Chapter 2 The Letter and the Roommate

Three weeks ago

The letter smelled like pine smoke and old secrets.

I didn't notice it at first cause it was just a crumpled envelope shoved halfway through the vent above my bunk. One of the younger kids must've found it during a game of "steal anything not bolted down," and shoved it there for later.

But it was addressed to me and had "Wren Alden" scrawled in looping ink that looked like it had been written by a fountain pen dipped in moonlight or something equally dramatic.

No return address, no postage. Just that odd silver seal: a crescent moon wrapped in vines.

The last time I got a letter was when social services sent me a bill for the shoes I'd "accidentally" set on fire during my escape from a group home in Oregon. (Not my fault they thought moldy porridge was an acceptable dinner.)

This felt different.

Inside, a thick parchment card with a short message read:

To Wren Alden

You are invited to attend Silvergrove Academy, a school for those of rare lineage and uncommon potential.

Tuition, housing, and board are fully covered.

Should you accept, follow the path where the forest bends twice and cross when the water runs silver, you will be met.

.L.

Right, because that didn't sound like a pyramid scheme at all. One that was executed because they weren't fooling anybody with this.

I showed it to my case worker, who laughed and said, "They can't even spell 'scholarship' right,' then dropped it in the trash with a pile of pizza coupons. But I fished it out, folded it carefully, and shoved it under my pillow.

I didn't believe in fate, I barely believed in clean laundry, but that letter? It hummed like it was alive and like it was waiting, and I wanted to know why.

Two weeks later, I stood on the edge of a mist-covered train platform, one cracked boot hanging off the edge like I might still change my mind.

I hadn't told anyone where I was going. I packed light with just a duffel bag, a half-dead phone, and a flask of lukewarm tea. If Silvergrove was a trap, at least I'd go down caffeinated.

The train came without headlights, just a low hum and the glint of silver along its sides, appearing from fog like something conjured from sleep. The conductor didn't even check my ticket; he just nodded once, like he already knew who I was.

I sat alone, watching the forest creep closer through the window as branches clawed at the sky, and the fog thickened. Eventually, the world outside dissolved into pure white.

Then, just when I was starting to think I'd hallucinated the whole ride, the train screeched to a halt.

Silvergrove Academy looked like the kind of school that had secret tombs and an alarming student ghost-to-human ratio. It had Ivy-covered towers, spiral staircases, and windows that flickered like candlelight even when no one was there.

And the fog didn't just roll, it slithered.

I dragged my bag toward another gate inside, already regretting every life decision that had led me here, when a voice chirped behind me.

"Oh my god, you must be Wren!"

I turned around and blinked to look at the owner of the high-pitched voice.

And the girl bounding toward me looked like a weird fashion board had exploded and reassembled itself into a person. Pink jacket, floral scarf, and perfectly applied eyeliner that sparkled slightly under the lantern lights entered my vision, and I just stared.

"I'm Callista Wynn," she said, reaching out to grab my duffel before I could stop her. "Callie, please. And we're roommates! I know that cause I read your file...well, not the confidential parts, obviously, but I did some divination and you give 'moon-blooded runaway' vibes."

I stared in utter confusion. "I... give what now?"

She beamed at me like she knew something I didn't, and that confused me even more. "Oh, it's a compliment, I'm an intuitive reader, and my third eye is super nosy. Come on, our room's in Elric Hall, it's the fourth floor, and there's no elevator, sorry, but you seem like you've got good thighs though."

I had no idea how to respond to that and everything else she had said, so I didn't. I just followed her through the courtyard, watching fog curl around her boots like it knew her name.

Silvergrove's buildings were like a half-Gothic castle, and then a half-overachiever boarding school. The common room had a chandelier shaped like a floating moon, while the portraits on the walls blinked occasionally, like they were keeping tabs.

By the time we reached our room, my legs were burning and I was sweating into my coat. Callie, of course, looked freshly sprinkled with morning dew.

"This is it!" she sang, unlocking a heavy wooden door with a small rune-shaped key.

Inside, our room was surprisingly cozy, with two beds, a shared desk, a stack of books that smelled like burnt herbs, and of course, a massive crystal in the corner pulsing faintly with soft light.

I dropped my stuff on the left bed and collapsed face-first, tiredly.

"You good?" Callie asked, already unpacking what looked like five different types of lotion.

"Peachy," I mumbled into the blanket.

"Oh! I almost forgot." She pulled something from her jacket pocket and tossed it onto my back.

I turned over to stare at the item and saw that it was the letter.

The same envelope from a few weeks ago now glowed faintly silver around the edges.

"I found that in your duffel," Callie said, kneeling beside me. "But it's weird, right? I got a similar one when I was twelve, and it smelled like lavender, though."

I sat up slowly, holding it like it might bite. "How did it end up glowing?" I asked, fueled by my growing curiosity.

Callie's smile flickered. "It usually only happens when something big's about to happen. Don't worry, though, it doesn't always mean danger."

I gave her a look.

And she shrugged. "Sometimes just a dramatic prophecy, or your latent magic awakening, or a harbinger of romantic entanglement. Ooooh, maybe a cursed love triangle!"

"I'm going to bed," I muttered, shoving the letter into the drawer beside my bed.

"Cool, cool," Callie said, already sliding into fuzzy pajamas. "I'll ward the door, you know, just in case."

And I didn't bother to ask "in case of what." I didn't think that it would do any good to know.

But as I lay there, trying to fall asleep, I couldn't help but glance at the drawer again.

The letter was still humming, soft, and persistent, like it was waiting for something.

For me.

And outside, the wind howled through the trees like something was laughing or watching.