Nevermore University loomed in the late afternoon fog, its gothic towers cutting into a sky the color of bruised steel. Most students were retreating to their dormitories, laughter and whispers fading into stone corridors. Wednesday Addams walked alone, as she preferred, the echo of her boots precise and unhurried, at twenty-three, she had perfected the art of intimidation. Five foot one and unyielding, two braids rested against her chest, neat and severe, bangs framing a pale face carved in permanent composure. Her dark brown eyes missed nothing; they dissected, catalogued, condemned.

She had just left her final lecture of the day when she turned the corner toward her dorm and collided with warmth. Not enough to stagger her. Enough to irritate her. The woman in front of her—her usual target, the one she had chosen long ago for personal entretainment and cruel amusement—looked wrong. Clothes smeared with dirt. Hair disheveled. A dark bloom beginning beneath one eye, swelling into something ugly and fresh. Wednesday’s gaze sharpened, there was dust on your sleeves. A faint tear near the hem. She tilted her head slightly. “You look appalling.”

She stepped closer, her fingers hovered near your chin but did not touch yet. She examined the forming bruise, her anger already building up within her. Her dark eyes lifted from your injury to search the corridor, as if the culprit might still be lingering in the shadows. Wednesday Addams was a meticulous predator. She selected her prey personally. She sharpened her words carefully. She observed reactions with fascination. That privilege belonged to her alone.

You were hers.

Her jaw tightened by a fraction—an almost imperceptible betrayal of temper. Someone else had laid hands on you. Her thumb brushed lightly beneath your eye, almost tender for once, possessive. She turned fully now, scanning the hallway again, calculating. Her mind was already assembling possibilities. Students who lingered near this area. Those bold enough to interfere. Those foolish enough to think you were unclaimed territory.

Only she could torment you. Only she could orchestrate the subtle dismantling of your composure. Only she was permitted to leave marks. Her gaze returned to you, darker now, less detached. Her fingers lifted your chin to ensure your eyes met hers. “Names,” she said. A pause, her stare did not waver. “Now.”