Nevermore, My Broken Heart

Chapter 7: Woe in Plain Sight

The psychic vision slammed into Wednesday's consciousness like a freight train derailing at full speed. Her spine arched backward as every muscle locked rigid, fingers splaying wide before clenching into fists. The warm sanctuary of their dorm room—Enid's concerned face, the gentle pressure of fingertips against her cheek—disintegrated into fragments of light and shadow.

Reality became a kaleidoscope of sensation spinning beyond her control. Colors bled into impossible hues, sounds layered into cacophony, and time folded in on itself until past and future became indistinguishable. The familiar ice-water shock of psychic sight flooded her nervous system, each nerve ending crackling with prophetic electricity.

Focus. Find the thread. Follow it through the chaos.

She forced her consciousness to still, to stop fighting the current and let it carry her toward whatever truth demanded witness. The sensory storm began to organize itself into coherent images, terrible in their clarity.

Tyler Galpin materialized first, his figure sharp against dim lighting that suggested either dawn or dusk. He stood beside a nondescript sedan, methodically loading something into the trunk. The object caught what little light was available—brass fittings gleaming against dark metal, intricate gears visible in the brief moment before the trunk lid obscured them. Whatever he was concealing had been crafted with the kind of expertise that belonged in a clockmaker's workshop, not a car's cargo space.

His face held no trace of the desperate hunger she'd witnessed during their last encounter. This was Tyler as strategist, patient and calculating. The slam of the trunk echoed with finality.

Brass-gears-ticking-mechanical-heartbeat-rage-patience-hunter.

Her consciousness wrenched sideways, catapulting through space and time until Nevermore's familiar Gothic towers came into focus. But the campus bore no resemblance to the academy she knew. Elaborate banners stretched between stone turrets, their deep burgundy fabric emblazoned with gold script: "Day of Remembrance" in flowing letters that caught imaginary sunlight.

Below the banners, a name she'd never encountered: Ezekiel Grimwald.

The courtyard teemed with activity she'd never witnessed. Students and faculty moved between displays of artistry—clockwork animals performing intricate dances, brass contraptions that ticked and whirred hypnotically. Gears turned in perfect synchronization, creating a symphony of metallic music that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.

Laughter drifted through the air, genuine and unguarded. Faculty members gestured enthusiastically toward exhibits while students clustered around demonstrations. The atmosphere radiated celebration, community, the kind of joyous gathering Nevermore hosted perhaps once a semester.

But underneath the festivities, something else moved through the crowd. A presence that didn't belong, patient as a spider waiting in its web.

Music-laughter-brass-anticipation-death-walking-among-them.

Wednesday's psychic sight strained to identify the threat lurking beneath the ceremony's surface, but the edges of her vision began to fracture. The mechanical heartbeat grew louder, drowning out laughter and conversation until only the relentless ticking remained, counting down toward something inevitable and terrible.

Another shift pulled her deeper into Tyler's calculated patience. In this glimpse, he moved through the Day of Remembrance festival like a wolf in sheep's clothing, his hood casting shadows across features that had once charmed her with coffee shop conversations. Each step appeared measured, deliberate—not the desperate flight of a creature on the run, but the methodical stalk of an apex predator among unsuspecting prey.

Students clustered around the mechanical displays, pointing excitedly at clockwork birds that sang with metallic voices while faculty members demonstrated various inventions. The innocent celebration among the Nevermore community made Tyler's presence among them obscene. Pausing near a group of upperclassmen admiring an intricate brass automaton, his eyes constantly scanned faces in the crowd.

Fear-hunger-metal-blood-soon-very-soon.

The psychic whisper carried the weight of his intentions, each emotion razor-sharp and focused. This wasn't the mindless rage that had driven him before—this was Tyler as he truly was beneath the masks. Patient. Intelligent. Deadly.

A flash of familiar blonde hair arrested her attention. Enid stood near the clockwork display, animated conversation spilling from her lips as she gestured toward one of the mechanical creatures. Bruno leaned closer to catch her words, both of them caught up in the festival's celebratory atmosphere. Safe. Unaware. Laughing at something Bruno had whispered in her ear.

Relief and terror warred in Wednesday's chest as the confirmation formed: Enid would be here. Whatever Tyler was planning, her roommate would be in the crosshairs.

Cotton-candy-laughter-target-acquired-no-no-NO.

Through time like pages torn from a book, the prophetic current wrenched her forward. Now she stood in stone corridors lined with memorial plaques, the festival's cheerful noise muffled by ancient walls. But this wasn't Nevermore's familiar architecture—these passages felt older, forgotten, carved from stone that predated the academy's Gothic grandeur.

In the shadows between torches, Tyler waited, no longer hiding among crowds. His transformation had begun, features elongating as humanity peeled away to reveal the Hyde's monstrous essence. Claws emerged from fingertips that had once traced gentle patterns on coffee cups.

Yet Wednesday faced him without surprise this time. Her movements carried purpose, strategy—not the desperate improvisation of their previous encounters. She'd learned from past failures, prepared for this moment with the methodical precision he thought belonged only to predators.

Rage-transformation-claws-screaming-victory-defeat-which-WHICH?

The prophetic sight fragmented as competing futures collapsed into static chaos. Multiple possibilities overlapped—Tyler's claws finding their mark, Wednesday's counterstrike landing true, both outcomes existing simultaneously in the quantum uncertainty of prophecy. Images splintered like glass struck by hammer blows, each shard reflecting different potential deaths.

She felt herself being yanked back toward consciousness, her psychic grip slipping as the prophetic window slammed shut. Desperately she grasped for additional details—the location of their confrontation, the method of Tyler's infiltration, the fate that awaited her friends—but the images dissolved into meaningless fragments of sensation.

Only Tyler's hunting eyes remained burned into her memory as she gasped back into the present moment, their patient hunger promising that the game had already begun.

