Chapter Text
The wrought-iron gates of Nevermore Academy groaned—a sound Wednesday Addams usually found soothing, though today it felt like the opening act of a repetitive play.
She stepped into the Quad, her black satchel heavy with a fresh collection of poisonous fungi and the weight of a summer spent enduring her mother's radiant displays of affection.
The Quad was a chaotic hive of outcasts.
Gorgons were swapping summer stories. and the occasional howl echoed from the balcony.
Wednesday adjusted her collar, her expression as lifeless as a Victorian funeral.
"Wednesday! WEDNESDAY!"
The voice hit like a glitter bomb in a cemetery.
Before Wednesday could even consider a tactical retreat into the shadows, a blur of technicolor faux-fur and manic energy barreled through a group of Fangs.
Enid Sinclair skidded to a halt just inches from Wednesday's personal bubble, her claws momentarily popping out from sheer excitement before she retracted them.
"You're back! Oh my god, I literally thought the summer would never end," Enid squealed, her hands hovering in the air as if debating whether to ask for an unauthorized hug. "I missed you so much! Did you get my ravens? And my texts? And my TikTok tags? I tagged you in that 'Goth Girl Summer' trend, but you never cleared your notifications!"
Wednesday blinked slowly, taking a small step backward.
"My phone spent the summer at the bottom of a well, Enid. It was the only way to ensure my silence," Wednesday replied, her voice a cool, flat monotone. "As for your presence... the silence of my room was becoming dangerously close to peaceful. I suppose it was due for a cacophony."
Enid beamed, completely unbothered by the icy reception.
"That's 'I missed you too' in Wednesday-speak. I've already redecorated my side of the room. It's Neon-Spook chic. You're going to love/hate it!"
"Come on!" Enid grabbed the strap of Wednesday's bag before she could protest. "We have so much to catch up on. There's a new barista at the Weathervane, and rumors that the new Botany professor is actually a reformed warlock!"
"I prefer my warlocks unreformed," Wednesday muttered, her eyes locked onto Enid's hands. "Lead the way, Enid. Let's get this over with."
The heavy oak door to their room swung open with a familiar, mournful creak.
Enid bounced inside, her sneakers squeaking against the hardwood as she immediately began fussing with a lopsided string of multi-colored fairy lights draped over her bedpost.
"Ta-da! I know, I know. It's a lot of pink, but the electric strawberry candle really ties the whole vibe together, don't you think?"
Wednesday didn't answer.
She stood in the center of the room her silhouette of a sharp, jagged inkblot against the vibrant chaos of Enid's half of the dorm.
Usually, Wednesday would've offered a scathing critique involving the structural integrity of the decor or the offensive nature of the scent.
Instead, she just set her satchel on the floor with a soft thud.
Enid's smile faltered slightly.
She tilted her head, her lupine instincts twitching.
Something was... quiet.
Not Wednesday's usual shroud of silence, but a stillness that felt brittle, like thin ice over a very deep pond.
"Wens?" Enid stepped closer, her tone dropping a few decibels. "You're being like extra-hushed. Even for you. How was the summer? Did you finish your novel? Tell me everything."
Wednesday walked over to her typewriter.
She ran a finger over the keys, but she didn't sit down.
Her movements were stiff, her gaze fixed on the blank wall ahead.
"The summer was... adequate." Wednesday said. Her voice was flat, clipped-shorter than usual. "The manor was drafty. The spiders were plentiful. My novel remains a work in progress."
"And?" Enid pressed, stepping into Wednesday's peripheral vision. "That's it? No near-death experiences? No vengeful ghosts? You usually have at least one story about a funeral gone wrong."
Wednesday's hand tightened on the edge of the desk for a fleeting second before she turned to face Enid. Her dark eyes were unreadable, but there was tension in her shoulders that hadn't been there when she left in the spring.
