Chapter 6
Chapter six
The lunch line moved slowly.
I stood behind Ivy, tray in hand, watching the servers ladle soup into bowls with the mechanical efficiency of people who'd done this ten thousand times. The cafeteria hummed with noise—conversations layered over each other, chairs scraping, the clatter of silverware. Normal sounds.
The hum beneath my skin flared, and I knew without turning that James had joined the line somewhere behind me.
I didn't look. Looking was acknowledging, and acknowledging was... complicated.
"The tomato basil's actually good today," Ivy said, peering at the soup options. "I'm shocked. Genuinely shocked."
"I'll stick with salad."
"You always stick with salad. Live a little, Lumi. Eat something that came from a can."
"Salad comes from dirt. Very natural."
"So do worms. Doesn't mean I'm eating them."
I was reaching for a plate when the cafeteria doors swung open and Headmaster Twilson walked in.
He didn't belong here. That was my first thought—a reflex, animal and immediate. Headmaster Twilson existed in offices and formal spaces, behind desks and closed doors. Seeing him walk across the cafeteria floor was like watching a predator wander into open grassland.
He wasn't here for the soup.
His gaze swept the room, unhurried, and when it landed on me, he smiled. Not warm. Satisfied. The smile of someone who had already won whatever game we were playing.
I set down my plate.
"Miss Orlav." His voice carried. Not shouting—he didn't need to shout. He had the kind of voice that created silence around itself, conversations dying in its wake like ripples spreading backward. "A moment of your time."
Ivy went still beside me. I could feel James's attention sharpen from somewhere in the line behind us. The cafeteria hadn't gone fully quiet, but enough people were watching. Enough people were listening.
Twilson had chosen his stage.
"Of course, Headmaster." I stepped out of line, leaving my tray on the counter. Meeting him in the open felt like walking into a clearing with no cover, but staying in line would've looked like hiding. "Is something wrong?"
"Not at all." He clasped his hands behind his back, the picture of administrative calm. "I simply wanted to check in. Ensure you're settling into your coursework. It must be quite an adjustment, coming from such a... unique background."
The pause before unique was surgical.
"I'm managing fine. Thank you for asking."
"Good, good." He nodded, grandfatherly, benevolent. The performance was flawless. "I understand you've been in contact with your sister. Rae Whitaker, isn't it?"
The words landed like stones dropped into still water. Around us, I felt the attention in the room crystallize—students who'd been half-listening now fully tuned in, processing this new information. Sister. Whitaker. Medicine woman.
He said it casually. Like it was common knowledge. Like he wasn't peeling back a layer of my life I'd deliberately kept covered.
"Rae and I are close," I said. My voice came out steady. I didn't know how. "Is that relevant to my coursework?"
"Only insofar as it relates to certain... accommodations." Twilson's smile didn't waver. "I've been informed that you've been granted weekly meetings with Silas. I want you to know that I personally authorized this arrangement."
He let that sit. I authorized it. Not Silas. Not Rae. Him.
"I appreciate that," I said carefully.
"However." The word was a door closing. "I want to be clear that this represents the full extent of any special scheduling. There will be no further accommodations. No schedule changes. No exceptions to standard academic policy."
The cafeteria had gone quiet now. Really quiet. I could hear the soup bubbling in its industrial vat, the hum of the overhead lights.
"I wasn't aware I'd requested any special treatment."
"No?" Twilson's eyebrows rose, a parody of surprise. "I was told there had been inquiries about adjusting class schedules. Requests to move certain sections, I believe. Rearrange timings to better suit your...friends."
I hadn't requested anything. The schedule changes—James appearing in all my classes—that hadn't been me. I didn't even know who to ask about something like that.
"Sir." James's voice cut in from behind me. I heard him step forward, felt the hum spike as he moved closer. "That was my doing. I asked about the schedule. Lumi didn't know anything about it."
Twilson didn't look at him.