Enid felt the weight of weeks of hurt and confusion lifting from her shoulders as they pulled apart from their embrace. For the first time in weeks, she could breathe properly again. The constant ache in her chest—the one she'd been carrying since that horrible moment outside of Willow Hill and its follow-up in the hospital—finally began to ease. Wednesday was here. Wednesday cared. Wednesday had called her everything.

"I forgive you," Enid whispered against Wednesday's shoulder. "But don't ever lie to me like that again."

"I won't," Wednesday's voice was barely audible, but Enid caught the tremor of genuine promise beneath the words.

When they separated, Enid expected the familiar retreat, the quick reconstruction of emotional walls that Wednesday wielded like armor. Instead, Wednesday stayed close.

Their eyes met across the miniscule space that separated them, and Enid's felt her pulse quicken.

Bruno's voice echoed in her memory: Are you in love with her?

The question she'd finally answered honestly. The truth that had changed everything and nothing all at once.

Enid studied Wednesday's face, cataloguing details she'd noticed but never dared examine with such intent. The sharp line of her cheekbones, the way her lips curved slightly downward even in repose, the pale column of her throat above the crisp white collar of her uniform shirt. Wednesday wasn't pulling away. Wasn't retreating behind sarcasm or deflection.

Her hand came up slowly, tentatively, to cup Wednesday's cheek. The skin beneath her palm was cool and impossibly soft, and when Wednesday leaned into the touch instead of flinching away, Enid's breath caught in her throat.

Dark eyes fluttered closed, long lashes casting shadows against pale skin. The space between them had contracted to mere inches, close enough that Enid could feel the warmth of Wednesday's breath against her lips. The world narrowed to this single moment, this terrifying and beautiful collision of everything she'd finally confessed and everything she'd never dared hope for.

Time slowed as they leaned toward each other, drawn together by gravity that felt as inevitable as the tide. Enid's eyes drifted closed as the distance between them disappeared, her lips barely a breath away from Wednesday's—

Wednesday's body went rigid.

Her spine arched backward as if struck by lightning, every muscle locking into place. Her head snapped back, breaking their contact as her fingers splayed wide before clenching into fists. The soft expression on her face twisted into something between agony and concentration.

"Wednesday!" Enid cried out, reaching for her roommate as Wednesday's body convulsed.

A single black tear traced down Wednesday's pale cheek like spilled ink, and Enid felt terror spike through her chest. She'd seen this once before—the vision at the bonfire. The vision that had started this entire nightmare.

Wednesday's eyes had rolled upward, and her breathing came in sharp, irregular gasps. Enid caught her as she swayed, Wednesday's weight suddenly dead in her arms as her consciousness was dragged away.

"Wednesday, come back," Enid whispered, supporting her roommate's weight as she guided them both to sit on the edge of her bed. "Come back to me."

Their perfect moment vanished, replaced by dread as Enid held Wednesday's rigid form and waited desperately for her to return. Whatever vision had seized her had stolen away what might have been the most perfect moment of her life.

This can't be happening, Enid thought, her heart sinking. Not now, not when we were so close.

She pressed her forehead against Wednesday's temple, feeling the feverish heat that always accompanied her visions, and whispered prayers to whatever gods might be listening that this time, Wednesday would come back to her whole.

Wednesday's body shuddered back to consciousness with a sharp gasp that cut through the silence like a blade. Her dark eyes snapped open, wide and unfocused, as if she were seeing through multiple dimensions at once. The black tear on her cheek had already begun to dry, leaving a dark streak against her pallor.

"Wednesday," Enid breathed, her hands still supporting her roommate's weight. "You're back. You're okay."

For a moment, Wednesday looked completely disoriented, her gaze darting around their familiar room as if she couldn't quite remember where she was. Her breathing came in short, controlled bursts—the deliberate rhythm of someone fighting to center themselves after being torn away from reality.

"The vision," Wednesday said finally, her voice hoarse. "I need to—"

"What did you see?" Enid interrupted, her concern overriding any lingering awkwardness about their interrupted moment. The moment they'd shared felt like it belonged to a different lifetime, pushed aside by the familiar terror of watching Wednesday's abilities tear her consciousness away. "Tell me everything."

Wednesday shifted on the bed until she was facing Enid more directly, her movements careful as if testing whether her body would obey her commands. When she spoke, her voice gradually strengthened, taking on the systematic cadence she used when cataloguing evidence.

"Tyler. But not the desperate creature we encountered before." Wednesday's fingers pressed against her temples. "He was loading something into a car trunk—machinery of some kind. The craftsmanship looked professional."

Enid felt her stomach drop. "He's planning something specific."

"Worse." Wednesday's eyes met hers. "He's planning it here. I saw Nevermore during what appeared to be some kind of festival. Banners everywhere, students celebrating in the courtyard, faculty giving demonstrations."

The blood drained from Enid's face. "Students? The whole school?"

"Tyler was moving through the crowd." Wednesday's voice took on a harder edge. "Not hiding anymore. Hunting. He looked like he was selecting targets."

Enid grabbed her phone from the nightstand, sudden urgency making her fingers clumsy as she unlocked the screen. "I haven't checked my school email since..." She trailed off, realizing she'd been too wrapped up in their fight and its aftermath to pay attention to administrative messages.

"What are you looking for?"

"Any mention of a festival." Enid scrolled rapidly through her inbox, scanning subject lines until she found what made her breath hitch. "Oh God. Here it is."

She held the phone so both of them could read Principal Dort's message, dated earlier that morning:

Subject: Day of Remembrance Festival - Tomorrow Evening

Dear Nevermore Community,

As we move forward from recent tragedies, it's important to celebrate the innovation and creativity that defines our outcast heritage. Tomorrow evening, we will honor the memory of Ezekiel Grimwald and others lost with our inaugural Day of Remembrance festival.

The courtyard will feature displays of clockwork artistry, mechanical demonstrations, and fun activities from 6-9 PM. Faculty will be available to showcase their specialties, and we encourage all students to attend this special evening of community celebration.

Light refreshments will be provided.

With Outcast Pride,

Principal Barry Dort

Wednesday read the message twice, her expression growing more grim with each pass. "Ezekiel Grimwald. That name was in the vision—on the banners."