"My experiences are irrelevant now that I've returned to this technicolor purgatory," Wednesday deflected, her voice sharpening just enough to end the line of questioning. "You, however, seem to have enough energy to power a small village. Tell me about your summer, Enid. I assume it involved an exhausting amount of social interaction and neon-colored beverages."
Enid blinked, taken aback by the sudden pivot.
Wednesday never asked about her summer.
Usually, Enid had to follow her around for three days before Wednesday would even acknowledge she'd left the room.
"Oh! I mean... yeah," Enid said, her eyes narrowing as she studied her roommate. "It was fine. San Francisco was great, and my brothers were annoying, and my mother was somewhat happy that I finally wolfed out, but..." She trailed off, looking at Wednesday's hands, which were now clasped firmly behind her back. "Are you sure you're okay? You look like you've seen a ghost, and not the cool, 'let's-solve-a-murder' kind."
"I am as I always am, Enid," Wednesday replied, turning her back to begin unpacking. "Start your narrative. I'd like to get the inevitable headache over with as soon as possible."
The atmosphere in the room shifted, the electric strawberry scent feeling cloying and suffocating rather than cheerful.
Wednesday began to unpack her suitcase, but her movements were jerky—a sharp contrast to her usual surgical precision.
Enid watched her, the upbeat story about her summer trip to San Francisco dying on her lips .
She noticed how Wednesday's hands trembled slightly as she placed a heavy, leather-bound book on her nightstand.
Most tellingly, Wednesday was positioned with her back against the corner of the wall, her eyes darting toward the door every time a floorboard creaked in the hallway.
"Wednesday," Enid said softly, stepping toward the center of the room.
Wednesday flinched.
It was a small movement, a microscopic pull-back of her shoulders, but to Enid, it felt like a scream.
Wednesday Addams didn't flinch.
She stared down monsters and faced death with a smirk.
"I told you, Enid,' Wednesday said, her voice sounding like parchment about to tear. "Tell me about the mundane dramas of your summer. I require the distraction."
"I don't want to talk about my summer," Enid said, her voice steady but laced with a rare, quiet gravity. She didn't move any closer, sensing the invisible wall Wednesday had erected. "I want to know why you're acting like the air in this room is made of glass."
Wednesday froze, a black sweater clutched in her hands.
She didn't turn around.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
For the first time since they had met, the darkness surrounding Wednesday didn't feel like a chosen aesthetic; it felt like a hiding place.
Wednesday slammed the lid of her trunk, the heavy latches clicking into place with a definitive, metallic snap.
She didn't look up; she just began organizing her ink bottles with a hand so steady it was unnatural.
"Wednesday, stop," Enid said, her voice lacking its usual chirpiness. She stood by the window, her arms crossed, watching the rigid line of Wednesday's shoulders. "You haven't insulted my bedspread once. You didn't even complain about the smell of my new candle. You're practically... vibrating. And not in a good, 'I-just-saw-a-beheading' way."
"I am merely adjusting to the altitude," Wednesday replied, her voice a flat, razor-edged monotone. She moved her desk and began feeding a sheet of paper into the typewrite. "The air in New Jersey is significantly more toxic. It takes time for the lungs to recalibrate to the offensive purity of Vermont."
Enid walked closer, stopping just outside the boundary of Wednesday's rug. "Don't do the 'distanced intellectual' thing. I saw you when I ran up to you in the Quad. You looked like you wanted to jump out of your own skin. Did... did someone hurt you this summer?"
Wednesday's fingers froze over the keys.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Then, Wednesday turned her head slowly, her gaze fixing on Enid with a cold, unnerving stillness.
"Your penchant for melodrama is becoming a liability, Enid," Wednesday said. Her eyes were like flint. "To suggest that I would allow anyone the opportunity to 'hurt' me is not only an insult to my character, but a boring cliché I thought you were above."
