Page 64 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"GREE!"

The cheerful sound breaks the tension like sunlight through storm clouds. I freeze, relief washing through me in dizzying waves as recognition dawns.

Mini Grim floats toward me, his tiny skull-like visage somehow conveying joy despite its fixed features. Hollow eyes gleam with unmistakable delight as he rides a small cloud of darkness across the room.

"Grim!" I exclaim in a hushed squeal, immediately extending my hands to offer him a landing platform. The tension drainsfrom my body, replaced by warmth that feels almost childlike in its purity. "You scared me half to death, you little terror."

He settles onto my outstretched palms, his miniature form light as a feather yet somehow carrying the comforting weight of familiarity. The shadowy essence comprising his being feels cool against my skin, like dipping my fingers into evening air.

"I missed you," I admit, smiling down at his tiny form. "And thank you for what you did during the trials. I don't think I would have survived without your help."

Grim preens at the praise, his skull tilting in what I've come to recognize as his version of pleasure. The sight makes me smile wider, grateful for this moment of normalcy amid so much confusion.

My body reminds me of more practical concerns as the adrenaline fades, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Despite the bone-deep weariness, I feel the need to at least visit the washroom before attempting to sleep again.

I take a curious sniff at myself, expecting the unpleasant aftermath of our trials — sweat and grime and whatever else we'd endured.

Instead, I'm met with the clean scent of lavender and something citrusy, as if I'd recently bathed.

"Did I shower already?" I wonder aloud, genuinely confused by this evidence of care I don't remember providing for myself. "I must have been more out of it than I realized."

Grim floats up from my palms, his tiny head shaking in negation. He hovers before me, darkness swirling around his form as he concentrates.

The shadows expand, taking shape with surprising detail — a miniature cloud of darkness crowned with vampire fangs.

"Atticus?" I guess, watching Grim nod enthusiastically in confirmation.

The realization that Atticus tended to me while I was unconscious should probably feel intrusive, but instead, it brings a strange comfort. The image of him caring enough to ensure my comfort, to see to basic needs I couldn't manage in my exhausted state, warms something in my chest that had gone cold during the trials.

"Well, I appreciate that," I tell Grim, smiling at the thought. "Though I should still probably use the washroom. Care to wait for me?"

Grim performs a tiny somersault in apparent agreement, then settles onto my shoulder like a peculiar pet. His weight is barely noticeable, but his presence feels like an anchor amid all the uncertainty pressing in from every side.

The moment I reach the bathroom door, he floats in wait, following my previous request.

“Thank you,” I share my gratitude feeling like he’s a mini guardian now in this newfound place. I know it’s still “Wicked Academy” but it does feel like whole new territory, especially when unexplored.

I make my way to the adjoining bathroom, taking the opportunity to truly look at my surroundings for the first time. The bedroom itself is surprisingly spacious, decorated with elegant furnishings that speak of wealth without crossing into ostentation. The color scheme leans toward rich earth tones with occasional accents of deep purple — a combination that feels simultaneously grounding and mysterious.

After relieving myself, I pause before the mirror, studying my reflection with critical assessment. My face shows signs of the stress we've endured — slight shadows beneath my eyes, a tenseness around my mouth that wasn't there before. Yet there's something else too — a subtle shift in my features that's difficult to pinpoint.

Have I changed?

The question forms as I lean closer, studying the silver depths of my eyes, the curve of my cheekbones, and the set of my jaw. Nothing obvious, yet something feels fundamentally altered as if the trials have rewritten something beneath the visible layers of my being.

Odd…I feel as if I’m slightly more balanced. But that doesn’t make much sense, does it?

Shaking off the unsettling thought, I return to the bedroom and look for something more comfortable to wear. The male pajamas currently clinging to my form feel restrictive, a physical reminder of the constraints I've been operating under since infiltrating the academy.

I locate a dress shirt in a nearby wardrobe — soft fabric in a deep blue that feels cool and pleasant against my fingertips. The garment is clearly designed for someone larger than me, but that only makes it more appealing as sleepwear. I change quickly, relishing the airy freedom the oversized shirt provides compared to the confining pajamas.

Though exhaustion still weighs heavily on me and hunger nags at the edges of my awareness, I feel restless. The dream of Elena —so vivid, so urgent— has left me too agitated for immediate sleep despite my body's demands for rest.

"Shall we see if any of the others are awake?" I ask Grim, who bobs in what I interpret as agreement.

He returns to his perch on my shoulder as I move toward the door, steps quiet against plush carpeting. The hallway beyond my room is dimly lit, with soft golden illumination providing just enough visibility to navigate without disturbing those who might be sleeping.

I pause at a large window, drawn by the vista spread beyond the glass.

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