Page 2 of A Touch of Darkness

Lara chuckles, and for a second, the discomfort lifts.

“Take a deep breath, Sylv. You saw a dude in a window. I know the whole vibe of this place is kinda creepy, but it’ssogorgeous! Think of all the memories we’re going to make here. We can tell our kids about it one day. About how their grandparents attended Blackthorne and then we did. Maybe they’ll go here, too! Don’t let the ghosty vibes freak you out on day one.” She playfully nudges my shoulder as we come to a stop in front of the towering doors.

“Now,” she says with a smirk. “You ready for the first day of the rest of our lives?”

I force a grin, pushing aside the residual tension from the man in the window. She’s probably right. It was just me being paranoid.Typical Sylvie.

“Lead the way, sis.”

The massive iron doors groan as Lara and I push them open in unison, the sound echoing through the nearly empty hall. The heaviness of the doors is nothing compared to the weight of this place. It’s unlike anywhere else I’ve ever stepped foot in. The university sprawls before me, vast and imposing, its architecture so grand it feels like a dream. The air inside is cool and oppressive, a mix of ancient stone and forgotten history. The smell of longstanding wood and dust clings to the air, and I can’t help but think this place must have secrets. Secrets that have been buried here for centuries, waiting for someone—anyone—to uncover them.

Mom always said I should’ve been a writer because I make stories up in my head and believe them. Maybe she was right, but there’s just something about this place.

I glance at Lara, who is grinning like she just stepped into some enchanted fairy tale. She’s taking in the towering walls, the grand, shimmering chandeliers that hang like ornate teardropsfrom the impossibly high ceilings. She’s completely unfazed by the heaviness of this place. She always has been immune to the nervousness I carry. It’s something I’ve always envied about my twin sister—her ability to ignore just about anything. I’d kill to have that skill, but no. I’m the twin who inherited my father’s crippling, mind-numbing anxiety and brain that keeps me in a constant state of fight-or-flight.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispers, and I’m not sure she even knows she said the words aloud. Her voice is full of wonder. “This is a castle. A literalcastle, Sylvie.” She repeats her earlier sentiment, tugging on my arm and practically pulling me along as we cross the marble floors, the sound of our shoes clicking against the cold, smooth surface. “I mean, I thought their website and social media were just exaggerating, but... this is something else.”

Lara and I opted to not do a tour of the university prior to applying. Our parents were students here, in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania—Blackthorne, Pennsylvania, to be exact. It’s where they met. They probably would’ve settled down here somewhere, but my dad was relocated to Chicago for work. After our parents died in a car accident last year, Lara and I decided we wanted to come here, in hopes of feeling closer to them—somehow. Like maybe we’d catch glimpses of their ghosts. Hear their laughter echoing in the halls. Something.

“Jesus…” Lara continues, her voice filled with awe, but I’ve zoned out. I know she’s still yapping, lost in her admiration of the architecture of this archaic, Gothic citadel. Despite being identical, Lara and I have always been very different on the inside. It doesn’t surprise me that I’m the one freaking out over this place while she’s absolutely enraptured by it.

I manage a faint smile, but I’m well aware that it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. I’m terrible at pretending. This place feels too still. The kind of stillness that presses against your skin likeyou’re standing in the middle of a long-forgotten church, as if the air itself has been holding its breath for far too long.

“What if there really are ghosts?” I murmur, more to myself than to Lara.

She laughs, shaking her head, but it’s clear this place is getting to her too—just in a much different, kinder way. “I think I’d be more concerned about the professors than the ghosts. You know how creepy some of them look in the pictures online. But I’m game for whatever. Bring on the spirits,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “We could always do a séance. That might be fun.” She cocks her head to the side, beckoning me.

I manage a half-hearted laugh as we wander through the massive entryway, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that something’s wrong. There’s a strange pulse in the air here, as though the walls are alive with some unspoken energy, humming with a life of their own. I try to dismiss it—it's probably just nerves.

It’s definitely just nerves, or my mind playing tricks on me.

It’s the first day. Lara is right.

She’salwaysright.

Although, Mom always did say I had strong instincts when it came to sensing things.

Lara comes to an abrupt stop in front of a grand, midnight-black staircase that spirals upward. She looks at me with wide eyes, grinning again. “Let’s go find our room, yeah?”

“Sure,” I agree with a nod, though my voice feels hollow. My mind is still focused on the strange, unsettling feeling that hasn’t left me since we stepped foot on campus.

Since I saw that man in the window, and the icy fear ricocheted through my body.

We make our way up the staircase, and as we do, I can’t help but notice how deserted the halls are. It’s odd—shouldn’t new students be rushing through here? Looking for their rooms?Chatting about the upcoming semester? It feels like we’re the only ones.

We reach the second floor and find a small terrace courtyard that’s jutting out from the building and is surrounded by ivy-covered walls. When we walk out onto it, I notice it’s secluded. A small area set apart from the rest of the building. The air smells fresh and crisp out here—a stark contrast to the domineering stiffness inside. A few students linger about, some sitting on the stone benches, others standing in small groups. Their conversations are soft, like whispers, and they avoid looking directly at us as we approach.

Lara’s eyes scan the students, and she spots a pair of girls sitting at a weathered wooden table under a large, contorted oak tree that crawls up the edge of the terrace. “Let’s go introduce ourselves,” she says, tugging me along.

What happened to finding our room? I’d be perfectly fine locking myself inside and giving myself some time to digest this place before getting all social.

Uncertainty plagues me, but I follow her, trying to shake the annoying discomfort crawling up my spine. The girls do look friendly, though, each wearing a smile and talking animatedly with each other. They look like they’ve been here for a while—comfortable, settled in.

“Hey, I’m Lara,” my sister says with her signature grin, her hand extended. “And this is my sister, Sylvie.”

The taller of the two girls, with dark curly hair and striking blue eyes, stands up to shake Lara’s hand. “I’m Nicole Aradia,” she says warmly, her voice smooth. Her eyes linger on me for a moment longer than necessary, like she’s studying me.

Then she gives me a wide smile, her eyes lighting up.

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