The headmaster kept his eyes fixed on me, his expression unchanged, as if James hadn't spoken at all. As if the air where James stood was simply empty.
"The academy has standards, Miss Orlav." Twilson continued smoothly. "Standards that apply equally to all students, regardless of family connections or personal relationships. I trust you understand."
"Sir—" James tried again, his voice tighter now. I could hear the frustration building, the flush I knew was spreading across his face without having to turn around. "I'm telling you, she didn't ask for anything. This isn't fair."
Nothing. Not a glance. Not a flicker of acknowledgment.
Twilson kept talking to me as if we were alone in the room. "To that end, I'll be personally reviewing your work in Professor Tomlinson's class. Given your close relationship with the instructor, it seems prudent to ensure that all grading is conducted... fairly."
The knife slid in so smoothly I almost didn't feel it.
Vince. He was going after Vince. Framing our connection as favoritism, positioning himself as the objective arbiter of my academic worth. Every paper I wrote, every assignment I turned in—he would be watching. Judging. Looking for reasons to cut me down.
"Professor Tomlinson is my instructor and I am sure he can do the job." The words came out harder than I intended.
"Of course." Twilson's smile was gentle, patronizing. "I'm sure that's exactly how it appears to you. But perception matters, Miss Orlav. The perception of fairness is as important as fairness itself. Surely you understand that."
I understood. I understood perfectly.
He wasn't protecting the academy's standards. He was putting me on notice. Letting me know that my connections—Rae, Silas, Vince—weren't shields. They were targets. Weaknesses he could exploit whenever he chose.
And he’d done it here, in front of everyone, so that the story would spread. The version people heard would depend on what they already knew.
Did you hear about the new girl? She's connected to the Medicine Woman. Twilson had to step in personally to make sure she wasn't getting special treatment.
I was no longer Lumi Orlav, quiet freshman trying to keep her head down.
I was a problem to be managed.
"Is there anything else, Headmaster?" My jaw ached from clenching.
"No, I think that covers it." He unclasped his hands, magnanimous in victory. "I have every confidence you'll excel on your own merits. After all, that's what Frosthaven is about—developing individual potential. Not coasting on the achievements of others."
He turned and walked away. Unhurried. Unconcerned. The cafeteria noise rushed back in to fill the space he left, conversations resuming like water flowing around a removed stone.
I stood there.
I couldn't move. If I moved, something would crack. The pressure building in my chest, the heat climbing up my throat—I could feel it pressing against my ribs, looking for a way out.
"Lumi." Ivy's voice, soft and horrified. "What the hell was that?"
I shook my head. Couldn't speak.
"Hey." James was beside me now. I could feel the warmth of him, the hum singing between us like a live wire. "Lumi, look at me. That was bullshit. Complete bullshit. He can't just—"
"Don't."
The word came out cracked.
I was going to cry. I could feel it building—not the soft, manageable kind of tears but the hot, furious kind. The kind that came from being cornered and exposed and stripped of every defense you'd built. The kind you hated yourself for.
Not here. Not in front of everyone.
"Lumi—" James reached for my arm.
I was already moving.
I left my tray on the counter and walked toward the doors. Fast. Not running—running would be admitting defeat—but fast enough that I could feel people turning to watch. Forks scraped against plates. Voices dropped.
"Lumi!" Ivy called.
I didn't stop.
The doors swung shut behind me, and I kept walking.
Down the hallway. Past the administrative offices.
Past the classrooms. I didn't know where I was going, only that I needed to be somewhere else.
Somewhere without eyes. Without witnesses.
Without the weight of all those stares pressing against my skin.
I found a bench behind the science building—the same bench I'd used after Mythology class, tucked against the stone wall where nobody walked. I sat down hard, my back hitting cold brick, and the tears came.
Not delicate. Not quiet. Angry, gasping sobs that tore out of my chest like they'd been trapped there for years. I pressed my hands against my face and let them come, hating every second, hating Twilson, hating myself for giving him this.
The pressure built.