"I'm not being melodramatic! I'm being your friend," Enid countered, her voice rising in frustration. "You're acting like a cornered animal. Just tell me what happened so we can—"
"Nothing happened, Sinclair," Wednesday interrupted, the words sharp and final. She stood up, smoothing the front of her black dress with deliberate, aggressive precision. "My summer was a masterclass in solitude and research. If I appear 'off' to you, it is likely because the sheer volume of your enthusiasm is a physical irritant. I suggest you focus on your own mundane life and stop projecting your 'final girl' fantasies onto me."
Enid flinched at the harshness, but she didn't back down. "Wens, I'm serious. If someone did something—"
"The only thing that is doing something is your mouth, and it is giving me a migraine," Wednesday snapped. She sat back down and struck the first key of her typewriter with a violent clack. "I am here to write, Enid. Not to participate in a suburban therapy session. If you mention this again, I will ensure your stuffed animals meet a very grim and very permanent end."
Wednesday didn't look back.
She kept her eyes locked on the white paper, her jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line.
"Fine," Enid whispered, retreating toward her side of the room. "Message received. I'll be quiet."
"An excellent plan," Wednesday muttered, the keys of her typewrite beginning a rhythmic, relentless assault on the silence. "Let's see if you can maintain it for more than five minutes."
The heavy rhythmic of the typewriter was the only thing filling the silence until a sudden, sharp knock echoed against the oak door.
Wednesday's entire frame jolted.
It wasn't a casual startle; her shoulders snapped upward, and her head whipped around, eyes fixed on the door.
For a split second, the mask of indifference slipped, but Wednesday quickly recovered.
Enid saw it.
The way Wednesday's hand hovered near the heavy crystal inkwell, likely weighing its potential as a projectile.
"I've got it," Enid said softly, her voice intentionally level to keep the room from boiling over.
She stood up slowly, keeping her movements predictable, and crossed to the door.
Enid pulled the door open to find Yoko, adjusting her shades, and Divina, who was leaning against the doorframe with a stack of flyers.
"Room service is late," Yoko quipped, stepping inside with the effortless confidence of someone who had spent centuries—or at least several semesters—mastering the art of the entrance.
Davina followed, offering a small wave.
Yoko glanced toward the desk. "Hey, Addams. Nice to see you didn't get bored over the break and decide to join the living. Still rocking the funeral-chic, I see?"
The typewriter didn't stop. The clack-clack-clack grew louder, faster, the carriage returning with a violent ding. Wednesday didn't acknowledge Yoko's presence by so much as a blink.
Yoko smirked, sliding her glasses down to her nose to peek over them. "Okay, wow. Nice to see you too, sunshine. I missed the warm, fuzzy vibes."
She turned her back to Wednesday, her expression shifting as she caught Enid's eye.
The vampires keen senses seemed to pick up on the static in the air, her smirk faltering for just a fraction of a second before she regained her cool.
"Anyway," Yoko continued, looking back at Enid. "Principal Weems is already on a warpath. She said the school's 'reputation' needs a boost after the whole Crackstone... incident. Apparently, we have a several new students enrolling. Mostly transfers from that school in the city that shut down for 'unexplained spontaneous combustion'."
"And?" Enid asked, her eyes darting back nervously to Wednesday.
"And," Davina piped up, holding out a flyer. "Weems wants the three of us to act as the official Welcoming Committee. We're the 'friendly faces' of Nevermore. We have to give tours, hand out the schedules, and make sure nobody gets eaten in their first forty-eight hours."
"Wait, the three of us?" Enid pointed to herself, Yoko, and Davina.
"Technically, she said 'Enid and her associates'," Yoko clarified, tossing the flyer onto Enid's bed. "I figure that includes the resident gloom-cloud over there, but honestly, if she keeps ignoring us, we might just tell Weems she's busy communicating with the dead. It's more believable."
At the desk, Wednesday's typing reached a fever pitch. She was staring so hard at the paper it looked like it might catch fire.
"We're meeting in the Quad in ten minutes to get the assignments," Davina said, heading for the door. "You coming, Enid?"
Enid looked at the back of Wednesday's head, then at her friends. "Yeah. Just... give me a second. I'll meet you there."
