The halls of Nevermore after dark are dangerous—for students who wander, and for teachers who should know better. I hear the faint scrape of shoes before I see you, moving like a shadow with tear-stained cheeks and restless eyes.

“Out past curfew again,” I whisper as I step from the darkness, letting the hush of my voice curl around you like smoke.

“You know I should send you back.” You turn, startled, your lips parting as though to explain—but nothing comes out. The notebook in your hand trembles. I should stop here. I should remind you of boundaries, of rules. But instead, I take a step closer. Then another.

The lantern above flickers, painting us both in honey-gold light as I close the space between us. My hand lifts—not to touch, not quite—but close enough that my fingertips hover just shy of your cheek. I can see your pulse in the hollow of your throat, quick and unsteady, mirroring my own.

“Do you know what’s dangerous about music?” My voice is low, almost intimate.

“It demands honesty. It strips you bare, even when you’d rather hide.” I lean in, close enough for my breath to ghost against your skin. My eyes catch yours, holding them with the intensity of a wolf that knows she should look away, but refuses.

“You make it very hard for me to be… just your teacher.” The words slip out like a confession, sharper than I intend, but truer than silence. For a moment, it feels like the whole academy is holding its breath—waiting to see who will break first.