"I've never heard of him." Enid continued scrolling through her messages. "And look at this—there are three more emails I missed because I was too busy being miserable about our fight."

She found the second message, time-stamped from yesterday afternoon:

Subject: Fundraising Gala Postponement

Due to recent security concerns, next Saturday's fundraising gala has been postponed indefinitely. We appreciate your understanding as we prioritize student safety.

"The gala was canceled," Enid said, pieces clicking into place with horrible clarity. "Because of Tyler being on the loose. Which makes tomorrow night's festival..."

"The perfect alternative target." Wednesday finished. "Dort just handed him exactly what he needs—crowds of unsuspecting people gathered in a confined space."

Enid felt sick as she imagined Tyler moving through the crowds enjoying the festival, selecting victims while students admired clockwork displays and faculty demonstrated their abilities. The vision of brass gears and mechanical heartbeats took on sinister new meaning.

"There's more," Enid said, finding another message. "An email about security measures for the festival. It's mostly just standard stuff about bag checks and faculty supervision, but listen to this part: 'Due to the celebratory nature of this event, we'll be operating with reduced security protocols to maintain a welcoming atmosphere.'"

"Reduced security." Wednesday's voice was flat with disgust. "They're practically laying out a red carpet for him."

"What was the last part of your vision? You said you saw yourself confronting him?"

Wednesday was quiet for a moment, her gaze distant as she accessed the memory. "Stone chambers. Not Nevermore's usual architecture—something older. Tyler had already begun transforming, but I was facing him with purpose, not desperation. As if I'd been expecting the confrontation."

"Did you see what happened?"

"The vision fragmented before showing the outcome." Wednesday's expression tightened with frustration. "Multiple potential futures collapsed into chaos. Both victory and defeat."

Enid set her phone aside and turned to face Wednesday fully. "So we know Tyler's planning to attack the festival tomorrow night, but we don't know his actual plan or how to stop him."

"We know enough." Wednesday stood abruptly, her movements sharp with renewed determination. "We have advance warning of his target and timeline. That's more tactical advantage than I've had in any previous encounter."

"Wednesday, wait." Enid caught her arm as she moved toward her desk. "What are you planning?"

The look Wednesday turned on her was familiar—the cold calculation that preceded her most dangerous decisions. "I'm going to stop him. Before he can hurt anyone at that festival."

"How?"

"By being exactly where he expects me to be."

Enid felt her heart hammer against her chest as she recognized the tone. This was Wednesday preparing to walk into another trap, armed with nothing but visions and stubborn determination.

"You're going to use yourself as bait."

"I'm going to end this." Wednesday pulled free of Enid's grip. "Before anyone else pays the price for Tyler's vendetta against me."

Enid watched Wednesday move toward her investigation materials with growing alarm, recognizing the familiar shift into the mode that usually preceded her most reckless decisions. Her roommate's fingers traced the red string connecting photographs and newspaper clippings on her crime board, dark eyes already calculating strategies that undoubtedly involved facing Tyler alone.

"I'm going to fix it," Wednesday said, her voice carrying the cold certainty that made Enid's jaw clench.

"Fix it?" The words escaped before Enid could filter them, frustration bubbling up from depths she'd barely acknowledged. "You're the reason he escaped."

Wednesday's hand stilled against the crime board. She turned slowly, her expression shifting from determination to something darker. "Excuse me?"

"Tyler got out when you caused that power surge at Willow Hill." Enid stood from the bed, crossing to face Wednesday directly. "You're the one who brought us there. Your investigation, your plan to expose LOIS, your decision to infiltrate the facility. If we hadn't been there—"

"Tyler would still be a threat." Wednesday's voice carried a warning edge. "The only difference would be that we'd have no advance knowledge of his intentions."

"Would we? Because look how well your last plan worked out." The words felt harsh even as she said them, but she pressed on. "Your visions haven't always been the most reliable. Maybe this vision is wrong too."

Wednesday's posture stiffened. "My abilities have stabilized. The vision was clear."

"Clear enough to show you dying?" Enid stepped closer, her voice rising. "Because that's what you're planning, isn't it? Another solo mission where Wednesday Addams saves everyone by throwing herself at the monster?"

"I'm planning to neutralize a threat before it can harm innocent people." Wednesday turned back to her crime board, dismissing the argument. "Which requires tactical planning, not emotional decision-making."

Enid felt heat flare in her chest—not the crushing hurt from their previous fight, but clean anger at being treated like a child again. "Right. Emotional decision-making. Like trusting your friend enough to include her in your plans."

"This isn't about trust—"

"Isn't it?" Enid moved to block Wednesday's view of the crime board. "You just spent twenty minutes apologizing for lying to me, for keeping me in the dark, for treating me like I couldn't handle the truth. And your immediate response to a new threat is to do exactly the same thing."

Wednesday's dark eyes flashed. "This situation is different. Tyler specifically threatened you. Every second you remain involved increases the probability of your death."

"I'm already involved!" Enid's voice cracked with exasperation. "Tyler considers me a target whether I'm standing next to you or hiding on the Shetland Islands. The only difference is whether I'm facing that threat with backup or completely alone."

"You won't be facing anything. You're not attending tomorrow night's festival."

Enid blinked, stunned by the sheer audacity of the statement. She stared at Wednesday's implacable expression, recognizing the return of the controlling behavior that had torn them apart in the first place.

"You don't get to make that decision for me."

"I get to make decisions that preserve your safety."

"No, you don't." Enid's voice grew steadier, more certain. "We just had this conversation, Wednesday. You don't get to decide what's too dangerous for me. I'm not some helpless kid you need to protect."

Wednesday's hands clenched at her sides. "Tyler will kill you to hurt me. That's not a risk—it's a certainty."

"Maybe. But keeping me away won't change his plans." Enid stepped closer, forcing Wednesday to meet her gaze. "All it will do is ensure I can't help when you need it most."

