Trigger Warning: In-depth conversations about a dead parent
The room felt smaller once the ledgers were finished.
Not physically.
But quietly, like the walls had leaned in, listening too closely to everything they'd written down.
Pages lay open across desks and laps, ink still drying in places. The weight of it all sat heavily in the air. Names, memories, things they were now terrified to lose. Parts of each other they didn't want to forget.
No one spoke for a while.
Until Danny's voice cut through the silence, sharper than usual.
"We don't have time to sit on this."
Thorn looked up from her ledger.
Pippa didn't; her nose still pointed at her journal. Glasses sliding down and resting near the tip of her button nose, a feature passed down from her Polish grandmother.
"We just found out someone's snooping around," she said flatly. "That feels like a very good reason to sit on it."
Danny shook his head, already pacing. "No. That's exactly why we can't."
"That makes no sense," Thorn spoke up, agreeing with Pippa's sensibility for once.
Thorn had always been the queen of brash decisions, not caring if they had gotten caught, but things felt too risky now. Lives could be on the line if they made one incorrect move.
"It does if you think about it for more than two seconds," he shot back, running a hand through his hair. "If Maren's already sniffing around, then whatever's happening, whatever's wrong, is about to get worse. That's why they want to distract us by resuming classes on Monday."
Xavier shifted slightly against the headboard, quieter now but listening.
Danny pointed toward the door. "The wolves in the infirmary? They don't have time for us to play it safe. They haven't gotten worse yet, but they will."
Pippa finally looked up. "And what about us, Danny? What if we get caught?"
"So stealing blood for Thorn is okay, but this is too risky?"
"Thorn is the only one who can save all of our asses," she snapped.
"But––"
"They're already being monitored," Pippa cut in, standing now. Her thick, curly hair, which normally rested in a braid, flipped over her shoulder as she looked back at Thorn for agreement. "There are faculty in and out of that place constantly. If we get caught—"
"Then we get caught trying to help them," Danny interrupted, frustration bleeding into his voice. "We can't just leave them there. If we do, we are no better than the administration that got them there in the first place!"
"It's not about better, it's about smart—"
"It's about sticking together," Danny said, louder now.
That stopped her.
He exhaled, slower this time, grounding himself just enough to keep going.
"You don't leave your people behind," he said, quieter now, but steadier.
"You don't wait until it's convenient. You don't pick and choose when it's safe to care about them."
Pippa's jaw tightened.
"They're hurting," he continued. "And if we don't help them now, we might not get another chance to, and I don't know if I can live with that."
A beat passed before Danny continued.
"If we are saving the school, we save the whole school. Not just the healthy ones."
Silence stretched, and Pippa dragged a hand down her face.
"… You're so irritating when you're right."
Danny didn't smile.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I know."
She exhaled, then nodded once. "Fine."
That was all the permission he needed.
But she wasn't done.
Her gaze shifted.
To Xavier.
"You're teaching us the runes we need to know."
Xavier blinked. "Right now?"
"Right now," Pippa confirmed. "If we're doing this, we're not going in blind."
He hesitated.
Just briefly, unsure if it was actually a good idea, but once he saw the pure determination in her eyes, he nodded.
"Okay."
They cleared space quickly.
Journals pushed aside. Pens replaced. The room shifted from reflection to preparation in seconds.
Xavier slid off the bed more carefully this time, wincing only slightly as his feet hit the floor. Thorn watched him, subtly, but not subtly enough. He could feel her concern rolling off in waves.
"Sit," she said automatically.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
"I can stand for five minutes."
She didn't argue; instead, she lifted her hand, shadows grabbing him by the arm and planting him against the edge of the bed.
"If I'm the one that has to keep coming to save your ass, you're going to listen to me." Her tone was tight, unforgiving. A command rather than a request.
Xavier huffed, glaring up at her for a moment before his gaze relaxed. She was scared; he could see it in her eyes. Scared for Pippa and Danny, for Alarie, for what will happen to the unsuspecting students caught in the crossfire.
Pippa and Danny watched from across the room, sharing quick looks before pretending to be more interested in the ground.
Xavier nodded lightly, "Fine, I'll sit."
He grabbed a spare notebook, flipping it open to a blank page before glancing up at them.
"Alright," he said, voice calmer now. Focused. "The rune isn't complicated, but it has to be precise."
Danny took the first step, sitting beside him, and leaned over his shoulder immediately. "Cool, cool, no pressure."
Pippa shoved Danny lightly. "Move."
