The candlelight dimmed again—snuffed by a cold draft slithering through the archive.
Zane gently pushed Evelyne behind a tall shelf, his hand lingering near the hilt of his sword. She didn't resist. Her pulse pounded too fast.
Footsteps echoed—soft but certain. Not a student. Not a professor.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Clad in dark robes, a porcelain half-mask concealed the face, etched with a golden symbol on the brow: a broken phoenix.
Evelyne's breath caught.
That sigil again…
The figure moved to the sealed shelves—the restricted ones—without hesitation, unlocking the protective enchantments as if they'd done it a hundred times before.
Zane leaned close. "Do you know who that is?"
"I…" Evelyne's voice trembled. "I've seen that mask before. In my dreams. No—my memories."
The masked figure pulled a scroll, unrolled it, and then… laughed softly. A woman's laugh. Cold. Familiar.
Then the voice, muffled but distinct:
> "So the phoenix rises again… but not alone this time."
The figure turned toward the exit.
Zane shifted, ready to strike—but Evelyne gripped his arm. "No. Not yet."
"We can't let her get away."
"She's not the only one hiding something," Evelyne whispered. "If she sees us, this game ends too soon."
The masked woman disappeared into the night.
And with her, answers Evelyne wasn't sure she was ready to face.
---
To be continued…