"I don't need—"

"Yes. You do." The interruption carried absolute conviction. "You need backup, you need allies, and you need someone who cares enough about you to keep you from getting yourself killed in some stupid attempt at heroism."

Wednesday's expression wavered slightly, cracks appearing in her resolve. "The vision showed me confronting him alone. Me potentially dying."

"Then maybe you don't face him by yourself." Enid felt pieces clicking together in her mind. "The Nightshades. Bianca, Ajax, the other students. Even Bruno and the pack. You said Tyler's targeting a crowded festival—what if we turn those crowds into an advantage?"

"Involving more people increases the potential casualties."

"Or it gives us the numbers to actually stop him." Enid reached for Wednesday's hands, finding them cold and trembling. "You're always calculating odds, Wednesday. What are the odds of you facing a Hyde alone and winning?"

Wednesday was quiet for a long moment, her mind processing the question. When she spoke, her voice was low. "Statistically unfavorable."

"And with help?"

"Better. But still—"

"Then we get help." Enid squeezed Wednesday's fingers. "Real help, from people who know how to fight. People who care about protecting Nevermore and everyone in it."

She watched emotions war across Wednesday's pale features—the desperate need to control every variable battling against logical recognition that isolation was a losing strategy.

"The festival is tomorrow night," Wednesday said finally. "There isn't sufficient time to coordinate a proper response."

"Then we start now." Enid released Wednesday's hands and moved toward the door. "I'll contact the others, explain the situation. You can work on whatever planning you do best. Together, instead of separately."

She paused with her hand on the doorknob, turning back to find Wednesday still standing motionless beside her investigation materials. The afternoon light caught the sharp angles of her face, highlighting the intelligence in her dark eyes as she stared at the red string connecting photograph to newspaper clipping. There was something beautiful in Wednesday's intense focus, the way her mind worked through problems with mechanical precision.

The memory of their interrupted moment flooded back—Wednesday's soft skin beneath her palm, the way her eyes had fluttered closed, the impossible tenderness in that moment. Heat crept up Enid's neck as she remembered how close they'd come to crossing the line between friendship and something deeper.

Later, she told herself firmly. When Tyler's not planning to kill everyone we care about.

She stepped into the hallway before she could say something embarrassing, closing the door behind her with hands that trembled slightly. In the space of twenty-four hours, she'd fought and reconciled with Wednesday, confessed her feelings to Bruno, discovered she was in love with her roommate, and nearly kissed the girl who'd been occupying her thoughts for months.

Now they had less than twenty-four hours to prevent Tyler from slaughtering half their classmates at what was supposed to be a celebration.

Just another Tuesday at Nevermore Academy, Enid thought wryly as she headed down the hallway to find the others. Behind her, she could hear Wednesday moving around their room, probably updating her crime board with new information from the vision.

Tomorrow night would bring answers—one way or another. Whether those answers included a future for her and Wednesday remained to be seen, but at least they'd face whatever came next as partners instead of strangers.

That had to be enough for now.

The dorm room no longer resembled living quarters. In the twenty-four hours since Enid had gathered their impromptu tactical team, Wednesday had systematically transformed every available surface into a strategic planning center. Crime board materials sprawled across Enid's normally chaotic bedspread, festival layout diagrams covered Wednesday's mattress in overlapping layers, and contingency plans papered the walls like a madman's manifesto. Red string crisscrossed the room in complex patterns, connecting photographs to timeline notes to hand-drawn schematics of Nevermore's courtyard.

Between the displays moved Wednesday like a predator stalking prey, her dark eyes scanning routes and scenarios while her voice maintained the relentless cadence of someone who'd consumed too much caffeine and too little food. Agnes sat cross-legged on the floor near the window, fully visible and quietly reviewing one of the festival diagrams.

"Route Seven assumes Tyler enters through the east courtyard gate," Wednesday said, gesturing toward a hand-drawn map. "Ajax positions himself near the clockwork displays to provide visual confirmation. Bianca maintains overwatch from the library balcony. Bruno and the pack control crowd movement toward the emergency exits. Enid..." She paused, jaw tightening. "Enid remains with the faculty supervisors at all times."

Enid shot a brief, pointed look at Agnes—the kind of expression that suggested their previous encounters hadn't been forgotten—before focusing back on Wednesday's presentation.

"We've been through this," Bianca interjected from her position on the floor, where she'd claimed a pillow two hours ago. "Route Seven, Route Twelve, Route Fifteen. They're all variations of the same basic plan."

"The variations account for different variables." Wednesday turned to face the group. "Weather conditions, crowd density, Tyler's approach vector, potential weapons—"

"Wednesday," Ajax interrupted gently, holding up a collection of black walkie-talkies he'd acquired. "I brought the radios you wanted. From the maintenance supplies, like you said."

Her attention snapped to the devices. Crossing the room in three quick strides, Wednesday examined each radio with the intensity of a jeweler appraising diamonds.

"Excellent. These operate on a private frequency that won't interfere with school security channels." Her mind was already racing through new possibilities. "This changes our coordination capabilities significantly. Ajax, you'll need radio discipline protocols. Bianca, establish a command frequency for tactical updates. Bruno—"

Agnes cleared her throat softly. "I could provide advance warning," she said quietly, setting down the diagram she'd been studying. "Move invisibly through the crowd, track Tyler's approach before he reaches any of your positions."

Wednesday's gaze fixed on Agnes intensely. "No. You maintain perimeter surveillance only. I won't have you within striking distance of a Hyde."

"But I could get close enough to—"

"That's an order, Agnes." The finality in Wednesday's voice cut off any further argument. "You observe and report. Nothing more."

Agnes nodded reluctantly, but Wednesday caught the flash of disappointment in her eyes.

"Slow down," Bruno said, raising one hand while pressing his other palm against his temple. "You're talking like we're planning some kind of military operation."

"We are planning a military operation." Wednesday set the radios down, arranging them in a perfect line. "Tyler Galpin is a supernatural predator with enhanced strength, speed, and regenerative capabilities. He's specifically targeting a crowded school gathering with the intent to cause maximum casualties. This requires coordination, not improvisation."

