A light drizzle pattered against the windowpane, tapping in soft, rhythmic fingers. The girls' bedroom was warm and dim, steeped in the gentle amber glow of two flickering candles placed safely on saucers. Someone had draped a sheet between the two beds like a curtain, and Jonathan had climbed behind it dramatically, declaring it his “tent of solitude,” only to fall asleep moments later, snoring quietly.

Cedric sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, sketchbook balanced on his knees. His pencil danced softly across the page, occasionally smudging as he shaded the outline of a tree that curled like smoke.

Beatrice lay on her stomach, feet in the air, idly tracing circles in the fabric of her pillow. Her eyes were tired but peaceful — the aftermath of emotional release. Lilith sat beside her, flipping through one of her poetry books, pausing now and then to share a line aloud that made her smile.

Alice was stretched out across the floor like a cat, a worn deck of playing cards spread in front of her. She had long given up trying to get anyone to play and had resorted to flipping them one by one, muttering, “Queen of hearts—dead. King of spades—boring. Jack of clubs—definitely Charles,” and throwing them over her shoulder.

It was one of those rare, gentle moments between them — where the world outside was forgotten, and time was allowed to slow.

“So,” Cedric said, not looking up from his sketch, “has anyone actually read the assignment for Mr Adley’s essay?”

“No,” Lilith replied flatly.

Beatrice gave a sigh into her pillow. “I started. Then I stopped. Then I napped.”

Jonathan stirred behind the sheet. “If I die because of a boring essay, avenge me.”

“You’re awake?” Alice rolled onto her back.

“No,” he grumbled, pushing the sheet aside and crawling out. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was buttoned unevenly. “But I will be if someone brings me a biscuit.”

“There are no biscuits,” said Cedric.

Jonathan groaned and flopped face-down onto the floor next to Alice. “Then I shall perish.”

A light laugh travelled around the room. It was the kind of sound that made the candlelight feel warmer.

Then Jonathan’s tone shifted.

“Oh—wait. I nearly forgot. I heard something weird at lunch.”

Beatrice sat up slightly. “What?”

He glanced around, as if to check they were alone — even though they always were. “I was sneaking extra stew in the back kitchen when two teachers came in. I hid behind the bread rack.”

“Obviously,” muttered Cedric.

“They didn’t see me,” Jonathan went on. “But they were whispering. Really low. I could only hear pieces.”

He sat up now, his usual cheeky grin gone.

“They said… three girls. Missing.”

The room stilled.

Alice propped herself up on her elbows. “Missing? Since when?”

“Didn’t say,” Jonathan replied. “But they sounded worried. Really worried.”

Beatrice slowly rose to sit fully upright, her fingers clutching at the blanket. Lilith placed a gentle hand over hers.

“Three,” Beatrice repeated quietly.

“Could be a rumour,” Cedric said, but his voice lacked conviction.

“It’s not,” Jonathan murmured. “You should’ve seen their faces. One of them — I think it was Miss Talbot — she looked like she was going to cry.”

Silence.

The rain outside had stopped, but the air still felt heavy.

“Why wouldn’t they tell us?” Lilith whispered.

“Because,” Alice said grimly, “they don’t want a panic.”

Beatrice shivered.

No one said the names they were all thinking.

Elizabeth.
Annabelle.
And now… three more.

Cedric closed his sketchbook. “Maybe we should go back to the attic tonight.”

“No,” Beatrice said softly but firmly. “Not yet. Let’s stay here.”

No one argued.

Instead, they stayed huddled in their little room, close to one another, pretending for a while longer that everything was still safe — that stories were just stories, and monsters stayed in books.

But they all felt it.

Something was wrong at Ashbury.

And it was getting closer.