The thin morning mist hadn't yet lifted from the streets of Jericho when three trembling, curled-up figures were unceremoniously dumped onto the cold stone steps of the Sheriff's station.
It was Lucas, Marcus, and Tom.
There were no visible wounds on their bodies—hardly even a bruise—but their eyes were hollow and unfocused, as if their souls had been siphoned out, leaving behind only traumatized shells.
Last night, they had experienced the literal definition of being "beaten within an inch of their lives."
It had been an endless cycle of fists, claws, hypnosis, and even brief bouts of petrification.
Every time they felt like they were about to black out or die, a warm, gentle energy would flood their bodies, pulling them back from the brink and instantly healing every injury.
And then—right on cue—the next round of "education" would begin.
This loop of infinite, regenerative suffering was far more terrifying than simply being beaten half to death once.
Pinned to Lucas's collar with a thumbtack was a long scroll of parchment.
It listed a detailed, itemized valuation of the property damage from the Rave'N, ranging from the custom tailoring fees for Enid's ombré star-dust gown to a limited-edition pair of sneakers belonging to a werewolf student that had been ruined by paint. Nothing was left out.
At the very top of the list, bolded for emphasis, were three massive claims:
Victorian Antique Gown "Whisper of the Raven": $185,000
Bespoke British Charcoal Check Suit: $12,000
"Tears of the Deep" Sapphire Necklace: $152,000
At the bottom was a scribbled smiley face next to a small postscript:
> "Friendly Reminder: You have three days. If payment is overdue, the next debt collector might be the 'other one' with the bad temper. (He prefers to accept debtors as payment directly.)"
When the officer on duty found them, the three boys reacted to the sight of the uniform like startled birds. They huddled together, sobbing and begging incoherently.
"Stop hitting us! We won't do it again! We'll pay! We'll pay whatever you want! Just please, don't let the monsters come back!"
Clearly, Nevermore Academy's "Open-Air Rehabilitation Program" was highly effective and had left deep, lasting psychological scars.
---
Nevermore Academy, Dormitory Hallway.
Vic rubbed his temples, which were still throbbing with a phantom ache, and pushed open the door to his dorm.
Splitting his consciousness to pilot two separate bodies simultaneously, while enduring the amplified love from "Serum" and the destructive impulses of "Riot," was an experience comparable to cramming for an Advanced Potions final while a hundred Mandrakes screamed directly into his ears.
The hangover was intense.
"Vic!"
Enid, who had been waiting by the door, lit up. She instinctively moved to pounce on him for a hug but slammed on the brakes at the last second.
A trace of hesitation flickered in her bright blue eyes. She looked up and down at this seemingly whole, reintegrated Vic and whispered tentatively:
"Um... are you... my Vic right now? or the bossy one?"
A pitch-black, viscous tentacle popped out of Vic's shoulder, lazily waved left and right, and answered for him in a raspy voice that sounded like gravel in a blender:
"Morning, Wolf-Girl. I've got this meat-sack back now."
"Venom! You're finally awake!"
Enid let out a sigh of relief and waved happily at the tentacle.
But almost immediately, a look of sadness washed over her face. She lowered her head, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"So... I guess... the gentle Vic that belonged to me is gone."
The Vic who called her "Princess," whose eyes were filled with undisguised love and care—it seemed he had vanished along with the potion's effects.
Seeing her dejected look, Vic suddenly took a step forward. With natural elegance, he took her hand and bowed his head, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.
When he looked up, the usual chaotic gleam in his eyes was still there, but deep within it, the gentle foundation from yesterday had settled clearly into place.
"My lovely Princess," he said, holding her gaze, his voice warm. "I still belong to you. I never left."
"What?" Enid's eyes went wide with surprise. She thought she had misheard.
"But... didn't the potion wear off? I thought Serum and Riot were..."
"Oh, Enid," Vic chuckled, his fingertips lightly tracing the back of her hand.
"The potions and the symbiotes didn't create feelings out of thin air, nor did they change who I am. Serum simply amplified the love and gentleness already in my heart. Riot amplified my possessiveness and desire to protect."
"The effects are gone, but those emotions—the ones that were magnified so I could feel them clearly—didn't disappear. They made me realize exactly what you and Wednesday mean to me."
His tone grew serious, carrying a trace of yesterday's amplified, undeniable obsession.
"It made me realize that if my world lost either one of you, I would go completely insane."
In those eyes, which usually danced with mockery or chaos, two distinct but equally scorching flames now burned clearly—madness and affection. They blended perfectly, making him more dangerous and lethally attractive than either of his split selves had been yesterday.
Perhaps the residue of the potion was still lingering. Perhaps not.
But right now, Vic Black was more lucidly crazy than he had ever been.
Enid's eyes instantly rimmed with red before she broke into a dazzling, teary smile.
"That is... absolute trash as far as love confessions go."
Laughing through her tears, she punched him lightly on the shoulder.
"But... fine. As long as it's you, I don't care."
She took a deep breath, then suddenly turned her head to look at Wednesday, who had been standing silently in the room, seemingly detached but observing everything.
The familiar, challenging spark reignited on Enid's face.
"But Wednesday!"
Enid declared, her tone firm.
"Even so, the war between us isn't over! I'm not just going to hand him over to you!"
Hearing this, Wednesday slowly turned her head.
On her typically stoic, emotionless face, a rare flicker of interest passed—like a scientist discovering a particularly complex puzzle that suited her tastes.
Her gaze swept over the undisguised greed and affection in Vic's eyes before finally meeting Enid's challenge.
"Obviously."
Wednesday's voice was as steady as ever, but it carried a cold, inevitable sharpness.
"Although Mr. Black's sudden candor and... startling greed... have slightly exceeded my initial calculations."
She tilted her chin up slightly, asserting sovereignty over a rare collectible.
"But regarding this unique 'trophy,' I intend to be the first—and the one to complete the final appraisal."
The air in the dorm seemed to freeze.
Determined fire burned in Enid's eyes; icy resolve hardened in Wednesday's pupils.
The smoke of war drifted silently between them.
Caught in the middle, the corners of Vic's mouth slowly curled into a smile so bright it bordered on maniacal.
He extended his arms, naturally wrapping them around both girls, pulling the two very different forces of nature against him.
"Arguments are meaningless, my dear ladies."
His voice was light, yet it held the unquestionable certainty of a universal truth.
"The order of the tasting never affects who owns the feast."
"Because from beginning to end, this feast—"
He lowered his head slightly, his gaze lingering on Enid's lips, parted in surprise, and then on Wednesday's profile—cold, yet notably not pulling away. His smile grew wilder.
"—and the host throwing the feast, will only, and wants only, to belong to you."
Venom popped his head out of the collar of Vic's shirt, rolled his massive white eyes, and muttered in a deep, grumbling bass.
"Here we go again... lines so cheesy they make me want to barf chocolate..."
But the symbiote didn't retract. If anything, he seemed to be... giving a silent thumbs up?
Enid's cheeks flushed crimson. Wednesday's eyelashes fluttered almost imperceptibly, and the corner of her tightly pressed lips seemed to relax by a millimeter.
The war was far from over.
But in this moment, with his unique blend of madness and sincerity, Vic had secured... perhaps not peace, but a very complicated "Ceasefire Agreement."