Kent, who'd been quietly reviewing one of the contingency plans, looked up from the paper. "What about involving Principal Dort? Or the faculty? Additional security might—"

"No." The word came out harder than Wednesday intended. She turned to face Kent. "Adult involvement means protocols. Evacuation procedures. Official channels that will require reports and investigations that will ultimately alert Tyler to our preparations."

"But wouldn't extra security be worth—"

"Tyler will vanish the moment he detects official countermeasures." Cold certainty filled her voice. "He's not simply a mindless monster anymore. He's patient, intelligent, strategic. If we scare him off tomorrow night, he'll wait weeks or months before selecting a new target."

Bianca studied Wednesday's face. "You don't want him to run. You want him captured."

"I want him permanently neutralized." With deliberate steps, she returned to her crime board, fingers tracing the red string connecting Tyler's photograph to maps of Nevermore's grounds. "I'm tired of his threats. I'm tired of him escaping to kill again. Tonight, I'm going to end it once and for all."

The room fell quiet, the weight of Wednesday's words settling over the group like a shroud. Ajax shifted uncomfortably in his chair, while Bruno and Kent exchanged glances that suggested they were beginning to understand exactly what they'd volunteered for.

"Okay," Bianca said finally. "I get it. But seventeen contingency plans? Really?"

"Eighteen, actually." Wednesday pointed toward a new diagram she'd taped to the window. "I added a scenario for Tyler approaching through the underground tunnels while we were discussing radio protocols."

Ajax ran a hand across his face, careful not to disturb his beanie. "Maybe we should take a break? We've been at this for hours, and I'm starting to lose track of which plan involves me stationed where."

"We don't have time for breaks." Desperation edged into her voice. "Tyler could already be en route to Nevermore. Every minute we spend not preparing is a minute he gains advantage."

"Wednesday." Enid's voice cut through the planning session. Standing from her position on the floor, she moved to place herself directly in Wednesday's line of sight. "Stop."

The frantic energy stilled, dark eyes focusing on Enid's face.

"You're spiraling," Enid said, her tone gentle but unwavering. "You've planned for every possible scenario three times over. At this point, you're not strategizing—you're just exhausting everyone before we can execute anything."

Wednesday opened her mouth to argue, but Enid stepped closer, effectively cutting off her protest.

"Look at them," Enid continued, gesturing toward their friends. "Ajax can barely remember which radio frequency he's supposed to monitor. Bianca's been reviewing the same contingency plan for twenty minutes. Bruno looks like he's considering whether transferring schools might be simpler than dealing with your apocalypse scenarios."

Following Enid's gaze, Wednesday took in the weary faces of their makeshift tactical team. The evidence was undeniable—she'd pushed them past the point of productive preparation into the realm of information overload.

"The plans are necessary," she said, but her voice had lost its earlier edge.

"The planning is necessary," Enid corrected. "Obsessing over every possible variable is just going to make everyone too anxious to think properly."

Something loosened in Wednesday's chest at Enid's words, the relentless pressure she'd been carrying finally finding acknowledgment. Her fingers moved unconsciously to the edge of her crime board, tracing the familiar texture of red string as she processed the observation.

"So what do you suggest?" she asked quietly.

Enid's smile carried the warmth that had drawn Wednesday into their friendship months ago. "We pick one plan. The best one. And we trust ourselves to adapt if Tyler doesn't cooperate with our expectations."

From her collection, Wednesday selected the simplest diagram—Route Seven with minimal modifications—and watched as the exhaustion gradually lifted from her friends' faces. The plan solidified into manageable components: elevated coordination, ground-level patrols, crowd control, and emergency response. Clean lines of communication, clear objectives, reasonable contingencies.

"Ajax, demonstrate the radio system," she instructed, stepping back from the crime board to give him space.

Ajax picked up one of the black walkie-talkies, turning it over in his hands. "Okay, so these are set to channel six—seemed appropriate. Range should cover the entire courtyard and surrounding buildings."

He pressed the transmission button, and static crackled through the speaker. "Testing, testing. Ajax to... well, everyone, I guess."

Bruno picked up a second radio, clicking the response button. "Copy, Ajax. Bruno here. Sound's clear on my end."

"Bianca checking in," came the crisp voice from the third device. "Signal's strong from this position."

Kent fumbled slightly with his radio before managing to activate it. "Kent... uh, present and accounted for?"

Taking the final radio, Wednesday weighed the solid plastic in her palm. The device represented coordination she'd never allowed herself before—voices that would reach her from across the battlefield, allies who could adapt to changing circumstances without requiring her physical presence to guide every decision.

"Wednesday Addams, assuming tactical coordination," she said into the device, surprised by how natural the words felt. "Radio discipline protocols are now in effect. Keep transmissions brief, clear, and mission-relevant."

"Got it," Enid's voice came through the speaker, though she stood close enough that Wednesday heard both the electronic and natural versions simultaneously. "Should we use code names? Like, I could be Moonbeam, and Ajax could be Stone-Face—"

"Absolutely not." Her response was immediate and emphatic. "Real names only. Code names introduce unnecessary confusion during crisis situations."

Ajax grinned beneath his beanie. "Probably for the best. I'd definitely forget whatever code name you assigned me."

At the window, Wednesday studied the courtyard below where maintenance staff were already setting up tables and preparing the space for evening festivities. String lights hung between lampposts, creating pools of warm illumination that would provide decent visibility while maintaining the festival's celebratory atmosphere. The clockwork displays were being arranged near the center of the space—exactly where Tyler would expect crowds to gather.

"Final positions," she announced, turning back to the group. "I'll coordinate from the library balcony. Clear sightlines, multiple escape routes, radio coverage for the entire area."

Bruno stepped forward, and Wednesday noticed something odd in his posture—a careful distance he maintained that felt deliberate. When their eyes met, he looked away quickly, focusing instead on adjusting his radio's belt clip.

