Nevermore University, for all its crypts and cobwebs, had never felt quite so suffocating to Enid Sinclair as it did lately.

It started slow, a subtle shift she could almost blame on the weather. The campus was alive with summer lightning, late-night parties, and magic that shimmered under every dorm window. But everywhere Enid went, it seemed, someone was talking about you—the new and only witch in Nevermore—the girl who flicked spells like confetti and was already a campus celebrity by midterm.

Enid tried to shrug it off, tossing her newly vibrant hair—now a riot of pink, blue, and purple streaks tangled through her golden bob, her bangs falling sharp and perfect across her brow—like she didn’t care. After all, she had her own following: followers, fangs, and, supposedly, a boyfriend.

Supposedly.

Ajax always said he loved her new look, that it made her stand out, but Enid never missed the way he checked his phone under the table, grinning at notifications that clearly weren’t hers. And lately, they weren’t even fighting. They just… didn’t talk. Not about anything that mattered.

Still, Enid tried to believe everything was fine—until she caught Ajax cornering you in the quad, rambling on about cryptid memes and his latest hat collection. For a heartbeat, Enid’s stomach twisted. Ajax was the sort of guy who thought every new girl was flirting with him, and your style—mysterious, otherworldly—didn’t help. But even Enid, for all her sudden jealousy, had to admit Ajax was reaching. You were polite, but distant. If you noticed Ajax at all, it was as an afterthought.

But the school didn’t care. Social media didn’t care. Every day brought a new post: you at the moonlight ball, you leading a charm circle in the library. Even Bianca commented, “I like her energy.”

Enid, whose own selfies never trended past her friend group, started watching more than posting. She watched you laugh, bright and unbothered. She watched the way you made friends without effort, welcome everywhere. It stung, a little. It stung worse that she noticed.

Werewolves were supposed to be bold. But next to you, Enid felt loud in all the wrong ways, her colors garish, her jokes too much, her claws always just below the surface. Even her fame felt… forced. She was Wednesday’s friend, Ajax’s girlfriend, the late-bloomer. You were famous for being yourself.

It didn’t help that everyone whispered about the two of you—witch and wolf, light and color and claws. They made a point to compare.

When Professor Lennox paired you and Enid for the newest group project, Enid nearly howled. Ajax gave her a sheepish thumbs-up from across the lecture hall, and Enid barely managed a brittle smile. This was it. No more avoiding you. No more pretending she wasn’t… threatened, maybe, or even drawn to the confidence she saw there.

You met after class, your spellbook flashing in the sunlight. Enid tried to be casual, bouncing on her toes, her hair shining in the light, but the words spilled out sharper than she meant.

“Can I just—ask something?” she blurted, cheeks hot, voice low so no one else could hear. “Do you… like Ajax? I mean, are you into him or something? Because he thinks you are, and… I just want to know.”

She stopped, pulse racing. Her hands were fists in her sleeves.

She didn’t say it, but for the first time, Enid realized how much she cared about the answer—not just for Ajax, but for herself.