Dawn of Fog and Glass

Chapter Twenty-Five: Dawn of Fog and Glass

My fingers turn white and red with the intense pressure I keep on Draco's arm as I tug him after me. After a moment, he hisses, and I gingerly release some pressure.

"Stay close," I whisper instead.

"Yeah, duh."

I shush him.

The door to the hallway from Orion's room is slightly ajar, spilling red light into the room, along with the sharp, repetitive whine of the alarm.

No movement outside.

I pull Draco after me protectively and stick my head out the door, looking down either side of the hall. It's as I remember: slightly dirty tile floors, white walls, a long line of lockers. Looking down the dorm rooms, every single door is open—whether by just a crack, like Orion's, or gaping. And, seemingly, all devoid of people.

"Are we the only ones here?" Draco says, voice low.

I shake my head. We're not. We can't be.

No sounds but the alarm, so I nod to the left and motion for him to follow.

He stays close to me, both hands holding onto my forearm nervously. "Where are we—"

I shush him again. No talking. We can't risk it.

With my free hand, I point my index finger down and move it forwards, then down, then forwards again a bit. Meaning, if he understands even a smidgen of it, that we'll go to the end of the hall, down the stairs, and head to the gymnasium. The gym is where Marksberg holds assemblies, so if any spot is holding other people in a lockdown, it's there. Even if they didn't have time to assemble the student body, there's always an ADE class going on down there, so there will inevitably be people to let us hide with them.

I try hard to convince myself of that.

Our footsteps are nearly silent, especially compared to the alarm. Fear is palpable on the air, clinging to my skin like sweat, just like the distant smell of something metallic. The hall glows with uncertainty.

More than that, everything feels so familiar that it hurts. The floors, the width of the halls, the unidentifiable stains on the trophy case, the ceiling, the plaques with somewhat faded numbers indicating the dorms—it's all familiar. Surreal. I'd like to be able to say that I could close my eyes, breathe in the air, and feel as though I'm home—as though I could forget the past few months ever happened. But even if I wanted to, which I don't, I couldn't. This Marksberg, bathed in scarlet light and tainted with emergency, is not my Marksberg. It's just a twisted, cold replica.

We're almost at a crossroads of halls when someone starts shouting from the opposite corridor.

Draco sucks in a breath. My heart pounds.

I grip his arm harder, glance behind me for hiding spots, and pull us into the nearest dorm room, keeping the door open a crack.

Another shout responds to the first, followed by slapping footsteps, indicating that whoever's speaking is running.

Draco's shaking. We're both breathing much too heavily, yet I can't seem to slow my heartrate down enough to quiet my breaths. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I glance behind us on instinct, only to see a plain, empty dorm room.

The footsteps quiet down, and whoever was yelling stops.

I exhale, feeling relief wash off me in waves. But before I can take a step outside, Draco loops a finger into my collar and pulls me back again.

"What?" I whisper.

He nods out to the hallway. A strip of his face is illuminated in red through the crack of the door.