Nevermore was quiet after curfew.
Too quiet.
Dirk had been on his way back to his dorm when the summons came—an envelope slipped under his door, the handwriting elegant, deliberate.
My office. Now.
— L. Weems
---
The Summons
The Headmistress' office was nothing like the rest of Nevermore. The gothic arches and cold stone melted into warmth here: rich rugs, flickering firelight, shelves packed with tomes older than the academy itself.
Weems stood behind her desk, tall and statuesque in a midnight-blue dress. Her silver hair glimmered in the firelight, her expression composed but sharp.
"Dirk," she said smoothly, gesturing for him to sit. "Or should I say… Mr. Sanchez. You've become quite the topic of discussion."
Dirk lowered himself into the chair opposite her, his size dwarfing the furniture. His voice was steady, calm. "Rumors spread quickly in a cage."
A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Nevermore is no cage. It's a crucible. And I intend to know what you'll become once you've passed through it."
---
The Probing
Her gaze pinned him, sharp enough to strip flesh from bone. "You held back in the duel today. Quite… significantly."
Dirk didn't flinch. "Ajax is reckless, but not my enemy. Hurting him would have been pointless."
"Interesting," Weems murmured, pacing slowly around him. "Mercy and discipline. Rare qualities in someone your age. But what strikes me is not what you did—but what you didn't."
Dirk's eyes followed her, steady as ever. "And what didn't I do?"
"You didn't reveal yourself. Not fully. Which means you have something to hide."
---
The Tension
The fire popped in the hearth, filling the silence. Weems stopped behind his chair, close enough for Dirk to feel the faint warmth of her presence.
"You've drawn Wednesday's attention," she said softly. "And Enid's trust. Two girls as different as day and night… yet both orbit you."
Dirk said nothing.
Weems leaned down slightly, her voice lowering to a murmur near his ear. "And now, you have mine."
Dirk's jaw tightened. "That sounds like suspicion."
"It is," she admitted, lips curving faintly. "But also… interest."
---
The Shift
Dirk stood then, his height forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Shadows and firelight danced across his sharp features, making him look more myth than man.
"You want answers," he said.
Weems folded her arms, unshaken. "I want the truth. Whatever you are, Mr. Sanchez, Nevermore deserves to know if it's sheltering a wolf among sheep."
Dirk's eyes glinted, unreadable. "Then perhaps you should stop asking whether I'm a wolf… and start asking what hunts the wolves."
For the first time, Larissa Weems felt the air shift—not from fear, but from something more dangerous.
Intrigue.
---
The Unspoken
Silence lingered, thick with tension.
Finally, Weems stepped back, smoothing her dress as if nothing had passed between them.
"Very well," she said smoothly. "I won't press tonight. But know this: I see you, Dirk Sanchez. More than the others do. And I intend to see everything, sooner or later."
Dirk gave a faint nod, already turning for the door.
"And when you do," he said quietly, "you may wish you hadn't."
The door closed behind him, leaving Weems alone in the firelight.
For the first time in years, the Headmistress felt something stir in her chest. Not fear. Not control.
Fascination.