The door clicked shut behind Yoko and Davina, leaving a vacuum of silence that was quickly filled with the mechanical staccato of Wednesday's typewriter.
Enid stood by the door for a moment, her hand still on the brass knob, watching Wednesday.
The rigid set of Wednesday's shoulders looked painful, like she was bracing for a blow that never came.
"Wens?" Enid started, her voice cautious. "You heard them right? It might be good to get out of the room. Fresh air, sunshine... well, clouds, probably. It's better than sitting here in the dark,"
The typing stopped abruptly.
Wednesday didn't turn around, but her head tilted slightly, as if she were listening for a threat in the hallway rather than Enid's invitation.
"My 'sitting in the dark' is a productive use of my time, Enid," Wednesday said, her voice clipped and cold. "Unlike the mindless, vapid task of playing Virgil to a group of terrified adolescents."
"It's just a tour," Enid pressed, taking a small, tentative step forward. "We could do it together. I'll do all the talking—obviously—and you can just... stand there and look menacing. It'll give the new kids a real Nevermore welcome."
"I have no interest in frolicking around the school grounds acting as a glorified usher for the inept," Wednesday snapped. She finally turned her chair, but she didn't look at Enid. She looked past her, her eyes watching the shadows passing underneath the door. "If you wish to participate in this charade of school spirit, feel free. I have more pressing matters that require my attention—none of which involve small talk or navigating the social anxieties of transfers."
"Are you sure?" Enid's voice was small. "I just thought... maybe you shouldn't be alone right now."
Wednesday's gaze snapped to Enid's, her pupils constricted and dark. "Your 'thoughts' are based on a faulty premise, Sinclair. I am never more comfortable than when I am alone. Your presence is a distraction; the presence of a mob of strangers would be a catastrophe. Go. Join your committee. Leave me to my silence."
Enid bit her lip, the rejection stinging more than usual because she knew it was a shield, not just a preference.
She grabbed her colorful jacket from the bed, moving with a deliberate lack of noise that felt unnatural for her.
"Fine. I'm going," Enid said quietly. "I'll bring you back some tea or something from the Weathervane later."
"Don't bother," Wednesday replied, already turning her back to her desk. "I prefer my drinks like my outlook: bitter and devoid of comfort."
Enid didn't argue.
She stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut with a soft thump.
Inside the room, the typewriter didn't start up again immediately.
Wednesday sat in the dim light, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
She didn't move.
She didn't blink.
She waited, listening to the fading sound of Enid's footsteps until the silence of the room felt like a physical weight against her skin.
The silence in the room was a deceptive vacuum.
Wednesday sat at her typewriter, her hands poised over the keys, but the rhythm was gone.
The cloying scent of Enid's electric strawberry candle began to warp, the synthetic sweetness turning into something thick, metallic, and earthy.
It wasn't just the smell of the woods.
It was the smell of a betrayal she hadn't seen coming.
—
The moon was high, casting long, skeletal shadows across the sprawling graveyard of the Addams Manor.
Wednesday moved through the fog with the ease of a ghost.
She wasn't alone.
Walking beside her was Jax.
Their families had been close for decades.
Jax's parents had shared many a blood-red vintage with Gomez and Morticia.
Jax himself had been a fixture of Wednesday's childhood—the boy who helped her dig for nightshade and who understood the precise mechanics of a guillotine.
He was one of the few people Wednesday didn't actively seek to avoid.
He was a known variable.
He was safe.
"The moon is particularly hideous tonight," Jax remarked, his voice smooth, familiar.
She knew his wolf was squirming underneath his skin.
Wednesday had seen him shift a dozen times during family retreats.
It was a biological fact, not a threat.
"It has a certain bloated quality," Wednesday replied, her hands tucked into her pockets. "Like a drowned corpse."
They wandered toward the edge of the wood where the Manor's boundary met ancient forest.
Wednesday had no reason to reach for her blade.
No reason to monitor the distance between them.
He was Jax.
