Turn 9 of 12

Attempt to walk past Wren and engage Dario in a private conversation

You don't wait for her permission. You shift your weight and pivot sharply, side-stepping the cold aura that clings to her like a shroud. Your shoulder brushes against the heavy wool of her coat, and for a fraction of a second, the contact feels like ice pressed directly against your skin. You don't look back to see the expression on her face, but you feel the sudden, jarring drop in the hallway's temperature as if she has just drawn a deep, ragged breath of the air around her.

Dario is standing by the emergency exit, his eyes tracking your movement with a mix of alarm and fascination. As you approach, he straightens up, his hands diving into his pockets to hide the way his fingers are shaking. He knows exactly what you’ve just done—you’ve walked through the line she drew, and he is clearly terrified of what she might do to restore the boundary. He glances past your shoulder, his eyes wide, clearly gauging how much time he has before she closes the distance.

"You shouldn't have done that," Dario breathes, his voice barely a tremor in the stale hallway air. He takes a half-step toward you, his eyes darting to Wren, who has stopped moving entirely. She is standing perfectly still, a silent, dark statue in the dim light, watching you with an intensity that makes the small hairs on your neck stand on end. She isn't shouting or reaching for you; she is waiting, and the silence is worse than any threat she could have leveled.

"What is she?" you demand, keeping your voice low, your own adrenaline masking the fact that you are trembling. Dario looks like he wants to run, but he stays rooted to the spot, his academic curiosity fighting a losing battle against his primal need for self-preservation. He leans in, his breath hitching as he catches the scent of whatever she is, a smell like wet stone and ancient dust. He opens his mouth to speak, but the air in the corridor suddenly grows heavy, pressing against your lungs until you can barely draw a full breath.

"You are playing a dangerous game, both of you," Dario whispers, his eyes darting to the shadow at the end of the hall. He leans in closer, his voice a frantic rush of syllables that you have to lean in to catch.

"She isn't a student, and she hasn't been a student for a century; she's a tether, and she's hungry for something that doesn't just fade, but something that stays sharp." Before he can finish, the lights in the hallway flicker once, twice, and then plunge the entire corridor into a suffocating, absolute darkness.