaled, relief etched into his face, and turned toward the door. Adrian followed, but as he reached the threshold, Weems's voice stopped him.

"Adrian," she said quietly, her formality slipping for a moment. When he glanced back, her gaze was not unkind. "I'm aware of… tragedy in your past. We don't want history repeating itself."

The unspoken weight of her words pressed in on him, and Adrian's throat felt tight. He nodded, then left, the soft click of the door behind him echoing like a final verdict.

---

Out in the corridor, the morning sunlight spilled through stained-glass windows, painting the stone floor in shards of color. Adrian leaned against a wall, letting his head fall back with a dull thud against the cold surface.

Xavier shuffled next to him, sipping what remained of his caramel latte. "Evaluation with Thornwell, huh?" he said, tone neutral. "Better you than me."

Adrian snorted. "Can't wait for her to 'unpack my emotional baggage.'"

"Maybe it'll help," Xavier ventured cautiously. "Hell, maybe she can help you—"

"Drop it, Thorpe," Adrian cut in, sharper than he intended. Then he forced himself to breathe, tried to channel that devil-may-care grin he wore like a shield. "I'm not exactly therapy material."

Xavier shrugged, finishing off his latte. "Suit yourself." He crumpled the cup and tossed it into a nearby trash can with impressive accuracy. "But hey, if you decide to let me in on your next meltdown, I'll bring the popcorn."

Adrian managed a ghost of a smirk. "I'll be sure to schedule it."

They pushed away from the wall, walking side by side down the corridor, uncertain whether the day would bring them closer to answers or plunge them further into nightmares. Adrian still felt the ghost of Marcus's hand on his shoulder—still felt that jolt of agony as Elara's fingers clamped around his heart. The memory clung to him like a parasite, daring him to brush it off. And part of him didn't want to.

If the nightmares were going to keep him up at night, he figured they owed him something—power, or vengeance, or at least a purpose. He had the shadows at his beck and call. And even if that left him one step away from madness, it also meant he wasn't helpless.

He tightened his grip on the edges of his coat, gaze sharpening. Whatever lay ahead—be it nightmares made flesh or backstabbing allies with too many secrets—he'd handle it. After all, he was Adrian Corvus. And like hell he was going to let some twisted memory, or the ghost of a past mentor, break him now.

Xavier nudged him with an elbow, a knowing grin playing at his lips. "You okay, man?"

Adrian let out a slow breath, nodded once, and in a voice that mirrored the swagger he was trying to reclaim, he replied, "Never better. Let's get on with it."