"Enid and I patrol the festival perimeter," he said, his voice carrying a slight stiffness that Wednesday found puzzling. "Two werewolves provide better threat detection than splitting up our supernatural assets."

The tactical logic was sound, but something in Bruno's tone suggested motivations beyond mere strategy. Filing the observation away for later analysis, Wednesday continued her assignments—after Tyler was neutralized, she would have time to dissect interpersonal subtleties.

"Ajax, you're stationed near the clockwork displays," she continued. "Maximum visibility, central location. If Tyler approaches through the main crowd, you'll have first visual confirmation."

"And if I accidentally stone someone in the panic?" Ajax asked, one hand moving reflexively to his beanie.

"Then you'll have demonstrated remarkable efficiency in crowd control." Her response drew snickers from the others. "Bianca, you maintain overwatch from the opposite end of the courtyard. Cross-triangulation with my position provides complete area coverage."

Bianca nodded, already calculating angles and sightlines. "I can position myself near the faculty refreshment station. Natural reason to be stationary, good excuse to monitor adult supervision."

"Kent, roving support between all positions. You're our mobile asset—wherever additional assistance is needed, you provide rapid response."

Kent gave a sharp nod, straightening into something approaching military bearing. "Understood. Stick to the plan, adapt as necessary, keep everyone alive."

"Precisely." A curious sensation filled Wednesday—pride, she realized, in watching her friends transform from exhausted teenagers into something resembling a competent unit. "Key intelligence priorities: Tyler's approach, any signs of crow surveillance from Judi's remaining assets, and civilian evacuation routes if the situation deteriorates."

She paused, studying each face in turn. These people had chosen to stand with her despite knowing the dangers, despite having every reasonable excuse to protect themselves instead. The weight of their trust settled across her shoulders like armor—heavier than she'd expected, but somehow comforting.

"Tyler underestimated us before," she said, her voice carrying conviction. "He sees me as an isolated adversary, vulnerable through my attachment to specific individuals. He doesn't know we've transformed that perceived weakness into strength."

Ajax clipped his radio to his belt and adjusted the antenna. "So we're ready?"

Looking around the room one final time, Wednesday took in the crime board materials scattered across every surface, red string creating complex patterns that mapped their collective determination to protect Nevermore. Tonight, they would clean up this chaos and return to normal dormitory life. Tonight, they would discover whether preparation and partnership could overcome a hunting apex predator.

"We're ready," she confirmed, collecting her own radio and checking its battery indicator. "Festival begins in forty-five minutes. Move to positions in thirty."

The mood in the room shifted, exhaustion replaced by focused determination as everyone performed final equipment checks. Wednesday watched her friends prepare for battle and realized that for the first time since Tyler's escape, she felt genuinely optimistic about their chances.

They were not facing this alone.

Tyler watched with satisfaction as Slurp adjusted the electromagnetic device one final time, his undead fingers tracing the brass fittings that caught the moonlight filtering through the mausoleum's cracked stained glass. The device had been carefully integrated into the stone walls the night before, its coils and wiring threaded through gaps in the ancient masonry where they'd remain invisible but devastatingly effective.

"The installation is finished," Slurp announced. "The effect will distribute evenly throughout the chamber once activated."

The stone chamber around them had served perfectly as their staging area. Weathered angels gazed down from carved alcoves, their faces worn smooth by decades of rain and neglect. Gothic arches supported a ceiling that had partially collapsed in one corner, letting autumn air carry the scent of dying leaves through gaps in the masonry. Ancient burial plaques lined the walls, names and dates long since weathered into illegibility—a fitting backdrop for planning fresh deaths.

Tyler pulled a small remote device from his pocket, studying its simple design. "You're sure this will work from outside?"

"Fifty-meter range," Slurp confirmed, his clockwork heart ticking steadily against the growing silence. "Press the button and it'll start immediately. The effect should last approximately twelve minutes—which should be more than enough time."

"And they'll be completely powerless?"

"Their supernatural abilities will be suppressed entirely for the duration. The werewolves will be as helpless as any ordinary child."

A cold grin spread across Tyler's face, containing none of the frantic rage that had driven him at the fair. This was different. This was control. He'd had time to think, to plan, to savor the anticipation of watching Enid's supernatural strength drain away like water through a sieve.

"Perfect," he murmured. "I want them to feel exactly what I felt—powerless, outnumbered, helpless."

Judi approached through the mausoleum's entrance, her executive assistant persona completely abandoned in favor of something sharper and more predatory.

"Did you get it?" he asked immediately.

She pulled a small syringe from her jacket, the liquid inside catching moonlight. "I did."

He pocketed the syringe quickly. "Perfect."

"My crows confirm the festival preparations are nearly complete," Judi continued. "The students are gathering exactly as expected."

She paused, turning to face him with a frown. "There's one variable we haven't adequately addressed. Wednesday's psychic abilities have been growing stronger. What if she has another vision? What if she sees us coming?"

A genuine laugh escaped his lips, carrying pleasure rather than bravado. "Good. I hope she does."

Both Judi and Slurp looked at him with surprise, though Slurp's expression held more curiosity than concern.

"You want her to know?" Judi asked.

"I want her to spend every minute until I get there knowing I'm coming for her friends," he replied, his eyes glinting in the filtered moonlight. "I want her to feel the dread building, to understand that all her preparation won't be enough. That no matter how clever she thinks she is, I'm going to take everything she cares about."

"She humiliated me. Tonight, she gets to discover what that terror feels like from the other side."

Slurp's mechanical heart ticked steadily in the growing silence. "Psychological warfare," he observed with approval. "Elegant. Fear erodes decision-making capacity more effectively than any physical weapon."

"Exactly." His expression brightened. "Let her see me coming. Let her try to warn her little friends. It won't change anything—they'll still be helpless when the trap activates. And knowing it's coming will just make the moment sweeter."

Judi nodded slowly, though uncertainty still flickered in her expression. "Very well. My role remains unchanged—isolate Wednesday, prevent her from coordinating her allies' response. The crows will create enough chaos to fragment their communication."

