The Door After Midnight

The corridor past the east stairwell wasn't supposed to exist.

Wren knew the floor plan of Thornfield the way she knew the back of her own hand — she'd memorized it in her first week, back when getting lost had felt like the worst thing that could happen to her here. But the door at the end of the hall was new, or rather, it had always been there and she had simply never been allowed to see it.

"You shouldn't be up here," Evelyn said, and somehow her voice carried no threat at all, which was worse than if it had.

"Neither should you," Wren said, "unless student council business happens at midnight now."

Evelyn's mouth curved, not quite a smile. She was still dressed for the banquet, ribbon undone at her collar, and in the low light Wren couldn't tell anymore where the composure ended and the exhaustion began.

Evelyn looked away before answering.

"There are things at this school that exist because no one asks about them," she said finally. "You're asking."

"Because someone should have asked a long time ago." Wren stepped closer, close enough to see the faint shake in Evelyn's hands, the ones that never shook in front of anyone. "What's behind the door, Evelyn?"

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Somewhere below, a clock she'd never noticed before struck midnight, and the sound of it didn't fade the way it should have — it lingered, low and resonant, like it was coming from inside the walls instead of a tower.

"Not tonight," Evelyn said. "Tonight, you go back to your room, and you forget you ever saw this hallway."

"And if I don't?"

Evelyn finally met her eyes, and for the first time since Wren had arrived at Thornfield, she saw something underneath the composure that looked almost like fear. Not of Wren. Of what was behind the door.

"Then you'll understand why I asked you not to."