Xavier huffed faintly, then began to draw.
Slowly and deliberately, each line placed with care.
"Start here," he said, tapping the page lightly. "This line anchors the rest of it. If this is off, the whole thing collapses."
Pippa nodded, already copying.
Danny tried.
"…Why does mine look like it's having a stroke?"
"Because you're rushing," Xavier said, not unkindly. "Slow down."
There was no bite to it. No frustration, just gentle guidance.
"Follow the curve," he added, adjusting Danny's hand slightly. "Don't force it."
Danny blinked. "Oh. That actually—yeah, okay, that helps."
Thorn watched from where she stood.
Not the runes, not Pippa and Danny trying their best to mimic the way Xavier drew.
But him.
The way his voice softened when he explained something.
The way he didn't make them feel stupid when they messed up.
The way he waited patiently for it to make sense. For it to finally click.
Like there was nowhere else he needed to be.
"…Like this?" Pippa asked.
Xavier leaned closer, studying her page. "Almost. This line needs to connect back here," he said, pointing out exactly what needed to be fixed with his index finger, "otherwise it won't hold."
She adjusted it, and he nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah. That's it. Good job, Pippa."
Something in Thorn's chest tightened.
Because he made it look so easy.
Not the rune, but the teaching. As if explaining something new to someone was entirely in his nature.
Time passed without them noticing.
Mistakes corrected. Lines redrawn. Understanding settling in piece by piece.
Pippa leaned back, exhaling. "Okay. I think I've got it."
Danny held up his page proudly. "Mine looks… less terrible."
Xavier smirked faintly. "That's progress."
Pippa stood, grabbing her jacket. "Then we go. Now."
Danny didn't hesitate, already moving toward the door.
Pippa paused just long enough to glance back.
"Don't die while we're gone," she said dryly.
"No promises," Xavier replied, groaning as he shifted on the bed.
Pippa rolled her eyes. "Damn, too bad. I was starting to like you," she teased.
Then they were gone.
The door shut behind them, and the room went quiet again.
Thorn didn't move right away; she watched Xavier for a moment, the air between them still for the first time in a while, like they didn't have to be somewhere urgently.
Then, slowly, she pushed herself out of the desk chair and crossed the room.
She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him.
Her bed.
The one he'd been lying in all morning.
Xavier went still.
Not pulling away, but not leaning in either, just cautious as she got closer.
"… You're a good teacher," Thorn said after a moment.
He blinked, caught off guard by the compliment.
"That's—" he shrugged slightly. "It's not a big deal."
"It is," she said, glancing at him. "You don't make people feel stupid for asking questions."
He looked away.
"That's… kind of the bare minimum."
"Not here. I've seen plenty of students start crying after a teacher makes them feel like they're the dumbest creature to have ever existed." Thorn muttered.
Xavier hesitated for a second, then, quietly, he continued.
"I guess I learned it from my mom."
The words shifted something in the room immediately, b Thorn didn't interrupt.
She didn't move; she just listened because she knew Xavier didn't talk about his mom.
"She used to sit with me for hours," he continued, voice softer now, as if he was testing the air, "When I was first learning, I was… terrible."
He gave a faint, self-deprecating huff.
"I'd mess up constantly. Shading made no sense based on where the lighting was coming from, proportions off, everything was unstable."
He stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers once.
"But she never made me feel bad about it," he said. "Not once."
His voice dipped lower.
"Even when I probably deserved it."
Thorn's chest tightened; she knew the exact kindness he was referring to, as her own mother possessed it.
"She'd just… start over with me," he added. "Every time."
Xavier paused, just long enough for the silence to settle in around them, before he forced himself to keep going. To reach back into parts of himself he had deliberately left untouched for years, like disturbing something fragile that might not survive being handled again.
"She made it feel like messing up was part of getting it right," he said finally, his voice quieter now, softened by the weight of the memory rather than the distance from it.
The words lingered, and so did the silence that followed.
It settled between them slowly; heavy in a way that felt almost… careful.
Like neither of them wanted to move too quickly and risk breaking whatever had formed in its place.
"She sounds like a really good teacher," Thorn said after a moment, her voice low enough that it didn't disrupt the quiet, only folded into it.
Xavier nodded once, the movement small but certain.
"She was."
Another pause stretched between them, but this one felt different, less like an ending and more like something waiting to be continued.
Xavier glanced up, his gaze flicking toward Thorn, as he watched for any sign that he'd said too much, gone too far, pushed past something he shouldn't have.
