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Detention. That was all Clementine could think about from the second he woke up to the moment he was eating breakfast. He sat at the table in his dormitory lounge and stared down into his cereal. Every time the clink of Elliot's spoon against his bowl broke the silence, he felt himself grow a little angrier, but he did his best to contain his frustration.

          "It'll be over before we know it," Elliot said with a shrug, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Clementine.

          "Two hours sounds like forever," he grumbled, scooping some of his tiny fish-shaped cereal onto his spoon.

          Elliot finished his bowl and leaned back in his seat. "Well, I'm sure Professor Quincy will have us do something—like an essay or...work of some sort. Maybe the time will go by faster if we have something to concentrate on."

          "And if he doesn't?"

          "Then...well, I guess we just sit there."

          Clementine sighed and ate a spoonful of his cereal, but that was enough to make him feel full. He pushed his bowl away and crossed his arms.

          "Are you still up for that little lesson later?" Elliot asked him.

          "What?"

          "You wanted me to teach you and the others a little about how to tell who is what by looking at them."

          "Oh, right. Yeah."

          "We'll meet Mavis and Mathew afterwards. I told them to meet us outside the classroom at twelve," he said, glancing down at Clementine's bowl. "Are you done with that?"

          Clementine looked down at it too and shrugged. "Yeah."

          With a greedy smile, Elliot pulled Clementine's bowl closer and started finishing his cereal off. "I'm starving," he mumbled, milk seeping down his chin.

          Rolling his eyes, Clementine got up and grabbed his turtleneck. He pulled it on over his head, and by time he'd done that, Elliot had finished his leftovers.

          "I guess we should head down," the spotty-faced kid said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

          Clementine slipped his hand into his pocket, ensuring his pill-filled pen was inside. Then, he nodded and followed Elliot over to the door. As he pulled it open, they were greeted by Mathew's towering body—they both flinched, staring up at the lanky boy as he sluggishly lifted his hand in greeting.

          "Good morning," he said quietly.

          "Morning, Mathew," Elliot said with a smile.

          "Morning," Clementine mumbled.

          "Didn't Mavis want to walk with us?" Elliot asked as he pulled the dorm door shut and locked it.

          Mathew shook his head. "She wanted to sleep in."

          Clementine wished he could sleep in, but he had no choice in the matter. He wanted to complain—this whole thing was Elliot's fault, but that would get him nowhere, and he didn't exactly have the energy to listen to Elliot's whiney voice right now, either. So, he followed in silence as they headed through the quiet academy and towards Professor Quincy's classroom.

          When they reached the class, there were already four other students waiting outside. The two girls shot evil glares at one another while the boys projected polar energy: one fiddled nervously with his sleeves while the other stood with his arms crossed and his back against the wall, tapping his foot on the floor. Clementine didn't recognize any of them, but that was a good thing. The last coincidence he needed right now was to be sharing two hours in a classroom with one of Ian's goons or the people that had gotten Carmichael, Bernard, and Stanley expelled.

          "Do you want me to wait out here?" Mathew offered as they stopped a few feet from the timid boy, who lifted his head to glance over at them.

          "You don't have to," Elliot said. "I'm sure you have something to do—don't you have chess or something?"

          Mathew shook his head. "I don't mind missing two hours of a hobby to make sure my new friends are safe."

          "Yeah," Clementine blurted before Elliot could say no.

          They both looked at him.

          "You never know what might happen. The last thing we want is someone walking past and seeing us in there," he said, nodding at the classroom windows. "Like Ian or Connor."

          "True," Elliot said quietly. "Then they'd wait for us around a corner or something—b-but what if he sees us, sees Mathew, and then runs off to gather up a group big enough to fight you?" he asked in panic, looking up at Mathew.

          "No group is too big for me to handle," Mathew said confidently. "I will sit over there." He pointed to a bench across from the classroom door.

          "Are you sure?" Elliot asked.

          He nodded.

          "Okay," he agreed. "Thanks, Mathew."

          "We can all go get Mavis once we're done," Clementine said.

          "Sounds good," Elliot agreed as Mathew nodded again.

          The sound of boots echoing down the hall snatched everyone's attention. They all turned their heads, watching as Professor Quincy strolled up the hall in an outfit much more casual than his usual suit and ankle-length cape. A white shirt, a beige cardigan and balmoral shoes to match. He didn't look nearly as intimidating, but Clementine was sure the man's lighter appearance wasn't going to make him any less sincere.

          "I see you all made it—well done," the professor called, but when his eyes met with Mathew, he frowned. "I don't believe you should be here," he said, unlocking the classroom door.

          "He just walked us here," Elliot said.

          Quincy's eyes shot to him. "I didn't say you could speak, Mr Davis."

          Elliot frowned in embarrassment and hid behind Clementine as the other four kids looked over at him.

          Clementine rolled his eyes.

          "In you go," the professor said, holding the door open.

          As they all headed inside, Clementine glanced over at Mathew, who sat on the bench he'd earlier pointed to. Was he just going to sit there for two hours? Clementine knew that if he were in Mathew's position, he'd lose his will after just twenty minutes—maybe not even that.

