The highway stretched endlessly ahead, framed by forests glowing gold in the morning light. Aleksander leaned into the wind as the Ducati roared across state lines, its engine a steady, powerful rhythm beneath him.
Stitch sat up on the front, tiny claws gripping the tank, his ears flapping wildly in the rush of air. He stretched his face toward the wind, giggling. "Fast! So fast!"
Aleksander couldn't help a small smirk. "Told you it beats flying commercial."
A few hours later, the trees thinned, revealing the mist-covered hills of Vermont. As the road curved, the silhouette of Nevermore Academy came into view—a grand, gothic structure perched atop a ridge. Its sharp towers and half-oval windows gleamed against a gray sky, the entire place exuding an eerie, old-world majesty.
Stitch's eyes went wide. He pointed enthusiastically. "Spooky castle! Stitch likes spooky!"
Aleksander eased off the throttle, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Then I guess you'll fit right in."
It took a while for his parents to arrive. When they did, Aleksander was escorted to the principal's office—a grand space that carried the refined gothic elegance of Nevermore itself.The heavy door bore Larissa Weems' name in script. To one side stood a taxidermied bear, towering and silent; on the other, a plant that climbed the wall like it was reaching for escape.Inside, the office stretched wide, illuminated by twin gold chandeliers.
A large wooden desk commanded the center, cluttered yet perfectly arranged—folders stacked in crisp order, a crow under a glass bell, another frozen mid-flight, a sleek MacBook beside her lamp. Behind the desk, tall windows framed by red curtains bore the academy's crest and motto.
A fire glowed faintly from the gorgon-shaped hearth.Aleksander took a seat across Principal Larissa Weems. She was statuesque—taller than most men he'd met, her platinum hair sculpted into perfection. Blue eyes sharp, lips painted an impeccable shade of red. Her coat, as always, matched the rest of her ensemble with unnerving precision.
Larissa smiled warmly at Cassandra and Ilya. "I must say, the school board was quite pleased to approve your son's transfer. They're thrilled to have the Morozova heir among our students."
Ilya managed a polite, practiced smile—his eyes betraying mild disdain for the mention of the board. "We're grateful that they accepted him, especially now."
Larissa nodded. "Your son is quite gifted. That much is evident."
Then her tone shifted slightly, businesslike. "I did find the Bureau of Investigation's request surprising—the one asking for both Aleksander and Miss Wednesday Addams to be allowed field involvement again."
Cassandra exchanged a look with her husband. "It was surprising to us too. We thought they were joking at first—until they solved their first case."
Larissa's gaze drifted back to Aleksander, her smile softening but her eyes gleaming, curious and calculating. "Yes… very talented indeed."
Aleksander felt a chill crawl up his spine, though her smile didn't falter. For a moment, the fire seemed to flicker just a little lower.
As Larissa continued leading them down the corridor, exchanging polite conversation with Cassandra, Ilya moved closer to his son. His voice dropped low, quiet enough that only Aleksander could hear."I've already arranged for you to room with Xavier," he murmured, keeping his expression neutral.
Aleksander gave a small nod.
The name brought back memories —Xavier Thorpe, son of the renowned psychic Vincent Thorpe and a mother whose identity the family kept quiet. Xavier's gift was complicated; his visions came through dreams, often haunting, and his paintings captured them in striking detail. Sometimes, those painted visions had a way of stepping off the canvas—literally.
The Thorpe family had once come to the Morozovas for help. Xavier's mother shared the rare gift of art animation—bringing her creations to life—but her control faltered dangerously. It was through that chaos the two boys had met, their strange talents crossing paths, their friendship forged in the space between fascination and misfortune.
Larissa led the Morozovas through Nevermore's winding halls, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor. The corridors were lined with gothic arches and flickering sconces that cast long shadows along the walls.
As they walked, Larissa chatted with Cassandra about lighter matters—the new art exhibits in Jericho, the upcoming autumn gala, and how the Academy's greenhouse had recently acquired carnivorous plants that refused to behave.
Cassandra humored the conversation with polite smiles, while Ilya followed in thoughtful silence.Before long, they reached Caliban Hall.
The corridor here was quieter, with polished wood floors and arched doorways marked with small golden plaques bearing students' names.Larissa stopped before one such door and knocked lightly.
It opened a moment later. Standing there was Xavier Thorpe—tall and lean, his build wiry but graceful. His shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair framed angular features and light olive eyes surrounded by faint circles from sleepless nights. A few stray streaks of paint still marked his fingers—a telltale sign he'd been working on something recently.
Larissa smiled. "Xavier, this is your new roommate—Aleksander Morozova."
Xavier's lips curved into a genuine grin the moment he saw him. "Took you long enough to get here," he said, stepping aside.
Aleksander smirked. "Blame the road, not the rider."
Larissa blinked in mild surprise at their familiarity before composing her usual pleasant smile. "I take it you two already know each other, then."
"Yeah," Xavier replied easily. "We go way back."
Aleksander nodded. "He's one of the few who can survive my company."
The faint smell of turpentine and charcoal drifted out from the room behind Xavier, its walls faintly speckled with color from scattered paintwork.
Larissa glanced between the two boys, noting their familiar ease. "Well," she said with a small smile, "since introductions aren't needed, I'll leave you to settle in."
As she turned to go, she paused and added, "Though I do hope you're not quite the prankster like your mother and uncle were in their student days."
Aleksander's expression shifted instantly into polite innocence—the kind that fooled many, but not someone like Larissa Weems. She caught the faint glint in his eyes and exhaled softly, half amused."It seems he takes after you and your brother," she murmured to Cassandra before straightening her posture again.
Cassandra's lips curved subtly, while Ilya managed a restrained chuckle. They both stepped forward, exchanging quiet goodbyes and a few last words of caution.As the door closed behind them, the air in the room settled—leaving only Aleksander, Xavier