Clark POV:
What was it with these upperclassmen and their habit of staring like they wanted to eat me or recruit me into a cult?
I stepped back. Just once. Enough to put a breath of space between us.
"Which way to West Hall?" I asked, pointing down the twin hallways like a kid asking which door leads to safety and which to the trap.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he took a slow step forward, his shoes silent on the stone floor.
Then another.
Then he was close—closer than comfortable.
I didn't realize I was holding my breath until he leaned down slightly, face inches from mine.
"Whichever way you walk…" he murmured, "you'll still end up where the house wants you to go."
I blinked. "The house?"
He looked around, his expression shifting from mild amusement to something almost reverent. "Memoville. The school. This place… it listens. It chooses. You don't find a room here. A room finds you."
Okay. That was enough.
