Immortal Consequences(92)

Wren knew she should just keep walking.

It was pointless. The four eliminated nominees were most likely unconscious, their bodies healing while they were kept in a vegetative state.

Yet despite knowing that, Wren found herself walking closer and closer to Asphodel, until she was standing right in front of the building. She clenched her hands into tight fists, inhaling a slow and steadying breath.

Going inside would be a risk—one that could get her eliminated. But she couldn’t shut off her cursed empathy. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the eliminated nominees missing out on the rest of the Decennial. About them spending months cooped up in the infirmary, ruminating on what they could have done differently. If it were her in there, she’d want someone to visit.

She’d want to feel less alone.

Just a quick visit, Wren assured herself as she approached the steps, her mind made up.

The first protective barrier around the main door was rather easy to dismantle—well, at least by Wren’s standards. It was a multilayer ward that required a bit of tinkering near the end of the spell, but after a few seconds, the lock clicked open.

Wren pushed past the initial wave of exhaustion and stepped inside, listening intently.

She could hear two voices from upstairs—the low murmur bouncing around the otherwise empty building. She wasn’t surprised to see it almost deserted. Most people, faculty included, were either getting ready for the ball or already on their way.

Wren slowly made her way up the staircase to the second floor. She peered cautiously around the corner, keeping close to the shadows.

At the far end of the corridor, right in front of the infirmary doors, were two Ascended.

Everly Hawthorne and Paolo Valle.

“It’s just so unfair,” Everly whined, stomping her foot on the floor. “Why did we have to get chosen?”

“It’s just the rotation,” said Paolo, sounding a bit annoyed. “Next Decennial, it’ll be someone else.”

“I know that, but still.” Everly groaned and pressed her head back against the doors. “It’s not like any of them are going to come here tonight, anyway. They signed the soul vow. They have to go to the ball.”

Wren leaned closer. Is she talking about the nominees?

Paolo sighed. “Yes…but remember what happened three cycles ago? That girl…what was her name—”

“May Westfield.”

Wren racked her brain, but she couldn’t pinpoint the name.

Paolo nodded. “She broke the soul vow to come visit her boyfriend, remember? It took weeks to clean up the mess that happened after. She had told five different students. It was a disaster.”

What the hell are they talking about? Wren wondered silently. She tried to make sense of their words, but she was clearly missing a vital piece of information. She shook off the confusion and refocused her attention on the task at hand.

An idea sparked in her mind.

Wren lifted her hands and called upon her illusionary magic. The sugarcoated scent filled her lungs, briefly clouding her senses. The violet runes sprouted from her fingertips, iridescent threads dancing in the air like glowing webs. She constructed two separate illusions. A boy and a girl. They had no discernible face or identity, but they were just real enough to look convincing if seen at a distance. The vague outline of two students.

She sent the first illusion running to the left of the corridor, the wispy form moving as she whispered the instructions softly beneath her breath. The sound was a thunderous echo in the quiet hall, footsteps pounding against wooden floorboards.

Everly and Paolo snapped their heads up in unison.

“Shit.” Everly craned her head to the left. “Did you hear that?”

“Go check it out. I’ll stand guard and make sure that—”

Wren quickly sent the second illusion running in the opposite direction, a second set of footsteps resounding in the air.

Paolo glanced to the right. “There’s two of them.”

“Go,” Everly instructed, frantically waving her hand. “But be quick.”

To Wren’s immense relief, her plan worked. Everly and Paolo sprinted in different directions, following the illusions.

She didn’t waste any time, softly tiptoeing toward the infirmary doors. She held her breath, praying the hinges wouldn’t creak. But when she opened the doors, not a sound was heard, and she slipped into the room like a shadow, silent and undetected.

A sterile white room greeted her. There were no windows. No natural light. Iron sconces lined the empty walls, sending orange-soaked rays of light throughout the room. There were about a dozen beds stationed along the perimeter, each concealed by a gauzy curtain.

Wren walked up to the first bed, peering behind the curtain.

It was a boy she didn’t recognize. His skin was ashen, and his body was littered with gashes that had begun to heal, his brown hair still stained with oxidized blood. Wren closed the curtain and kept moving.

She approached the next bed, expecting to see one of the eliminated nominees on the other side, but when she opened the curtain, she was met with yet another face she didn’t recognize.

That can’t be right.

It went on like this for a few minutes. Wren pulling back the curtain, only to be faced with an empty bed or another fallen student, though none were the faces she was expecting to see.