Three things happened at once. First, the shadows took the form of long rods with blisters in them. Second, fear blocked the air from my throat as I stumbled against the wall. Human instinct and the desperation to live combined. My shoulder slammed against the rough wood, but instead of catching my weight, it swung inward—into a huge, dark cavern behind. And third, the world zipped past my feet as the darkness caught me, and inches from my ankles, metal and glass slammed into the dressing room floor. The shards haven't stopped skittering into a million directions when my elbow slapped an uneven surface. Pain shot up my arm.

"Ow!" I cried. But I haven't finished falling.

The craggy floor turned out to be a staircase leading to a void, and I descended on it with my butt. My hands shot out, fingers clawing for anything to halt my progress. My nails scratched some splinters of a railing. With a grunt, I forced my fingers to wrap around the next baluster. The world stilled, and I clung to that wooden pole like a buoy in the storm.

I caught my breath, chest heaving. My mind lurched into action. Someone tried to kill me out there. Someone...

My eyes widened, making me ignore all the pins and prickles of ache in my muscles. I scrambled up the steps as fast as my scrawny frame afforded me. Whoever they were, they would linger around to see if their plan succeeded. A killer would always check if their victim perished because of their brilliant plan. Not today, shag bag. Not today.

I reached the last step and flailed around. If a wall blocked this hellish basement, it should have swung inward when I dug against it. Hinges whined softly when my knuckles rapped against the slab of wood attached to them. Door. With a quick whip, I slid it closer to the connecting wall, leaving a crack. It was dark. They wouldn't notice.

My breath rang in loud explosions in my ears, heart threatening to clear a way out of my ribs. I squeezed an eye between the meager space, scanning the world outside. One of the stage lights swung down the steel bars hoisting it over the stage. That could only happen if someone sawed the thick ropes holding them in place. To do that...

They must have watched me go in, waited for the right moment, and made quick work of it. If not magic, then it would have been a sharp knife. Or a sword. Plenty of both lingering in the campus hallways.

A different whine rang from the far side of the darkness. Through my barely-adjusted vision, I saw a dark figure whish past the dressing room door I left open. Light footsteps, as if their owner was small. Petite. The hinges cried again when the culprit closed it upon stepping out. On their hand was a ball of light, illuminating the floor but not their face. Before the locks clicked in place, the culprit turned to check their work again. A glint caught on the nightlight's glow.

Sapphire.

The door closed, cutting the meager source of light. I was alone in the darkness again. Better that way. With slow movements, I crept backwards. Each step elicited a painful creak from the wooden stairs, and I continued until my foot hit solid ground once more. A basement, judging from the wide space I felt around me. Thick, musty air sealed off by both the door and the inky shadows assaulted my nose. I coughed, pressing my face to the crook of my arm. With my free hand, I summoned a blaze of fire.

The light from the flickering element bathed my immediate radius with a pale spotlight. My palm was ticklish. Fire has never been my strong element, and summoning natural magic without assistance from source stones was not yet taught to new slates. Which was a bummer, because I learned it for the single purpose of protecting myself in case someone tried to end me. Like...well, three minutes ago.

I swept my hand around, stepped forward once, and repeated the process. The basement had thrice the clutter the dressing room did. The dust was incredible, flinging itself into the air in thick droves with every movement that dared to disturb it. If I didn't come down with an extreme sinus reaction tomorrow, I'd consider it a miracle.

Crates covered with moth-eaten yards of cloth flanked me in all directions, creating a maze-like hedge. Cobwebs reflected slivers of the flames sitting in my hand, watching my every move as I went deeper into the fray. What in the Holy Sword's point did they keep here?

A silver glint flicked at the edge of my vision. Left. I abandoned my current quest, pivoting towards the strange hint. More dust followed in my wake as I tramped towards it. The flames cast my shadow over two things on the floor. Two things that didn't belong in this ancient maze.

The silver glint came from a knife with the hilt covered with thin and faux leather. Beside it was an empty bottle resembling the prescription vial where I stick the Idea Potion in. I crouched, bringing the light closer. The knife was dull, its edge chipped and bent. No sign of blood anywhere. The culprit was a meticulous wart.

I fished a handkerchief from my coat's inner pocket and picked up the bottle with it over my fingers. Under firelight, I turned it over. No label. Rather, it was ripped off cleanly—a sure sign that it was on purpose and with determination.

With my thumb, I popped the cork stopper off and sniffed. The sickly sweet smell of athricorin hit my senses. The naturally-occuring compound was found in many species of Demanthium and was often used to synthesize a number of tonics and potions meant for treating fatigue, headaches, and yes, sleeping draughts. The Idea Vial used a fraction in its earliest trials, but I figured people didn't need to be shut-eyed for ideas to come. Hence, athricorin was scrapped from the formula. Now, it came back to haunt me.

This was more likely a sleeping draught—one I claimed to give to Horace. I stuck it into my breast pocket and straightened. Alyson and I have a lot to talk about when morning comes.