The shift happened without the usual warning.
The air suddenly grew heavy with the scent of wet fur and a sharp, predatory heat.
"Jax?" Wednesday turned, expecting a witty remark about the coming change.
Instead, she was met with a look she had never seen on his face—a dark, ownership-laden hunger that had nothing to do with friendship.
Before her mind could process the anomaly, he lunged.
The transition from 'childhood friend' to 'predator' was instantaneous.
The weight of him slammed her into the damp earth, the breath escaping her lungs in a startled gasp.
Her wrists were pinned by hands that were rapidly sprouting coarse, grey hair.
The shock was a physical blow.
Her brain, usually a fortress of logic and cold calculation, stuttered.
This was a violation of the order of things.
This was a presence that shouldn't have required a weapon.
As the forest floor pressed against her back and the low, guttural growl of a monster replaced the voice of a friend, the world Wednesday thought she understood shattered.
—
Wednesday's fingers suddenly slammed down on her typewriter keys, creating a chaotic jumble of letters: X J X J X J
She pulled her hands back as if the metal was white-hot.
Her breathing was shallow, a sharp contrast to her usual controlled rhythm.
She looked at her palms; they were pale and steady, yet she could still feel the crushing weight of the woods, the smell of the damp moss, and the terrifying realization that her intuition—the one thing she trusted above all else—had failed her.
She stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the Nevermore Quad.
Students were laughing, dragging suitcases, and making plans.
They walked with an easy, careless security that felt like a personal insult.
Trust is a tactical error.
I allowed a wolf into the parlor because he wore a familiar face.
I will not make that mistake again.
She reached int her pocket and gripped the small silver dagger she now carried everywhere—even in the shower, even in her sleep.
The cold bite of the metal against her thumb was the only thing that felt real.
A floorboard creaked outside the door.
Wednesday didn't look; she pivoted, her body coiled like a spring, her eyes narrowed into obsidian slits.
She didn't move until the footsteps faded into nothing.
She slipped into the bathroom, splashing freezing water onto her face.
She stared at her reflection, her jaw set so tight it ached.
She was back at Nevermore.
She was surrounded by outcasts, vampires, and werewolves.
And for the first time in her life, she realized that a familiar face was the most dangerous mask of all.
The door creaked open, and Enid stepped in, her 'Welcoming Committee' lanyard dangling lopsidedly over her sweater.
She looked exhausted but still pulsed with that restless bubbly energy that usually grated on Wednesday's nerves.
Wednesday was exactly where Enid had left her; sitting upright at the typewriter, her back a rigid, black line against the colorful chaos of the room.
The paper in the machine was still mostly blank, save for a few nonsensical strikes.
Enid slowed her pace, her eyes darting from the desk to the luggage still half-unpacked on the floor.
"Hey, I just finished the first tour for two of the new transfers—gorgons, totally sweet, though one of them nearly turned a squirrel to stone in the Quad. Anyway..." Enid paused, tilting her head. "Have you even moved since I left?"
Wednesday didn't look up from the typewriter.
Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, hidden beneath the desk.
"I went to the bathroom, Enid. My physiological functions don't cease simply because you aren't here to narrate them."
Enid squinted, her suspicion deepening.
Usually, Wednesday would have a much more creative way of telling her to mind her own business.
This was... too simple.
Too flat.
"Right," Enid said slowly, stepping further into the room and tossing her lanyard onto her bed. "Well, I ran into Principal Weems on the way back. She said you need to go see her. Apparently, there's a conflict with your schedule—one of the advanced taxidermy classes was moved, or something? She wants you to stop by her office to go over it."
Wednesday offered a single, sharp nod.
But she said nothing.
Her gaze remained fixed on the wooden wall in front of her.
"Wens? Did you hear me?"
Enid took a couple steps forward, intending to check if Wednesday was actually staring at something or just zoned out.
The moment Enid's food hit the edge of Wednesday's rug, the atmosphere in the room snapped.
