Chapter 3 003-The Monster in the Mirror

The hallway was silent, but Bea's words thundered inside me.

He was in love with your brother. And he hated him for it.

A chill ran down my spine.

I tried to speak, but my voice caught. Bea watched me, her arms crossed over her chest like she already regretted saying anything.

"What happened to him?" I whispered.

"I told you-I don't talk about that night."

"You're already talking."

Bea's mouth twisted. "You want answers? Don't ask me. Ask Damien. But if you do-make sure someone knows where you are."

Damien Vale was a living myth at Blackwell.

Perfect grades. Captain of the fencing team. Donor dinners. Charity galas.

And rage that boiled just beneath the surface.

I saw it once-last year. A boy called him a fraud behind his back. Two days later, that boy left campus on a stretcher after "tripping" down the stone stairs near the garden wing.

No one ever proved Damien touched him.

No one ever dared accuse him.

So I didn't go looking for Damien.

He found me.

He cornered me near the chapel just after curfew. The night was thick, fog curling over the grass like something alive.

"You've been asking questions," he said calmly, like it was a greeting.

"I ask a lot of things."

His mouth quirked. "Curiosity runs in the family, huh?"

"I'm not like Kellan."

"No," he said, stepping closer, "you're louder."

My breath hitched.

"Why did you hate him?"

"I didn't."

"You threatened him."

He tilted his head. "Is that what he told you?"

"You were in love with him."

Damien's jaw ticked.

"You think this is a love story?" he asked.

"No, Lydia. This is a cage. And Kellan tried to burn it down. That's why he had to disappear."

"What did you do to him?"

Damien leaned in, close enough that I could smell the leather of his jacket.

"I saved him," he whispered. "From people worse than me."

Then he walked away.

I couldn't sleep.

I paced, stared out the window, re-read the letter tucked beneath my pillow.

Stop digging or you'll end up like your brother.

What if Damien didn't write it?

What if someone else wanted me to think he did?

I needed help.

So I texted Eloise.

Me: u awake?

Eloise: emotionally or physically?

Me: both

Eloise: I have snacks. And an Ouija board. Pick your poison.

Ten minutes later, we were hidden behind the drama building with flashlights, sour candy, and a half-charged phone playing lo-fi beats.

"So Damien's not the devil?" she asked, tossing a gummy bear in her mouth.

"He might be," I muttered. "But he didn't kill Kellan."

"Cool. So we're back to square one."

"Not quite." I pulled out the file from the storage room. "This line-'All blood must bind. No heir without inheritance.' What if it doesn't just mean bloodlines? What if it means... heirs. Children."

Eloise blinked. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You think someone got pregnant at that party?"

I froze.

"Lydia," she whispered, "was your mom pregnant when she vanished?"

I shook my head. "No. At least, not that I know of."

"Then who was?"

The thought hit like a punch: Cecilia.

The new girl.

The one who looked just like my mother.

Cecilia sat alone at lunch the next day, picking apart a salad like she hated vegetables and the world.

I slid into the seat across from her.

"Hi."

She didn't look up.

"I'm Lydia."

"I know."

She still didn't look up.

"You said you were Vivian Morrow's daughter."

This time, she met my eyes.

"I did."

"Prove it."

Cecilia sighed, reached into her bag, and pulled out a photo.

My mother, younger. Arms wrapped around a woman I didn't recognize.

Between them was a baby. Wrapped in a red blanket.

"She had me before you," Cecilia said. "Marcus helped cover it up. She wasn't supposed to have a child with a woman. It broke Society protocol."

I stared at the photo.

The woman beside Vivian looked familiar.

Too familiar.

"Who is she?" I asked.

Cecilia shrugged. "Some orphan. She died right after I was born. Vivian left me behind. Said it was the only way to protect me."

My throat burned. "And now you're here."

"To claim what's mine."

Later that day, I confronted Marcus.

"You knew about Cecilia."

He didn't even blink. "She's unstable."

"She has Mom's eyes."

"So do a dozen girls on this campus."

"She has a photo."

"Photos can be forged."

"She wants something."

"We all do."

"What do you want?" I snapped.

His smile was ice.

"For you to survive."

I found Auden on the roof of the old library, smoking a cigarette and staring at the horizon like it held answers.

"You look like hell," he said.

"Good. I feel worse."

I told him about Cecilia. The photo. The lies.

He listened quietly, eyes unreadable.

When I finished, he flicked the cigarette off the edge.

"Then she's a threat."

"She's my sister."

"Maybe. Or maybe she's the Society's final play. A decoy. A distraction."

"Why would they need a distraction?"

"Because something's coming," Auden said. "Something big. You're shaking cages, Lydia. And the beasts inside are waking up."

He stepped closer.

"Promise me you'll be careful."

"I can't."

His hand found mine.

"Then I'll be careful for both of us."

That night, I had a dream.

I was in the garden wing, barefoot. The roses were black. The fountain was bleeding. And Kellan stood at the edge, soaked and shaking, whispering my name.

"Lydia..."

"Where are you?" I begged.

But he just cried. And behind him, a shadow stepped out.

Marcus.

Holding a silver knife.

I woke up screaming.

When I ran to the garden wing the next morning, the fountain was dry.

But carved into the stone were two initials, fresh and deliberate.

K.M.

He'd been there.

Recently.

Eloise found me minutes later, out of breath.

"You need to come with me," she said.

"What now?"

She grabbed my hand. "It's Bea."

Bea had locked herself in the music room.

We could hear her crying.

Theo-the headmaster's son-was trying to pick the lock.

When the door finally opened, Bea was curled on the floor beside the grand piano, clutching a journal.

She looked up, saw me, and flung the journal into my lap.

"It's his," she whispered.

"Kellan's?"

She nodded.

And then-finally-she spoke the words that would shatter everything.

"I was the last person to see him."