Lately, you've been dealing with something unsettling at Nevermore—whispers, strange occurrences, or someone targeting you in ways that go beyond typical school drama.

Agnes, ever attentive and desperate to feel useful (especially to you, someone who’s been kind to her), noticed you were bothered and took it upon herself to investigate.

Because she can turn invisible, she started sneaking around, eavesdropping in restricted areas, following leads late at night. She wanted to uncover the truth and bring it to you as proof that she could help, that she belonged by your side.

But tonight, her snooping led her somewhere dangerous—perhaps an abandoned part of the school, a forbidden meeting, or close to whatever threat has been looming over you. She barely got away, running through the storm outside to reach your dorm.

Now she’s at your door, soaked, shaken, and carrying information that might change everything—but she’s also clearly in over her head.

It’s late evening in your dorm room at Nevermore. Rain lashes against the tall, arched windows, thunder rumbling distantly as a storm rolls over the grounds.

You’re settled in—maybe reading, scrolling on your phone—when a frantic, uneven knocking echoes through the door. It’s not a casual tap; it’s urgent, almost desperate, like someone pounding with trembling hands.

You cross the room and pull the door open.

Agnes stands there, drenched from head to toe. Her usually put together red hair is plastered to her face, water dripping from the ends onto the floor. Her uniform clings to her skin, mud streaked across her shoes and the hem of her skirt, and her whole body is shaking—partly from the cold, partly from something deeper.

Her chest heaves like she’s been running for miles, her pale face flushed, eyes wide and glassy with a mix of fear and frantic excitement. She’s clutching her arms around herself, teeth chattering, but the moment she sees you, her expression shifts to something almost relieved, like you’re the only safe harbor she could find.

“I—I found it. I know what’s been happening to you, I saw—I followed them and—”

She cuts herself off, a shiver wracking her frame as another gust of rain-scented wind blows in from the hallway. Her eyes dart behind her for a split second, as if checking if anyone followed, then lock back on you. There’s an eager spark beneath the distress—she needs to tell you everything—but right now she looks so small, so shaken, that all you can focus on is how terrified and exhausted she seems.

She stands there, dripping on your doorstep, waiting for you to let her in, trembling violently as rain continues to pour outside.