"And I'll retrieve my research from Iago Tower," Slurp added, adjusting his hood. "Decades of work deserve proper preservation, regardless of tonight's other... entertainments."

The Hyde didn't particularly care about Slurp's academic pursuits, but the arrangement served their purposes. Three separate objectives would divide the defenders' attention, create multiple pressure points they couldn't address simultaneously.

"I can't wait to see Enid's face when she realizes her claws won't save her this time."

The three figures moved toward the mausoleum's exit, each carrying their piece of the night's destruction. Gone was the impulsive fury that had driven him before. Wednesday Addams had taught him that rushing led to humiliation. Tonight, he would demonstrate what he'd learned from that lesson.

As they prepared to separate and move to their respective positions, he cast one final glance at the ancient burial chamber that had sheltered their planning. By tomorrow morning, this would be where they'd return to celebrate the deaths of Wednesday Addams, Enid Sinclair, and anyone else they happened to drag into their plans.

The Gothic towers of Nevermore Academy rose against the star-scattered sky like ancient guardians keeping watch over secrets and lies. From his position in the treeline beyond the campus perimeter, Tyler studied the transformed courtyard through gaps in the autumn foliage, his breathing steady and controlled. Warm light spilled from every window, casting golden rectangles across manicured lawns that had been decorated with brass lanterns and burgundy banners.

The Day of Remembrance festival was in full swing.

Students and faculty moved between elaborate displays, their voices carrying laughter and animated conversation across the crisp night air. Clockwork automatons performed intricate dances while mechanical birds sang with metallic voices that somehow managed to sound almost alive. The academy had transformed itself into a celebration of innovation and memory—exactly as Judi's intelligence had predicted.

Satisfaction crept through him as he watched. All that preparation, all that trust in their walls and their abilities, and they'd never seen him watching from the shadows.

Moving through the underbrush, he circled toward the festival's edge where service vehicles had been parked near the maintenance buildings. The scent of woodsmoke and roasted chestnuts drifted from the celebration, mixing with the earthier smells of dying leaves and stone that had weathered centuries of Vermont winters.

Security was laughably minimal. A few faculty members stationed at obvious entry points, their attention focused inward on the festivities rather than scanning for external threats. One professor near the main gate gestured enthusiastically toward one of the clockwork displays instead of watching the perimeter. Principal Dort stood on the steps of the Great Hall, beaming with pride at his successful event.

None of them suspected that death was already walking among them.

His attention caught on something that made his hunter's instincts quicken. Students and faculty alike wore ceremonial cloaks as part of the commemoration—deep burgundy fabric trimmed with gold thread that caught the lantern light. The garments were identical enough to provide perfect camouflage.

The universe had offered an opportunity, and he wasn't going to refuse it.

A maintenance worker had left his ceremonial cloak draped over a cart near the service entrance, probably discarded while handling heavier equipment for the displays. Tyler slipped from the treeline and crossed the open ground in seconds. The fabric felt expensive against his fingers—heavy wool with brass clasps that clicked softly as he fastened it around his shoulders.

The transformation was instant. Tyler Galpin, fugitive Hyde, disappeared beneath burgundy folds and became just another festival attendee moving through the crowd. He pulled the hood low enough to shadow his features while still allowing clear sightlines.

Walking through Nevermore's gates felt like crossing a threshold into enemy territory—but he was no longer the frantic creature they'd faced before. This was Tyler at his most dangerous, wearing their own symbols as camouflage while he stalked among them.

The clockwork displays drew clusters of admirers who pointed excitedly at mechanical marvels that ticked and whirred. One automaton bore a nameplate reading "Ezekiel Grimwald - Visionary Lost Too Soon." He couldn't help but appreciate the irony. If they only knew their honored dead was currently shambling through Iago Tower, retrieving research that would help break down the walls between outcasts and normies forever.

Students passed within arm's reach, chatting about classes and weekend plans. Faculty members demonstrated various inventions with academic enthusiasm, completely absorbed in sharing knowledge rather than protecting their charges.

His senses catalogued every detail: crowd patterns that could be exploited, exits that could be blocked, groups that seemed isolated from help. The device lying in their trap would strip away their supernatural advantages, but strategic thinking would determine how completely he could exploit that window of vulnerability.

Then he saw her.

Enid Sinclair stood near the central display, her blonde hair catching lantern light as she gestured excitedly toward a mechanical bird that had just begun a complex song. Bruno leaned closer to hear her words, both of them caught up in the festival's celebratory atmosphere. Safe. Unaware. Laughing at something he whispered, her head tilting back with genuine joy.

The sight sent electricity through his nervous system—not the chaotic surge of transformation, but the focused thrill of a hunter spotting perfect prey. Enid looked so confident, so secure in her supernatural strength and pack protection. She had no idea that her claws would be useless. No concept that the same hands that had torn through his ribs would soon be as helpless as any ordinary teenager's.

Beneath his hood, his expression transformed into one of cruel satisfaction. After days of planning, after enduring humiliation, his revenge was finally within reach.

The Nevermore courtyard had been transformed into something from a fairy tale.

Enid stepped through the main gates with Bruno, her breath catching at the sight that greeted them. Brass lanterns hung like captured stars between the Gothic arches, casting warm pools of golden light across stone that usually looked severe and unwelcoming. Burgundy banners embroidered with clockwork motifs draped from every window and doorway, turning the academy's familiar silhouette into something elegant and celebratory.

"Wow," she breathed, unconsciously reaching for Bruno's hand as they moved deeper into the courtyard. "I mean, I knew Principal Dort was planning something big, but this is..."

"Magic," Bruno finished, his voice carrying the same wonder that made her chest feel light.

The clockwork displays were scattered throughout the space like mechanical gardens blooming with brass and copper. Near the center of the courtyard, a collection of ravens fashioned from dark metal swooped and dove through the air in perfect formation, their wings catching lantern light as they traced complex patterns above the crowd. Students pointed excitedly as the birds' movements shifted from simple circles to elaborate aerial dances that seemed to tell wordless stories.

