That night, Clara lay in her dorm, clutching her rosary.
Outside, the academy whispered.
The candles on her desk flickered violently, though there was no breeze.
Then, a soft sound: the clatter of footsteps.
Slow. Careful. Human-like—but wrong.
From the hall, a shadow stretched and moved on its own.
A voice whispered through the cracks of the walls:
"Faith is fragile here."
Clara froze, holding her breath.
The shadow paused, tilted its head, then… smiled.
A soft scratching came from beneath her bed.
Clara prayed silently, muttering Psalm 91 under her breath. The shadow recoiled slightly.
But the academy had already learned her routine. The whispers now mimicked her voice:
"Clara… why do you pray?"
Her own words returned, twisted, taunting.
Ethan's door opened with a click. He peeked out, pale as chalk.
"Clara… do you hear that?"
The candles guttered. The air thickened.
Clara realized one truth: Evernight Academy didn't just observe fear. It grew stronger from it.