Page 5 of Revenant

I blink, and within that heartbeat, the reflection fades out, leaving only my face staring back and my pulse hammering against my throat.

I jolt back as if I’d been slapped, trembling from the encounter as dread slithers its way through my marrow. My gaze swings up, pupils dilating as I stare at the carvings I’m convinced are something more sinister disguised as beauty. I become more aware of myself than I’ve ever been, my breathing turns erratic, skin crawling like thousands of tiny spiders are racing down my limbs.

Spinning around, I attempt to pull myself together and retrace the path I unknowingly followed. The motion steals the air from my lungs. The hallway is not the same. Every door, every picture frame, every object subtly—but unmistakably—wrong.

My brow furrows with confusion. That’s not possible.

Leaving the mirror at my back, my steps are heavy as every turn and curve leads me deeper into this fucked-up maze. Panic, true unfiltered panic rips through me, tearing apart my insides, threatening to become all-consuming. Frantically searching for a way out of this wretched place, I try all the doors to no avail. No false walls or hidden passageways, just a sea of never-ending torment.

My back meets the wall as tears brim my eyes, threatening to fall like a weakness. I slam them shut, attempting to keep the walls from closing in as I surrender to the darkness for a moment.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. Not again. This isn’t fucking happening.

Light shines through my eyelids, causing my head to lift. Immediate relief crashes through me as 259 glows like a beacon against my door. I rush toward it, grabbing the handle and twisting without hesitation. Then the last thread holding me together snaps, and I feel the void press in.

It’s locked.

“No, no, no!” I tug harder, anxiety scraping raw at the edges of my mind. Leaning my forehead against the wood, a shuffle coming down the hall causes me to whirl around. Reyna strides closer, wearing a crisp pleated skirt, a white button-up, and a braid that’s so tight it’s practically giving her a face lift.

She doesn’t even blink, looking completely unbothered at the sight of me in my pajamas, barefoot and panicked.

“Morning,” she says flatly. “You’re up early.”

But I don’t know if I’m up early, or if I even went to sleep at all. “I, um…” My words falter, then the obvious hits me in the face. “Where are you coming from?” Reyna slides her key into the lock, opens the door, and just when I think she won’t answer…she does.

Looking over her shoulder with a sly grin, her words cause the panic to rush back tenfold. “Orientation.”

Fuck. Me.

I dress quickly, but everything in my closet feels off. Time was of the essence, and I wasn’t able to put as much thought into my first day outfit as I’d originally planned. I settle on a blouse of white silk, crisp and high collared, with a smooth black ribbon tied at my throat. The cuffs gather and fasten with small gold buttons, matching the ones along the pinafore. The bodice is tailored and the skirt flares just enough to suggest it was custom made. After pulling on sheer black tights, I step into polished ankle boots with a stacked heel, made with leather meant to withstand the weather in Europe. Running my hands down the length of the outfit, I smooth the material over my curves, making sure there’s not a wrinkle in sight.

I layer gold jewelry over my wrists, fingers, and collarbone. Thin chains, stacked rings, and a pair of dainty 24 carat hoops. It might seem like too much for the first day, but I don’t take it off. Needing the weight…the armor.

My sleepwalking episode still clings to me. The whispers. The missing time. The mirror…everything about it still haunts me. I try to push it down—ignore the pressure building in my chest—but it inevitably stays.

Knowing I’ve wasted more than enough time, I turn to grab my leather bag hanging off the back of my chair. I verify the map is properly tucked inside before draping it across my shoulders, then reach down to my desk and grab my schedule.

The first thing listed is Blood Verification and Academic Induction…which was at orientation. An orientation that I missed. I don’t know how this is all happening, but now I’m officially late to my first class—developmental psychology. I make sure to snag my keys off the hook above my desk before rushing toward the door.

The wind instantly hits me the second I exit Vesperian Hall, but I don’t slow. Crossing the courtyard fast, my boots shift a little on the wet grass as I hurry to Ashcroft Tower. I push through the massive double doors and follow the signs.

All of these would’ve been very useful when actually entering the campus. But I digress. Climbing another set of stairs, sweat clings to me as students pass, their attire pressed and perfect. No one looks at me. Acting as if I’m invisible, and I’m not sure if I prefer it this way or not. Finally, I find the classroom and quickly yank the door open. As if my day couldn’t get any worse, the door slams shut behind me, causing every single pair of eyes to swing in my direction. I wince, wanting nothing more than to make myself as small as I feel.

The professor, who looks anything other than impressed, stands at the center of the massive room, pale clipboard in hand. “Miss Calder.” His voice echoes over the room that’s silent enough to hear a pen drop. “How kind of you to join us. I figured your absence during orientation meant you must be deathly ill.” The look of discontent nearly causes me to bolt back out the door.

My face heats with embarrassment. How am I supposed to explain why I’m late and why I missed orientation? Even if I could, I wouldn’t. All he would hear is a bunch of excuses, and I don’t think those are taken too kindly here. “I thought–”

“You thought wrong. Sit.” I scan the room, praying for an open seat close enough to me that I won’t have to parade in front of everyone. But as luck would have it, the only seat empty is near the center. Which is saying something, since this classroom is massive, seemingly bigger on the inside than outside. Rows of desks sit in a half circle, all raised onto a platform. The vaulted ceilings might also have something to do with how large it feels, but I try not to look at them long. There’s something eerie about them, a familiarity that reminds me of last night.

Wordlessly, I tuck my chin, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. Descending the first few steps, I mumble apologies to my peers as I try not to trip. My backpack slides off my shoulder as I take my seat, bumping into the guy on my right.

“Sorry,” I stammer, the word barely a whisper. His posture goes rigid as though he’s offended he has to breathe the same air as me. Against my better judgment, I glance at him, stunned that I didn’t notice him the moment I walked in here. The room stays silent, and I know I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it. His jaw is set in stone, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and there’s an intrusive thought to run my finger along its edge. Still, his gaze stays focused on the front—looking nothing but cold.

The professor clears his throat. “Miss Calder, I would advise you to get notes from the material you’ve missed so far. Maybe one of your classmates will take pity on you.” And then he continues with a lecture I have no interest in listening to anymore. All I want to do is go back to bed and have a do-over.

Pulling a pen and notebook out of my bag, I open it to the first page, ready to prove Professor Asshole wrong. I fall into a comfortable rhythm, writing any information down I think is important all while the guy next to me hasn’t shifted at all. Not even a hair out of place.

There’s something the professor mentions that doesn’t make much sense, and even as I write it down, it does nothing to clear the fog. “I don’t understand,” I mumble quietly to myself, highlighting the section in red to remind myself to go back.