Wednesday pivoted in her chair with a speed that was violent.
Her body coiled tight, her shoulder blades hitting the back of the chair as she stared at Enid.
Her eyes didn't go for Enid's face; they tracked her hands, then her feet, then back to her hands, like she was calculating the trajectory of an incoming strike.
Enid froze mid-step, her hands instinctively going up in a 'peace' gesture.
The look in Wednesday's eyes wasn't her usual boredom or icy disdain.
It was alertness.
Pure, raw, fight-or-flight energy.
"Woah," Enid whispered, her heart sinking. "I'm just... I was just coming to see if maybe you wanted to walk together to Weem's office."
Wednesday's breathing was shallow, though she was clearly trying to force it into a rhythmic calm.
She didn't relax her posture. "I do not require an escort to the principal's office."
Enid stayed exactly where she was, realizing a jolt of cold clarity that Wednesday wasn't just being difficult.
She was tracking Enid's movements as if her best friend were a potential threat.
Wednesday's circle of trust hadn't just shrunk; it had completely dissolved.
'You're... you're uneasy," Enid noted, her voice trembling slightly. "With me. Wens, it's me. It's Enid."
"I am aware of who you are," Wednesday snapped, though she didn't move from her defensive crouch in the chair. "I am simply... on edge. The new students have brought a frantic, unpredictable energy to the halls. I find it distasteful."
"It's more than that," Enid said, but she didn't push closer. She took a deliberate step back, giving Wednesday more space. "I'll leave you to it. Just... Weems is waiting."
Wednesday waited until Enid had retreated to her own side of the room before she turned back to her typewriter.
Her hands, when she finally brought them out from under the desk, were clenched into white-knuckled fists.
Enid didn't move.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes fixed n Wednesday with a level of intensity that usually only came out when she was dissecting celebrity gossip or tactical wolf-pack formations.
She was studying the way Wednesday's fingers didn't just rest on the keys, but seemed to hover as if the metal might burn her.
The silence was brittle.
Abruptly, Wednesday stood up.
The chair screeched—an abrasive, unpleasant sound—and she moved with a sudden, twitchy efficiency.
She snatched her black leather satchel from the floor and swung it over her shoulder.
The strap bit into the dark fabric of her uniform, and her jaw remained locked in a tight, unforgiving line.
Enid sat up straighter, her brow furrowing.
"Woah, okay. Where are you going in such a hurry?"
Wednesday's head snapped toward her.
It wasn't the slow, dramatic turn she usually employed to intimidate people; it was a sharp, reflexive jerk, as if she'd been caught in the spotlight.
Her eyes were dark, cold, and flickering with a defensive fire.
"You just informed me that Principal Weems is requesting my presence, Enid," Wednesday said, her voice a serrated blade of sarcasm. "Or was that merely a conversational gambit to fill the silence?"
"I know, but—"
"Do I now require your written permission to vacate the premises?" Wednesday interrupted, her grip tightening on the satchel strap. "Has this room become a penal colony while I was away? I wasn't aware that my departures required a full itinerary and a signature from my roommate."
Enid opened her mouth to argue, but the look on Wednesday's face stopped her.
It was a desperate, vibrating need to be anywhere but under Enid's watchful gaze.
"No," Enid said quietly, leaning back slightly. "No permission needed."
"Gratifying." Wednesday muttered.
She didn't wait for another word.
She turned and marched toward the door, her footsteps heavy and hurried against the wood.
She didn't look back as she pulled the door open and vanished into the hallway, the heavy oak slamming shut with a finality that left the room feeling colder than it had been a moment before.
Enid watched the door for a long minute after it slammed shut, the vibration still humming in the air.
She slowly sank onto her bed, her phone already out.
Her thumbs hovered over the screen, trembling just enough to make typing a struggle.
Enid🌈: Yoko r u busy??? i'm sprialing.
Yoko🩸: i'm literally two floors down. what happened? did Wednesday finally snap and try to taxidermy your squishmallows?
