Page 102 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"Ready to break some rules?" he asks, voice carrying notes of both challenge and hesitation, as if unused to leading rather than following.

I step forward without hesitation, answering both spoken questions and unspoken concerns with decisive action rather than mere words.

"After you, catalyst," I respond, deliberate use of his self-designation acknowledging the connection he claimed without yet confirming its validity. "Show me these back ways of yours."

His smile widens into something approaching genuine delight – a rare emotion judging by how it transforms his features from guarded caution to momentary joy that feels earned rather than freely given.

As a secret passage seals behind us, cutting off conventional routes through the academy, I find myself wondering what other pathways —both literal and metaphorical— this strange cat-boy might reveal in pursuit of the chalice that stands at the center of both Elena's salvation and Faerie's complicated punishment.

The blue light casts everything in the ethereal glow that makes ordinary reality seem distant, reinforcing the sense that we've stepped beyond conventional boundaries into territory where different rules might apply.

Truths In The Hidden Passage

~GWENIVERE~

The hidden passage Zeke revealed stretches before us in mesmerizing curves that defy ordinary architectural principles.

Unlike the straight, predictable corridors of the main academy, this secret pathway twists organically, as if following the natural growth patterns of some enormous organism.

The blue luminescence emanating from the walls casts everything in ethereal glow that transforms even mundane details into objects of otherworldly beauty.

Our footsteps echo with strange hollowness that suggests spaces beyond the visible boundaries – chambers or connecting passageways hidden behind seemingly solid surfaces.

Occasionally, faint whispers reach us – fragments of conversations occurring elsewhere, sound traveling through mysterious acoustic channels that connect disparate parts of the academy's hidden infrastructure.

The further we progress, the more obvious it becomes that these passages aren't merely utilitarian service corridors but a complex network designed with both practical functionality and aesthetic consideration.

Intricate carvings appear at irregular intervals along the walls, their patterns shifting subtly when viewed from different angles, suggesting layers of meaning accessible only to those with proper knowledge or perspective.

As fascinating as these surroundings might be, the question that's been circling my mind since our confrontation with Damien finally demands expression.

"Why did you say Mortimer was calling us earlier when confronting Damien?" I ask, the query emerging more abruptly than intended.

Zeke pauses mid-stride, turning back with an unexpected smile that contains neither embarrassment at being caught in apparent fabrication nor defensive justification.

Instead, his expression carries quiet amusement mingled with something like satisfaction, as if I've finally asked precisely the question he's been waiting for.

Rather than immediately answering, he moves to the nearest wall, slender fingers tracing patterns across its surface with methodical precision that suggests searching for something specific. His movements carry practiced familiarity that confirms extensive experience navigating these hidden pathways.

"Because he was," Zeke finally responds, attention still focused on his careful examination of the seemingly uniform surface. "Mortimer told me he was in the archives already and that I should bring you…though he called you Gwenivere, not Gabriel."

The casual revelation stops me cold, implications rippling outward like a stone dropped in still water. Not only does Zeke apparently know Mortimer well enough to receive direct communications, but our scholarly companion has explicitly acknowledged my true identity to him.

I stare at Zeke's slender form for a long moment, reassessing everything I thought I understood about this strange cat-boy and his place within the academy's complex social ecosystem.

"Zeke," I begin, careful deliberation underlying a seemingly simple question, "you know I'm a girl, don't you?"

He pauses in his methodical exploration of the wall, turning to face me fully.

The blue light emanating from surrounding surfaces illuminates his features from below, casting dramatic shadows that emphasize his unusual bone structure while simultaneously softening his expression into something gentler than his usual academic wariness.

What surprises me most is the unmistakable affection in his gaze – not merely acceptance or tolerance, but genuine warm regard that feels both unearned and strangely familiar.

"I can see your true self since and have been able to since you entered this realm of Wicked Academy," he confirms with simple directness that carries neither judgment nor particular emphasis, as if stating obvious fact requiring no special acknowledgment. "Regardless of what I can see, it shouldn't be detrimental or used against you."

His fingers resume their careful exploration of the wall as he continues speaking, tone conversational despite the significant revelations being casually disclosed.

"Besides, who cares if you're a man or a woman? Gender means nothing in Faerie, especially in Wicked Academy parts."

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