But Thorn didn't look away.
There was no discomfort in her expression, no impatience. There was just a quiet, steady kind of attention that told Xavier she was still there, still listening, still willing to let him keep going if he needed to.
So he did.
"After she died…" He cleared his throat softly, the sound catching just slightly as he tried to smooth it out before continuing. "I didn't really see the point in learning anymore."
His gaze dropped again, drawn back down to his hands like they were easier to focus on than anything else in the room.
"I stopped practicing. Stopped trying," he added, the repetition not dramatic, just… factual.
His fingers curled inward against his thigh, knuckles brushing lightly against the fabric like he was grounding himself in the motion.
"It just felt…" He hesitated, searching for something that would hold the shape of it without breaking it open too much. "…empty."
The word lingered longer than the others because they weren't loud.
It wasn't dramatic; it was almost worse than that.
It was quiet.
He paused again, this time not out of uncertainty, but because he knew what came next, and he wasn't sure he was ready to say it out loud.
But he did anyway.
"Until—"
The word hung there, unfinished.
Then he looked up and met her gaze.
"…Until I started learning with you again."
It didn't land heavily; it didn't need to.
It slipped into the space between them quietly, almost gently, but there was something sharp underneath it, something that caught just beneath the surface and stayed there.
Thorn felt it.
Felt it settle somewhere she wasn't used to letting things reach.
She didn't have anything to say.
No deflection, no sarcasm, no easy way to turn it into something lighter, something safer.
So she didn't even try.
She just sat there with it, letting the weight of his words exist without pushing them away.
After a moment, her voice came out softer than she intended, as if it had slipped past whatever guard she usually kept in place.
"What was her name?"
Xavier looked up at that, and for a second, something in his expression shifted, something quieter, almost reverent. A small, sad smile pulled faintly at the corner of his lips, not quite reaching his eyes.
"Elena," he said.
Thorn let it settle between them for a beat before she spoke again, more carefully this time, like she was stepping into something fragile and didn't want to break it.
"…Do you have a favorite story of her?" she asked instead, softer now. Careful.
Xavier blinked, caught off guard by the question.
Not because he didn't have one, but because no one had ever asked. Not Ajax. Not Bianca. Especially not Wednesday.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Yeah."
A faint smile touched his lips. Fragile.
"There was this one time… I couldn't get a projection right," he said. "I kept trying to bring something to life, and it just... wouldn't hold."
His gaze drifted slightly, unfocused.
"She sat behind me," he continued. "Wrapped her arms around me, guided my hands."
His voice softened.
"Didn't even tell me what I was doing wrong. She just showed me what it felt like when it was right."
Thorn gave him a small smile as he continued.
"I got it on the first try after that."
Xavier let out a small breath of a laugh.
"I thought I was a genius, and she let me think that."
The smile lingered for a second longer, then faded slowly.
"After she died…" His jaw tightened slightly. "My dad got rid of everything."
Thorn felt it before he even continued, that drop in her stomach that told her this wasn't going to be good.
"Photos. Clothes. Books. Anything that reminded him of her." His voice went flat. Controlled in a way that didn't leave room for emotion. "He said it was better that way."
Her hands curled slightly into her lap without her realizing it.
"The maids…" Xavier continued, his voice quieter now, "started taking things out of the donation piles."
Xavier paused, the memory replaying in his head as he told the story.
"Hiding them for me."
Thorn nodded slowly, acknowledging something fragile in that, something that shouldn't have had to exist.
"They gave me whatever they could save," he added. "A few pictures. Some small things."
His hand moved to rub the back of his neck, short nails scratching at his skin in a nervous habit he's had since he was a child.
"I bring them with me," he admitted. "Everywhere I go, hidden in a shoe box... Just in case."
Thorn's throat tightened. Because that wasn't just grief, that was fear of having something you loved and cared about being taken from you.
Again.
"There's this perfume bottle," he added, his voice quieter now, like the words themselves required more care. "Her favorite. I keep it tucked in my art supplies so he won't find it."
His fingers shifted slightly in his lap, like he could feel it there even now.
"I used to open it," he went on, softer still. "Just to make sure it still smelled the same."
Then, the room went still.
Like, even the air had paused to listen.
"That was a few years ago," he said, and something in his voice thinned, almost unnoticeably. "Now it doesn't."
There were no dramatics, no explanation.
Just that. Stated like a fact, a simple truth.
And somehow, that was worse.
Because it meant the last thing he had left of her had faded, too.
When he finished, he didn't look at Thorn right away.