Enid🌈: i wish!! she's being so weird yoko. like, more than the usual 'i hate joy' weird. she's been back for like 3 hours and hasn't made a single joke about my death.
Yoko🩸: maybe she's tired? NJ to VT is a long drive in a hearse. give her some space, she's probably just recharging her gloom batteries.
Enid🌈: no it's not that!! she's jumpy. i took two steps toward her and she looked like she was ready to go full john wick. she's TRACKING me. like i'm a threat.
Yoko🩸: Enid, chill. it's Addams. her default setting is 'high-functioning sociopath', she probably just had a boring summer and is taking it out on everyone
Enid🌈: YOKO. listen to me. i've seen her face down a hyde without blinking. but just now? she looked SCARED.
Yoko🩸: wednesday addams? scared? are we talking about the same girl who played the cello when the school was literally on fire?
Enid🌈: i'm serious!! it's in her eyes. she's checking the door. she's checking her back, flinching at noises... it's like she's waiting for something to jump out of the shadows. i've never seen her look so... small.
Enid bit her lip, staring at the 'Yoko is typing...' bubble.
The electric strawberry candle had finally flickered out, leaving only a thing trail of smoke that smelled like burnt sugar and disappointment.
Yoko🩸: look, if she's really that off, maybe talk to Thing? he usually knows what's up in the gothic brain of hers.
Enid🌈: Thing is hiding!! he hasn't even come out of trunk yet, yoko. i think something really bad happened at home. i tried to ask and she practically bit my head off.
Yoko🩸: okay, okay. just keep an eye on her. we've got the welcoming committee meeting in five. try to act normal? if she thinks were gossiping about her, she'll actually kill us.
Enid🌈: i know. i just... i don't know how to help her if she won't even let me stand near her.
Enid shoved her phone back into her pocket and stood up.
She looked at Wednesday's side of the room—the dark, orderly, and now-terrifyingly silent half.
The lack of order didn't just feel like a design choice; it felt like a shield.
She headed for the door, moving slowly, as if the room itself were now full of invisible tripwires.
The Quad was a sea of chaotic energy.
New students, looking both terrified and exhilarated, huddled in a small groups while Nevermore veterans lounged on stone benches, their laughter echoing off the ancient walls.
Enid was not lounging.
She was pacing a small, frantic circle near the central fountain, her fingers twisting the hem of her colorful sweater.
"Enid, breathe. You're going to hyperventilate and shift in front of the freshmen," Yoko said, leaning against a pillar with Davina at her side. Yoko's sunglasses were perched low on her nose, her dark eyes tracking Enid's movements.
"I can't breathe! You didn't see her face, Yoko," Enid said, stopping mid-pace. She looked at Davina for support. "She didn't just snap at me. She was... she was bracing. Like I was going to hit her or something."
"Maybe she's just having a mid-life crisis at seventeen," Davina suggested, though her voice lacked its usual lightness. "The Addams family vibe is basically one long funeral. Maybe the summer was just... extra gloomy?"
"No," Enid insisted, her voice dropping to a whisper. "She's usually the one who makes people feel like they're being hunted. Now, she looks like the one being tracked. It's like her skin is on backward."
Yoko started to reply, likely with another witty dismissal, but she stopped.
Her head tilted, her vampire senses picking up a familiar, rhythmic footfall that was slightly out of sync.
"Wait," Yoko murmured. "Look."
Wednesday was cutting across the Quad, headed toward the entrance Ophelia Hall.
On the surface, she still looked like the girl who had single-handedly saved the school—black uniform pressed, braids perfect, face a mask of porcelain indifference.
But as she moved, the cracks were visible.
She wasn't walking through the crowd; she was navigating it like a minefield.
Her head moved in small, sharp increments, her eyes scanning every balcony, every archway, and every group of students that laughed too loudly.
When a group of Gorgons nearby let out a sudden cheer, Wednesday's entire frame shifted into a defensive stance for a split second before she forced herself to keep moving.
