Whispers Between The Walls

I didn't remember walking back.

Not through the velvet-draped halls.

Not past the guards standing motionless at the corridor bends.

Not even unlocking my dorm door.

I just remembered the weight of the book in my arms.

The softness of the crimson leather.

The chill of the gold lettering.

The way it pulsed — faintly, subtly — like a second heartbeat not my own.

> You are the next Keeper.

---

I placed it on my desk.

Didn't open it again.

Not yet.

Because some part of me knew: once I did, nothing would be simple again.

---

Julian came first.

He didn't knock — he never really had to. I think he could sense me, the way stars sense when the sky is about to break.

His blazer was half-buttoned, his hair still damp, and he looked like he'd run across campus just to make sure I was alive.

"You're shaking," he said quietly.

"I'm not."

"You are. I can see it."

He stepped closer and touched my hand.

I hadn't realized it was clenched.

Or that my fingernails had left crescents in my palm.

He didn't ask what had happened in the hall.

Didn't ask what the book was.

He just held my hand until it stopped trembling.

And then — slowly — leaned forward.

His forehead against mine.

> "I would've traded my name for yours in that box," he whispered. "Without hesitation."

---

I wanted to say something. Anything. But the truth was tangled in my throat.

So I did the only thing I could.

I kissed him.

Not like the first time.

Not like the garden.

Not even like the firelit kiss in the observatory.

This one was slow. Heavy. Quiet.

The kind of kiss that didn't ask for permission — it offered it.

And when we pulled apart, he didn't speak.

He just rested his hand over mine, then looked at the book.

> "That's not from the library, is it?"

---

I hesitated.

Then opened it.

The pages were still blank.

But when Julian touched the edge of one, something flickered.

A line.

Barely visible.

He squinted. "Is that… my name?"

I nodded. "It only shows what's been taken."

Julian's eyes met mine.

"Then I think this book is going to fill fast."

---

Theo arrived an hour later.

I wasn't sure how he knew I'd be awake, but he carried two things: a mug of coffee and a folded note.

"You okay?" he asked, quietly.

I nodded.

"You don't look okay."

I gave him a weak smile. "That's probably because I'm not."

He passed me the note first. "Petra."

I unfolded it.

> They moved me to the East Wing infirmary. I'm not hurt, but they're watching me. Please be careful. If they gave you the book, it means they've run out of lies.

— P.

I swallowed hard.

Theo was watching me carefully. "The Midwinter Gathering… that was a test, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I said. "And I passed by refusing to play."

Theo gave a tired smile.

"That's very you."

---

We sat together at the edge of my bed.

He handed me the coffee.

And after a long silence, he asked the question that had been buried between us for days.

> "Julian or me?"

My stomach tightened.

"Theo…"

He shook his head. "You don't have to answer. I just need to know if I should stop hoping."

I turned to face him.

And the words I said surprised even me.

> "I don't think this ends in love. Not yet. I think it ends in truth. And if I survive that… then maybe I'll finally know who I can love without destroying."

Theo didn't flinch.

He just nodded once.

And then he leaned over, kissed my temple — gently — and whispered, "Then I'll wait for your truth."

---

The next morning, the sky broke.

Literally.

Snow fell hard across the Montclaire grounds, blanketing every step and statue. It muffled the air. Made even the bells sound distant.

But I heard the footsteps.

Dozens of them.

Marching.

I opened my window and leaned out just far enough to see the procession winding toward the Great Hall.

Students in full uniform.

Guards in ceremonial armor.

Professors in black coats lined with red thread.

At the front — a man I didn't recognize.

Tall. Older. Eyes like frost.

And beside him… Petra.

Pale, but standing.

---

There was a knock at my door.

Not urgent. Not loud.

I opened it to find a small envelope on the floor.

No seal. No name.

Just a folded slip of parchment:

> The Headmistress is gone.

The Council arrives at dusk.

And the Keeper must choose what pages to reveal.

---

The Velvet Order was no longer hiding.

And neither was I.

---

I dressed carefully.

Not for them.

For me.

A long black coat. Gloves. The red ribbon still tied at my throat like a scar. And the book in my arms.

The Great Hall was already full by the time I arrived.

Julian stood near the front, next to Petra.

Theo leaned against the far wall, eyes already on me.

And in the center, the man with frost-colored eyes stood at a podium carved from ashwood.

He didn't introduce himself.

He didn't need to.

> "Montclaire has fractured," he said. "The mirror is gone. The rites are broken. The Headmistress has vanished. And we are left with a girl who holds a book that should not exist."

All eyes turned to me.

I stepped forward.

Laid The Names Beneath on the altar before him.

> "Then let's read it together," I said.

The frost-eyed man opened the book.

He stared.

And frowned.

"There are no names."

"Because I haven't written them yet," I replied.

"And why is that?"

I looked past him — at the students, the guards, the ones who had spent years in silence and fear.

Then I said:

> "Because I want them to speak for themselves."

---

A ripple passed through the room.

The man's lips curled slightly. "You would let them remember?"

"I would let them choose."

---

He closed the book.

Looked at me with something halfway between respect and warning.

> "Then I hope you're ready for what the truth remembers about you."

And with that — the council turned and left.

Leaving me standing alone before the altar.

And for the first time in weeks…

I didn't feel alone at all.