The office door flew open, and I sauntered in without giving regard to who I would find there. A collective hush fell in my wake as I trudged past students chattering about who was pursuing who. My eyes stayed glued to a girl with bobbed blue hair, talking to the sophomore Ethan and I saw yesterday. They looked as if they were in an argument, with Alyson keeping her head low. I couldn't care less.

"Hey, can I borrow Miss Gardner for a second?" I interjected, cutting our senior's sentence about responsibility and accountability, or whatever those two words entailed. "I believe she has an outstanding transaction with me."

The sophomore exhaled a short gust from her nose. "Do what you want, new slate," she said, lowering her crossed arms. "I'm just about done with that slob."

She walked off, and before Alyson could say anything, I grabbed her wrist and led her out of the room. Never mind the excited whispers exploding in our midst. I wasn't here to get her out of her misery. We crossed the corridor and went into the first empty classroom I could find. She squirmed out of my grip, and I let her. "What in a bloody damnation are you doing here, Arlo?" The venom in her voice couldn't have matched the sheepish look in her face. Being born with her features must have earned her the ire of a thousand men. She looked as dangerous as an angry toddler.

"You seem surprised to see me," I replied with a huff, straightening the lapels of my uniform.

She scoffed. "Of course, I'm surprised. No one marches up into the Theater Annex, butts into people's conversations, and drags a girl into an empty classroom." She glanced at the absence of sentient beings to help her out of this situation. Only the cushioned armchairs were our audience as well as the hazy splotches of green and brown vegetation peering from the wide windows behind us.

"Doesn't look like a conversation to me." I crossed my arms. The sleeping drought's bottle dug against my knuckles.

Alyson paced towards the lecturer's table and ran her hands on its polished surface. "Hattie is always like that," she said. "She's strict, and with me being tardy for days on end, she is bound to reprimand me as the prefect."

"Did you have an exciting excursion last night?" I replied, closing the gap between us. With me a head taller, my shadow casted all over her gentle features to reveal the slimy malice underneath. I knew a killer when I saw one, especially when I've lived with them for more than half my life. "Perhaps, you being tardy today has something to do with this?"

She jumped back when I pulled the sheathed knife from my belt. It clattered loudly on the table when I threw it her way. Her hands flew to her mouth, eyebrows meeting together in a worried arch. She whipped towards me. "What—why do you have a weapon? This is a university!"

Tch. She was a Theater major for a reason.

I stalked towards her and watched her shrivel with every step. "I know what you're up to," I said, lowering my voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "And it would benefit you greatly to stop. I don't let my enemies get away with their sanity intact."

Alyson sidestepped me, leaving the influence of my shadow. The sunlight bursting through the tall windows behind me burned my back and drove sweat down my nape. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, hugging herself more to hide her hands than calm herself. "I haven't even seen that knife, much less held it! No matter how hellish my life is, I would never resort to murder."

She raised her eyes to mine, green as strikeviper venom in the summer. "And I certainly won't be going after you," she said. "But threaten me some more, shove your way into my life some more, and I might consider it. That is a threat."

"How many hours did it take you to practice that?" I prodded.

She clawed the air. "Go to hell, Arlo."

"Much obliged," I replied, raising an imaginary goblet to her honor.

A quick gust flew past her lips. "Whatever you think I've done, I didn't do it," she said. "If you want to learn more about knives or weapons in general, I suggest giving Alexi Jansen a visit. He can help you."

Was that just passing the blame to someone else? Alyson was in the dressing room. That sapphire glint wouldn't lie. Those light footsteps wouldn't either. "Why would he help me?" I ventured.

"He has a monograph about weapons made for public use. That looks to be one of them," Alyson explained. "But also because rumor has it he was connected to the underground market for illegal arms. While the Jansen family denies the claim, here at university, rumor is king."

There were three options the truth could take the form of. One—Alexi Jansen had nothing to do with everything. After all, rumors have a habit of being unreliable and unstable. Two—he has something to do with it, proving the rumors correct. And three—he was at the top of things and the rumors and the family denial were his way to cover up his tracks. Hide in plain sight—the first advice in a mastermind's playbook.

What did Andy know about the guy? Perhaps I should pay both of them a visit after all. But maybe after the culprit stopped dropping stage lights on me.

"Tell Hattie thanks for me," I said, pushing past Alyson. Our shoulders touched, but only briefly. On my periphery, the holy sword sitting at the space after her tie disappeared beneath her vest leered at me. I clicked my tongue, ducking out of the room. Before the door shut behind me, Alyson didn't remove her stare from me. She never blinked either.

My steps echoed in the hallway, thundering along with the rage of my thoughts. If Alyson said something right, it was her lack of motive towards me. I didn't know she existed until she ran into me on my way to Mr. Proleau's office. She might have heard of me, studied me from afar, but it wasn't because she wanted my head. We never knew each other, and she has no reason to cut the ropes to the stage lights.

Unless, there was a reason, and I was caught up in her lies to spot it. This was why I never liked Theater majors. They were just like me—all actors in the vast stage called life. And that look she gave me before I left, it was either a cry of help...

Or a cry for blood.