Page 41 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

The taste had been unlike anything I'd ever experienced — like drinking liquid starlight mixed with ancient magic. The fact that it hadn't killed me instantly was apparently some kind of miracle if the others' reactions were anything to go by.

Just another mystery to add to the growing pile.

The luxurious bathroom takes me by surprise.

Gleaming black marble stretches from floor to ceiling, accented with silver fixtures that catch the morning light streaming through frosted windows. But what really catches my attention are the fresh toiletries arranged neatly on the counter.

Female toiletries.

I pick up a package of pads, turning it over in my hands with growing bewilderment. Next to it sits tampons, feminine wipes, and an array of high-end hair products specifically formulated for long hair.

"How the hell did Cassius get these?" I mutter, examining a bottle of dry shampoo. "Did he send his shadows on a midnight drugstore run? Wait. Does Wicked Academy have drug stores? Do they even sell anything for women here?"

The mental image of Grim floating through the aisles of a convenience store, dropping feminine products into a shopping basket, nearly makes me laugh out loud.

I bite a snicker of glee.

After taking care of nature's call, I catch sight of myself in the massive mirror and wince. My hair looks like I've been through a hurricane – which, considering the activities that led to this state, isn't far from the truth.

"Good lords," I groan, picking up a brush I find on the counter. The bristles are soft, high-quality, and perfect for detangling the mess I've managed to create. "Someone was thorough with their shopping list."

As I work through the knots in my hair, my mind wanders back to the previous night. The way Cassius had gripped my hair, how his shadows had woven through it like silk...how they proceeded to do unthinkable things with my mouth…

A shiver runs down my spine at the memory.

"Focus," I scold my reflection. "You're a mess and you need a shower."

The shower itself is a work of art – a massive walk-in space with multiple shower heads and what appears to be a built-in sound system. The water pressure is divine, and I find myself moaning in appreciation as hot water cascades over my aching muscles.

More products line the shower shelves – shampoo, conditioner, body wash, all from brands I've only dreamed of affording. The scents are subtle but luxurious, nothing too overwhelming for enhanced supernatural senses.

"Either he's done this before," I muse, working the shampoo into my hair, "or someone helped him prepare. Though I can't imagine Cassius asking for shopping advice..."

For any advice really…

He seems more independent in nature. At least, that’s the vibe he was giving within their group dynamic.

I take my time, letting the hot water soothe away the evidence of last night's activities. Surprisingly, I don't feel particularly dirty or used. If anything, I feel...refreshed.

Energized, despite the pleasant ache in my muscles.

Must be something to do with Duskwalker energy.

It’s the only excuse I can think of while remembering how his shadows had seemed to seep into my very being.

Once I'm clean and my hair is wrapped in a towel, I secure another around my body and step back into the bedroom. That's when I notice it – the uniform hanging on an ornate wardrobe that I could have sworn wasn't there before.

"Were you hiding this earlier?" I ask the shadows that seem to perpetually drift around the room. They offer no response, but I swear they ripple with something like amusement.

The uniform is exquisite.

At first glance, it appears to be the standard male attire of Wicked Academy, but upon closer inspection, the modifications become apparent. The black fabric is impossibly fine, with subtle patterns woven into it that seem to shift in the light. The pants have been clearly tailored, the cut and fabric adjusted to accommodate feminine curves while maintaining the masculine appearance.

But it's the emblem that truly catches my eye.

Gold thread catches the light, drawing attention to the prestigious logo of Wicked Academy. A crown hovers above what appears to be a winged figure – though whether it's meant to be a celestial being or some other creature, I can't quite tell. The craftsmanship is impeccable, each stitch placed with precise intention.

A note on the nearby table catches my attention, the paper thick and expensive-looking. I pick it up, admiring the elegant script that flows across the page:

---