His gaze stayed fixed somewhere lower, unfocused, like he was already regretting how much he'd let slip through.
Like maybe saying it out loud had made it too real.
Too permanent.
Then, slowly, hesitantly, he looked up.
His eyes were glossy.
Not quite tears, but close enough that it didn't matter.
And Thorn, she didn't hesitate.
Not this time.
There was no pause, no second-guessing, no instinct to pull back before she got too close.
She just moved.
Closing the space between them in one quiet, deliberate motion, like something in her had already decided before her mind could argue with it, and wrapped her arms around him.
Careful, but firm.
Because she wasn't entirely sure how to do this, but she wasn't going to let that stop her.
"I'm sorry, Xavier," she said softly, her voice quieter against him, less guarded than it had ever been before.
Then she took a breath.
"You deserved better."
Xavier froze.
Completely.
His hands hovered awkwardly in the space between them, unsure, unpracticed, like he didn't quite trust that this was real, or that he was allowed to respond to it.
Thorn… was hugging him.
The thought didn't fully land.
Didn't fully make sense.
Because Thorn didn't do this, Thorn didn't reach first. She didn't offer comfort like this, at least not without a fight.
But she was.
She was right there. Warm, solid, and real.
Slowly, carefully, as if he were afraid he might break something if he moved too fast, Xavier lowered his hands and wrapped his arms around her in return.
He was tentative at first, then he hugged her a little tighter.
Just enough to hold on.
He closed his eyes, and for a second, everything else fell away.
The room, the ache in his chest, and the years of holding onto something that no longer existed the way he remembered it.
All of it quieted because right there, in that moment, he wasn't alone with it.
The faintest scent of coconut drifted around him, soft and familiar in a way that felt grounding without him realizing why.
Was this what she always smelled like?
He didn't know.
He'd never been close enough to notice, not even at the masquerade, not even when they danced, and the world blurred around them.
But now?
Now it felt like something he might remember.
Something that wouldn't fade.
Not yet.
Not this time.
His fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her shirt.
"…I don't remember her voice anymore," he said quietly.
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Raw and unfiltered.
Like something he hadn't meant to admit.
Thorn stilled, not pulling away or loosening her grip.
If anything, she held on a little tighter.
Xavier swallowed, his voice thinner now, like it was stretching around something fragile.
"I try to," he continued, barely above a whisper. "Sometimes I think I almost have it, and then…"
He exhaled shakily.
"It's gone."
That was worse than the perfume.
Worse than the photos.
Because scent could fade.
Pictures could be hidden.
But a voice?
A voice was something you were supposed to keep.
Thorn's chest ached deeply and slowly. It was the kind of ache that settled in and didn't leave without a fight. The kind that attached itself to you and demanded your attention.
Her hand shifted slightly against his back, fingers curling just enough to anchor him there.
"You won't forget everything," she said quietly.
Not dismissive.
Not false reassurance.
Just… steady.
Xavier didn't respond.
Didn't argue.
But she could feel the doubt that sat heavily on him. The aching fear of forgetting the one person who made everything okay, even if they weren't around anymore.
But that was the real terror, wasn't it?
Not losing people, but losing the proof they were ever there.
Thorn pulled back just enough to look at him. Just enough that he had to meet her eyes.
"If you do," she added, softer now, more deliberate, "I'll remember her for you. I'll give her a spot in my ledger, and I'll add to it each time you talk about her."
Xavier blinked at her, not expecting that at all, and definitely not prepared for it.
Thorn held his gaze, something uncharacteristically open in hers.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said.
And she didn't say it lightly, or like a promise she might break.
She said it as if it were a decision, like something she had already chosen, and wasn't going to change her mind under any circumstances.
Xavier's breath caught, just slightly, because that wasn't comfort.
That was something else entirely.
Something steadier and terrifying in its own way.
Because it meant staying.
His grip on her tightened again, more certain this time.
Less hesitant.
Almost as if he was finally letting himself lean into it instead of just holding on to her carefully, scared that she would disappear.
"…Okay," he whispered.
It wasn't agreement, at least, not really.
But it was acceptance. Of her, of what she said, of the moment.
Because Thorn meant it.
And for once, she didn't pull away first.
She stayed there with him, letting the silence settle around them again.
But it didn't feel as heavy now.
It felt shared, something they were both holding together instead of carrying alone.
And for the first time since the ledgers were written…
The fear of forgetting didn't feel quite as absolute.
Because now, there was someone else there to remember.