Her right hand was buried deep in the blazer pocket, her knuckles bulging against the fabric in a way that suggested she was white-knuckling a weapon.
"She's not even looking at where she's going," Davina whispered. "She's looking at everyone."
Wednesday reached the heavy doors of Ophelia Hall.
Before entering, she paused, her back to the door, casting one final, lingering look over her shoulder at the Quad—not with longing, but with the cold, calculating gaze of someone checking for a tail.
Then, she vanished inside.
The silence among the three friends was heavy.
Yoko pushed her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose, her cool exterior finally cracking.
"Okay," Yoko said, turning back to Enid. The skepticism was gone, replaced by a dark, genuine concern. "You're totally right. That wasn't 'Addams weird'. That was... something else. She looks like she's waiting for the world to explode."
"I told you," Enid said, her voice trembling. "She's scared, Yoko. Wednesday Addams is actually terrified of something."
"So, what do we do?" Davina asked, looking between Enid and Yoko. "If she's in trouble, she's never going to tell us."
"We don't ask," Yoko said, her jaw setting. "We just watch. And if whatever she's afraid of shows up here? It's going to have to deal with a lot more than just one girl in black."
The heavy clicking of heels against stone tiles announced Principal Weems before she even rounded the corner of the fountain.
She moved with her usual effortless grace, her silver-blonde hair perfectly coiffed, but her eyes held the weary exhaustion of a woman managing a school of supernatural teenagers during a surge of enrollments following a detrimental incident.
Behind her trailed two boys, both taller than average with the athletic, restless build common among their kind.
"Ah, Ms. Sinclair, Ms. Tanaka, Ms. Claire," Weems said, her voice projecting a polished warmth. "Excellent timing. These are the final two transfers requiring orientation. I trust you can show them the nuances of Nevermore."
She didn't wait for an answer, offering a sharp, professional smile before pivoting.
"I have a schedule to fix. Try not to lose them."
As Weems vanished back toward the administrative wing, the air in the Quad seemed to settle into a tense, expectant quiet.
Enid stood still, her fingers still nervously interlaced.
"I'm Yoko," the vampire said, sliding her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. She gestured with a thumb. "That's Davina, and the one currently trying to vibrate out of her skin is Enid."
Enid offered a small, hesitant wave, forcing a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her mind still three floors up in Ophelia Hall, wondering if Wednesday was okay.
"So, what's your flavor?" Davina asked, trying to break the ice. "Fangs, Scales, Stoners?"
The boys shared a quick look—a silent, instinctual communication. "Werewolves," the one of the left said. He had dark hair and a wide, easy grin. "Transferred in from the city."
Enid perked up, her shoulders dropping an inch.
There was a natural comfort in seeing her own kind, a sense of familiarity that usually made her feel safe. "Oh! No way. Me too! Well, I'm a late bloomer, but... yeah. Welcome to the pack."
"Nice," Davina smiled. "You'll fit right in with the Furs at the back of the Quad. What are the names?"
"I'm Lance," the first boy said, nodding toward Davina.
Then the second boy stepped forward.
He was slightly broader than Lance, with honey-gold eyes and a relaxed, charming posture that screamed confidence.
He looked exactly like the kind of person who belonged at a school like Nevermore—popular, effortless, and friendly.
"And I'm Jax," he said, his voice smooth and warm. He looked directly at Enid, his smile widening. "It's great to meet you, Enid. I've heard this place can be a bit... intense. Glad to see a friendly face right off the bat."
"Well, Lance. Jax" Yoko said, unaware of the name's significance. "Follow the rainbow. Enid is the best tour guide we've got, even if she's a little distracted today. Let's start with the mess hall—it's the only place you can get a decent meal that doesn't involve raw squirrels."
Jax laughed, a rich, melodic sound that seemed to brighten the Quad. "Lead the way," he said, falling into step right behind Enid.
As they walked, Enid felt a small spark of her usual self returning.
It's just a tour.
Everything is going back to normal.