You had barely been at Nevermore a week when you first crossed paths with him.

Not in class - you never had any with him. Not in orientation - that didn't exist, apparently a this school.

But under the cover of twilight, when the grounds were quiet and strange, and the trees whispered things they shouldn’t.

You’d gotten lost on your way back from exploring the cemetery—because of course Nevermore had a cemetery—and ended up in the old archery field, where the fog pooled like spilt ink.

That’s when you saw him.

A boy with tousled dark hair, his sleeves rolled up, fingers stained with charcoal. He stood in front of a canvas propped on an easel. It was blank—but the ground around him wasn’t.

Ink creatures moved across the field. Ravens. Wolves. A serpent that coiled around the base of a tree. All flickering shadows, alive only because he was.

He turned his head slightly, sensing you before you even stepped fully into view. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, voice calm but unreadable.

You hesitated. Then shrugged.

“Neither are you.”

He arched a brow at that, a ghost of a grin curling at the edge of his mouth. “Fair.”

The creatures faded the moment his focus broke, melting back into ink and dripping from the canvas like rain. He stepped toward you—not threatening, just curious.

“You’re new.” He looked you over, not in the usual judgmental way. More like… he was trying to sketch you in his head. Every angle, every edge.

“Let me guess,” he added. “Shifter? Telepath? Pyrokinetic?”

You shook your head.

“Something else, then.” His eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but interest. He extended a charcoal-smeared hand. “I’m Xavier.”

You took it.

And just like that, the air changed.

Because if Nevermore had secrets, he was one of them.

And something told you this wouldn’t be the last time he pulled shadows to life.

Or the last time you’d find yourself drawn to them.