11. Alex

11 ALEX

“What weapons do you have on you?” I ask Laylen as I pull into the academy’s parking lot.

The rain has let up, but the sky is darkening as the sun descends further behind the mountains. Night classes are beginning, but it’s a break right now, so it’s the perfect time to get in before Professor G. has to teach a class.

“I have a dagger and a knife,” Laylen replies, patting his pockets. “You think we’re going to need weapons? I mean, I’m all for being careful, but dude, it’s a professor. What the heck are we going to do?”

I shrug then shove open the door and step out into the cool night air. “Nothing, hopefully.” I shut the door and meet him around the front of my car.

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and stares at the castle, the windows glowing in the darkness of the night. “So … you kissed her?” He finally speaks the question I know he’s been dying to ask. And it’s the question I’ve been dying not to answer.

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have,” I tell him as we trot up the stairs. “It was really shitty timing on my part.”

“Ya think?” he throws back at me with a smirk. “Dude, it’s so like you to kiss her when doomsday is knocking at our door.”

We reach the double doors, and I push one open, stepping into the hallway. A few students are wandering around with books in their hands, but other than the sounds of soft chatter and footsteps, the air is quiet.

Except …

“Do you hear that humming?” I ask Laylen as he steps up beside me. I scan the walls, the doorways, and the people around us, searching for the source.

Laylen shakes his head as he lets the door swing shut. “No.”

My gaze travels upward to the ceiling, to the upper floor, to where that simulator is that sucked Gemma and I into a vision. Why can I hear it suddenly? And better yet, why can’t Laylen?

“Come on; let’s go find him before he has to teach a class.” I nod for Laylen to follow me as I start down the hallway.

We head for his office first, because it seems like the most probable place he’d be. The door is cracked open, but the lights are off. Assuming he isn’t in there, I start to turn away when I hear a thud from inside.

“Did you hear that?” I ask Laylen as my finger hovers above my waist holster where my knife is secured.

Laylen is flowing with uneasiness as he eyeballs the cracked-open door. “That, I did hear.”

I inch toward the door, taking cautious steps. When I reach it, I carefully push it open. The moonlight is flowing in from the window across from us and casts shadows on the desk and chair. I fumble to find the light switch, but when I flip the light on, I wish I hadn’t.

The professor is slumped over in his chair, lying in a puddle of blood and scattered papers.

And it’s clear that he’s dead.