          He held back a sigh as he entered the room and headed to the back of the class and took his seat. But as Elliot went to sit next to him—

          "Uh-uh," came Professor Quincy's voice. "Don't you learn from your mistakes, Mr Davis? Have you forgotten that sitting beside Mr Darlington is why you're here in the first place?"

          Elliot, who had pulled out his seat beside Clementine, froze in horror as he turned to face the professor.

          "Up here," Quincy called, tapping the desk right at the front of the class with a ruler he'd taken off his table.

          As he was told, Elliot hurried to the desk and sat down.

          Once everyone had taken their seats, Professor Quincy snatched a large piece of chalk from his desk and started rapidly scribbling onto the whiteboard.

          The sound was enough to make Clementine cringe, and as his left eye started twitching, he tried his best to focus on something else...but even the creaking walls and howling breeze outside couldn't mask the scraping and scratching.

          "Rules!" Quincy yelled.

          Everyone flinched, even Clementine. They stared ahead, watching the professor's every move.

          "There aren't very many, but those that are in place here are very compulsory," the professor said sternly, glaring out at them all. Behind him, he'd written what looked like a set of rules on the board. He pointed to the first. "One: All students will respect their professors and the rules of their classroom. This includes no talking," he said, glancing at Elliot and then Clementine, "while lesson is in session. Two: No smuggling in notes to cheat on quizzes," he said, glaring at the blonde girl. "Three: no eating in classrooms that contain harmful substances," he grumbled, looking over at the nervous boy, who was fiddling with his sleeves under the table. "And four: No passing around silly little love notes in the middle of class!" he shouted, glaring at the aggravated-looking boy and the other, auburn-haired girl.

          Clementine leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. Were these two hours going to be spent discussing rules? If so, he was certain he was going to fall asleep.

          Professor Quincy took five notebooks from his desk and some pencils. "For the next two hours, each of you will fill these books with the rules you see written on the board," he called, slamming the first notebook down onto Elliot's desk. "If you're not finished by time those two hours are up, then you will remain here until you are," he said, placing a pencil atop the notebook. Then, he slammed another onto the auburn-haired girl's desk. "And if you finish before, you will start another book," he called coldly. "I don't want to see any pencils off the paper. So, let's hope your time-management skills are as good as those you have for rule-breaking," he uttered, slamming another book down, and then another, and then the last onto Clementine's desk. "Get to work!" he bellowed.

          As Quincy stormed back to his desk, Clementine picked up his pencil and opened his empty notebook. The sound of scratching pencils immediately filled the room, and he could pretty much see the panic oozing off Elliot and the shy kid. He didn't feel intimidated, though. It was simple. Fill in eight-tenths of the book swiftly, and then he could take his time with the rest to ensure he had it ready when the two hours were up.

          He started writing, glancing at the board, and once he'd written the same sentences enough times, he didn't have to glance at them anymore.

          When he'd filled in a few pages, though, his mind began to wander. He'd made some progress last night. The idea still wasn't confirmed, but he was ninety-nine per cent convinced that the academy grew cold every time a kid died. Not only that, but he'd also found where the student files were kept. He may not have uncovered any Ravenblood last night, be he was confident that the next time he went up there, he'd find who and what he was looking for.

          However, there had been something in those files that had grasped his attention. Huxley. He'd seen the name Huxley, which had to mean Professor Huxley had a kid attending as a student. But who? He was undeniably curious, but it wasn't something he was going to look into. It didn't matter. It wasn't going to affect his mission here.

          He flipped onto the next page and kept writing. What he should be thinking about was how precarious he needed to be. Ian was still out for his head—he hadn't forgotten about his threat, and although having Mathew around made him feel a little more secure, he'd still be alone at night when he went back to look at the files. He also needed to find death caps, and he was pretty sure bringing Mathew along wasn't an option there, either. Clementine was sure Mathew would ask him questions he didn't want to answer, and for all he knew, Mathew might report him if he suspected he was gathering mushrooms to kill someone.

          As he flipped to another page, he dragged his hand over his forehead in frustration. Should he try to rope Mathew into helping him? No...the kid was big and threatening, but from the things he'd said, Clementine had deduced that he was much like Elliot and wouldn't condone his plan to murder people, despite it being as common at Aldergrove as tweed blazers and turtlenecks.

          Once again, he found himself wondering if he even needed help, and when he remembered what had happened with Ian and Sebastien, he scowled irritably. He'd been caught off-guard too many times for his comfort...but he could learn from that—he would learn from that. He'd not wander around alone anymore unless he really had to, and when he had to, he'd put every ounce of effort into making sure he wasn't being followed. He'd done just fine last night, after all.

          Flipping to another page, he sharpened his pencil and continued writing. He was going to look at those files again tonight, and once he knew who all the Ravenblood here were, he'd get those death caps and use them to take one out—maybe more. All he had to do was get through the day...and it was already dragging on.

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