My Classmate Is A Monster

Chapter 4: Interrogation and Intent

The hum of the enforcer’s dampening blade was a high-pitched whine that set Devan’s teeth on edge, but he didn't blink. He couldn't. Not when his very blood felt like it was simmering with a cold, borrowed intensity.

"You’re playing a dangerous game, boy," the enforcer, Kresna Ashcombe, rasped. He was a man of granite features and eyes that looked like they had seen far too many executions. "That resonance you’re shielding? It’s not just illegal. It’s contagious. Do you have any idea what happens to people who harbor unauthorized, volatile ley-signatures?"

Devan didn't flinch, even as the dampening blade swept through the air inches from his throat, stripping away the ambient magic of the room and leaving him feeling unnervingly naked. "I already told you. It’s mine. I don't need a booster to be stronger than a bully like Westbrook."

Kresna leaned in, his face inches from Devan’s. "Westbrook is a child playing with sparks. You, on the other hand, are a wildfire. And wildfires don't get to attend classes at Aethelgard. They get contained. Or extinguished."

"Then do it," Devan said, his voice steadying. "If you’re so sure I’m a danger, why haven't you called the Head Proctor? Why are you the only one standing here with a blade, trying to scare a first-year?"

Kresna’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something sharp calculation, perhaps crossing his face. "Smart mouth. That’s usually the first thing they cut out."

"Is that a threat, Enforcer?"

"It’s an observation," Kresna sneered, glancing toward the darkened tunnel leading away from the arena floor. "Come with me. We’re going to have a long conversation in the basement cells. I want to see just how much 'natural talent' you have once the Academy’s dampening fields start really digging into your marrow."

*

The interrogation room was a claustrophobic box of grey stone, smelling of stagnant water and old, trapped magic. Kresna shoved Devan into a chair, the iron restraints clicking shut around his wrists with a finality that made Devan’s heart hammer against his ribs.

"So," Kresna started, pulling a stool up to the table. "Let’s start over. Who provided the anchor? Who’s the high-born mage feeding your corruption?"

"Nobody," Devan said, trying to keep his breathing shallow. "I told you, I’m an independent. I’ve just been training on my own."

Kresna leaned forward, his hands resting on the table. "You’re a poor liar, Fairfield. My probes are showing a deep, structural bond. It’s not a focus crystal. It’s a biological interface. You’re leeching off someone else’s core. Who is it? Was it a faculty member? A rival house?"

Devan felt the mental probe then a cold, oily sensation sliding against the edges of his consciousness, searching for the connection to Shaila. It was like a needle poking at a bruise.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," Devan hissed, his vision blurring as he fought the intrusion.

"Don't fight me," Kresna warned, his eyes glowing with a faint, sickly yellow light. "If you fight, the feedback might fry your brain before I even get the answers I need. Just let me see the link."

Shaila, Devan thought, a desperate, silent plea screaming in his mind. He’s inside my head. He’s going to find you.

He felt a sudden, sharp, and terrifyingly cold sensation bloom in his chest. It wasn't the pain of the mark it was a sudden, icy clarity.

Don't close your eyes, a voice whispered, sounding like velvet wrapped around ice. Open the bridge. Give him what he wants, but frame it through me.

What? Devan thought, his mind racing.

Trust me, Shaila’s voice resonated. He wants a target. Give him a ghost.

Devan relaxed his mental defenses, letting Kresna’s probe sink deeper. As the enforcer pushed, Devan didn't fight; he directed the energy. He took the sensation of Shaila’s cold, disciplined magic and projected it outward, painting it in the colors of an ancient, forbidden scroll a lure.

Kresna gasped, his eyes widening. "What is this? This isn't... this isn't a person. This is an archival resonance. You’ve been tapping into the forbidden library archives? You’re using illegal, fragmented echoes?"

"I found it," Devan grunted, keeping the ruse up. "In the restricted stacks. I’m just trying to learn."

Kresna pulled back, his face pale. "The Archivist’s echo? You idiot. You’re literally killing yourself to learn history." He stood up, pacing the small room. "You aren't a student of a house. You’re a liability to the Order."

Devan watched him, noticing the way Kresna’s hand trembled slightly as he reached for his communicator. He wasn't reporting this to the Head Proctor. He was sending a message to a private contact.

The shadow organization, Devan realized with a jolt. He’s not checking me for the school. He’s checking me for someone else.

"Listen, Fairfield," Kresna said, turning back to him, his expression suddenly shifted into something almost conspiratorial. "If you want to live, you’ll keep your mouth shut. The faculty thinks you’re just a talented brat. If they find out you’ve been consuming Archival echoes, they’ll lobotomize you. Do you understand?"

"I think I’m starting to," Devan said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

"Good. For now, you’re off the hook. I’ll report this as a minor leakage of static from an unstable student. But you stay away from the restricted stacks, and you stay away from the upper-year dorms. Do you hear me?"

"Crystal clear."

*

Ten minutes later, the door to the interrogation room swung open. Kresna didn't look back as he ushered Devan out into the dimly lit hallway.

"Get out of my sight, Fairfield. And don't make me regret this."

Devan didn't wait. He walked briskly, his heart rate finally beginning to normalize. He reached the end of the long stone corridor, his breath catching in his throat.

There, standing in the deep, velvet shadows of a recessed alcove, was Shaila. She was leaning against the wall, her white hair falling perfectly over her shoulders, her eyes glowing with that same dangerous, icy light.

"You’re alive," she murmured, a faint, mocking smile touching her lips. "I thought Kresna might actually grow a spine and finish you off."

"You knew he was working for someone else," Devan said, stopping a few feet away. "You let me lead him to a lie."

"An educated guess," she replied, pushing herself off the wall. "Kresna’s family has been looking for a way to break into the restricted archives for generations. They’re vultures. They don't care about the school’s rules; they care about the power hidden in the basement."

"You used me as bait," Devan said, though he didn't feel as angry as he should have. The link between them was humming, a steady, warm pulse that felt like a lifeline.

"I used you as a distraction," she corrected, stepping closer. "And it worked perfectly. While he was busy trying to probe your mind, I was able to slip into his office. I found out who he’s reporting to."

"And?"

Shaila’s expression turned uncharacteristically serious. She reached out, her fingers ghosting over the sigil on his chest. The contact sent a shiver through him.

"This goes much higher than just a corrupt enforcer, Devan. There’s a secret meeting tonight. A coalition of families that don't want the Academy to remain the neutral ground it claims to be."

"Why are you telling me this?" Devan asked, his voice low.

"Because," she whispered, stepping into his space, her eyes searching his. "You’re already part of the game. And I think, whether you like it or not, we’re the only ones who can turn the tide."

She turned and began walking down the corridor, toward a section of the basement he had never seen before. "Well? Are you coming? Or would you rather go back to being a 'nobody' until Kresna realizes you lied to him?"

Devan looked back at the empty hallway, then at Shaila’s retreating silhouette. He sighed, the weight of the academy feeling less like a cage and more like a challenge.

"I’m coming," he said, following her into the dark. "But you’re going to tell me exactly how deep this rabbit hole goes."

"Don't worry, Fairfield," she called back, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "We’re going to find out together."