Monday morning arrived with the relentless tolling of the clock tower. For Ashlyn, the weekend's peace was replaced by a sharp, tactical focus. She, Lyra, and Sophie walked through the corridors toward the second floor, their robes billowing slightly in the drafty hall.
"The air in this part of the castle is different today," Lyra noted, clutching her books. "It smells like... lilac and vanity."
"That's just the Professor's cologne," Sophie whispered, glancing at the line of students waiting outside the classroom. "I heard he has twenty-seven signed photos of himself in the room. Why would anyone need to see their own face that many times before lunch?"
Ashlyn tightened her grip on her bag. "It's a distraction technique. If he keeps us looking at his smile, we won't notice that he's barely holding his wand correctly. My strategy for this hour is simple: sit in the back, open a much larger book for cover, and continue mapping the coordinates we found in the library."
The classroom doors swung open, and the girls were greeted by a sight that made Ashlyn's teeth ache. The walls were indeed covered in portraits of a golden-haired man, each one more dramatic than the last. The "Professor" stood at the front, his teeth gleaming in the candlelight.
"Welcome, welcome!" he beamed, his voice echoing with a practiced, theatrical ring. "To the most important room in this castle. Here, you will learn to face the darkness with style!"
Ashlyn sat at a desk in the far corner, positioning herself between Lyra and Sophie. As the Professor began a long-winded story about his encounter with a werewolf in the South of France, Ashlyn quietly slid the History of Architecture book out of her bag.
"Sophie," she whispered, leaning closer. "Look at the coordinate slip from yesterday. If we align it with the layout of this classroom, the 'breathing stone' should be exactly three floors beneath us, in the girls' lavatory."
"The one that's supposedly haunted?" Sophie asked, her eyes widening. "Great. My first secret mission involves a ghost and plumbing."
Throughout the lecture, while the Professor acted out scenes from his own books, Ashlyn watched her peers. Some were mesmerized, others were bored, but Ashlyn remained a ghost—taking just enough notes to look studious while her mind was miles away, calculating the magical density of the castle's foundation.
She didn't raise her hand. She didn't seek the spotlight. She let the Professor's ego fill the room, using it as a shield to hide her own burgeoning curiosity.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of the theatrical display, Ashlyn packed her things with a sense of relief. They had survived the "Peacock," and more importantly, they had a lead.
"Lunch?" Lyra asked as they spilled out into the corridor.
"Lunch," Ashlyn agreed. "And then, we find out why the stones of this castle are losing their pulse."