My vision blurred—not from tears. Something else. Something deeper.
No. Not now.
The world tilted.
I was standing on campus.
Same time of day. Same pale winter light slanting through the evergreens. But the noise was gone. No voices. No footsteps. No distant thrum of students moving between buildings.
I turned in a slow circle. The quad stretched out before me, empty and still. Benches sat unoccupied. Pathways curved toward buildings with dark windows. The silence didn't echo—it absorbed, swallowing sound like snow swallows footsteps.
My body started walking.
I didn't decide to move. My legs carried me forward with the certainty of someone who knew exactly where they were going, even though my mind was still catching up.
Past the quad. Past the athletic complex, its climbing wall visible through floor-to-ceiling windows that reflected nothing.
Down hallways I'd walked a hundred times in the past week, now stretching empty and endless.
Everything was intact. That was the strangest part. No damage. No decay. No signs of disaster or abandonment. The campus looked exactly as it always did, except for the absence of people.
Not empty, I realized. Paused. Like someone had pressed stop in the middle of a scene and walked away.
The cafeteria doors stood open.
I walked inside without meaning to. Tables were set, chairs pushed back at odd angles—recently occupied, recently abandoned. Trays sat half-finished. A glass of water near the window caught the light, condensation still beading on its surface.
Where is everyone?
The question formed and dissolved. This was a vision. Questions didn't work the same way here. You didn't investigate—you witnessed.
My feet carried me out of the cafeteria, down another hallway, toward the Mythology wing. I knew where I was going now. Could feel it pulling at me, a thread wrapped around my ribs, drawing me forward.
The classroom door was open. Lights on. Desks still arranged in their small-group clusters from the day before.
I stepped inside.
She was sitting at one of the clustered desks. Same clothes I'd put on this morning. Same posture—spine straight, hands flat on the surface in front of her. Same face.
Me.
The other Lumi didn't look up when I entered. Her eyes were fixed forward, focused on something I couldn't see. Not crying. Not reacting. Just... waiting.
I moved closer. My footsteps made no sound.
"Hey," I said. My voice came out wrong—thin, distant, like speaking through water.
She didn't respond.
I circled the desk, trying to catch her gaze, but her eyes didn't track me. They stayed locked on that invisible point ahead, patient and still. Like she'd been sitting here for a very long time. Like she was prepared to sit here forever.
This is where she stays.
The knowledge arrived without explanation. This version of me—this waiting, watching version—belonged here. Had always been here. Would always be here, sitting in this empty classroom, watching for something that might never come.
A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with temperature.
"What are you looking at?" I asked. "What are you waiting for?"
Nothing. Her expression didn't flicker. Her hands didn't move.
The lights flickered.
Just once—a brief stutter, like a heartbeat skipping. But in that moment of darkness, I heard something. A sound that didn't belong. Low. Rhythmic. Almost like breathing, except it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
The other Lumi's eyes shifted.
For one fraction of a second, she looked at me. Through me. Into me.
And then—
I was back.
The bench. The cold stone wall. The pale winter light and the distant sound of students somewhere on the other side of the building, living their normal lives in their normal world.
I doubled over and vomited into the dead grass.
My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking—violent tremors that rattled my teeth and made my vision swim. I pressed my palms flat against the frozen ground, trying to anchor myself, trying to remember how to breathe.
What was that?
The other visions had been distant. The wolf on the mountain, the cold, the howling—those felt like watching a film. Removed. Separate.
This had been different. This had been here. This campus. This classroom. This version of me, sitting alone in an empty world, waiting for something I couldn't name.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and sat back against the wall, pulling my knees to my chest. The shaking was subsiding, but the wrongness remained—a residue coating my skin, seeping into my bones.
The campus felt different now. Same buildings. Same paths. Same pale sky overhead. But underneath the normalcy, I could feel it.
Something waiting.
Something watching.
Something that knew I was coming, long before I arrived.
I stayed on that bench until the shaking stopped. Until my breathing steadied.