To their left, a pair of clockwork dancers—a gentleman in formal coat-tails and a lady in flowing gown—waltzed endlessly to music box melodies that drifted from hidden speakers. Their movements were so perfectly synchronized, so graceful, that Enid found herself swaying slightly to their rhythm.

"Look at that," Bruno said, gesturing toward a massive orrery positioned near the library steps. Brass planets rotated around a golden sun, each celestial body following its own precise orbit while the entire mechanism hummed with mechanical precision. "Someone put serious work into that piece."

Enid nodded, momentarily forgetting why they were actually here. The festival's atmosphere was infectious, making it easy to believe in celebration and wonder instead of threats and responses. Students moved between displays with genuine excitement, their faces bright with curiosity as they examined mechanical marvels that shouldn't have been possible.

Principal Dort's voice suddenly boomed across the courtyard, amplified by speakers hidden among the displays. "Ladies and gentlemen, outcasts and innovators, welcome to our inaugural Day of Remembrance!"

The crowd turned toward the Great Hall steps where Dort stood bathed in spotlight, his burgundy cloak dramatic against the stone architecture. His usual sharp demeanor had softened into something approaching warmth as he gazed out over the gathered students and faculty.

"Tonight, we honor the memory of brilliant young inventor Ezekiel Grimwald," Dort continued, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "A visionary whose clockwork heart beat with innovation, whose mechanical genius sought to bridge the gaps between what is and what could be."

"Grimwald's work reminds us that outcast innovation has always pushed the boundaries of possibility," Dort gestured grandly toward the mechanical displays. "His legacy lives on in every gear that turns, every spring that coils, every clockwork heart that beats with artificial life."

The crowd applauded enthusiastically, caught up in Dort's vision of noble scientific progress.

Her radio crackled softly against her hip. "Ajax to all positions," came the slightly distorted voice. "Visual sweep complete from the central displays. All clear so far, though these mechanical ravens are kind of hypnotic."

"Copy, Ajax," Wednesday's voice responded immediately. "Maintain focus on human movement patterns, not the automatons."

"Right, got it. Ajax out."

Enid exchanged glances with Bruno, both of them remembering their actual purpose here. The radio check-in felt routine, reassuring—Wednesday's coordination was functioning exactly as planned. But the contrast between the mission and the festival's genuine wonder created an odd tension in her chest.

Near the fountain, a brass dragon the size of a small car stretched its mechanical neck skyward. Steam hissed from between its metal scales as Principal Dort approached, raising one hand toward the creature's snout. Blue flames suddenly erupted from his fingertips, and the dragon responded by breathing real fire that painted the night with orange light.

The crowd gasped and cheered, delighted by the display of coordinated pyrokinesis. Dort smiled with genuine pride, his usual demeanor replaced by something that looked almost paternal as he watched students enjoy his creation.

"Now that's showmanship," Bruno murmured, though Enid caught an edge in his voice that suggested he was thinking about threat assessment rather than entertainment.

Music drifted from the direction of the clockwork dancers, and Enid turned to see Isadora Capri approaching the mechanical couple with graceful steps. The music teacher's voice rose in harmony with the music box melody, her clear soprano weaving through the mechanical rhythms to create something hauntingly beautiful. The clockwork lady's movements seemed to respond to the live vocals, her mechanical grace taking on new elegance.

"She's incredible," Enid whispered, genuinely moved by the performance.

"Agreed," Bruno replied, but his attention was already shifting to scan the crowd around them. "Though we should keep moving. Cover more ground."

They drifted toward a cluster of mechanical birds perched on brass stands, each creature singing a different tune that somehow harmonized into a complex musical arrangement. Professor Orloff's floating head materialized near the display, startling several first-year students who hadn't yet gotten used to his unique anatomy.

"These particular songbirds," Orloff explained cheerfully, "were inspired by the music box collections of 18th-century Austrian nobility. Each bird's song represents a different emotional state—joy, melancholy, hope, despair. Together, they tell the story of a mechanical heart learning to feel."

A small crowd gathered to listen as the professor launched into an animated explanation of clockwork emotion theory. His enthusiasm was infectious, drawing students into academic discussions that seemed perfectly natural in this setting.

Enid's radio buzzed again. "Bianca checking in," came the crisp voice. "Perimeter looks clean from my position. Faculty supervision is... enthusiastic but not particularly vigilant."

"Confirmed," Wednesday responded. "Continue monitoring your assigned approaches."

"Will do. Bianca out."

Despite the communications, Enid found herself relaxing into the festival's atmosphere. The displays were genuinely enchanting, the faculty demonstrations impressive, and the crowd's excitement contagious. For a few moments, she let herself forget about Tyler and threats and missions.

A mechanical horse galloped in place near the greenhouse entrance, its brass hooves striking sparks against a metal platform. Students gathered around to admire the creature's realistic movements, pointing excitedly at details like the way its mane flowed with each stride and how its eyes seemed to track movement in the crowd.

"It's almost alive," Bruno said softly, studying the horse's intricate mechanisms. "Whoever built these things was a true artist."

Enid nodded, mesmerized by the way moonlight played across the creature's polished surfaces. The festival had transformed Nevermore into something dreamlike—a place where mechanical wonders danced in the night air and innovation bloomed like flowers in a garden of brass and copper.

She almost wished Wednesday could see it without the filter of tactical planning. Almost wished they could all just enjoy the spectacle without worrying about monsters and revenge.

But the radio remained clipped to her belt, a reminder that beauty and danger often wore the same face.

They wandered toward a clockwork carousel where miniature horses rose and fell in perfect synchronization, their brass manes gleaming under the lantern light. A music box melody drifted from the mechanism's heart, sweet and melancholy in the way that made Enid's chest ache with unexpected emotion.

"So," Bruno said carefully, his voice lowered as they paused beside the carousel. "Yesterday was pretty intense. Are you okay?"

Enid watched the mechanical horses dance their eternal circuit, their movements hypnotic and somehow soothing. "Yeah, I think so. Wednesday and I... we talked things through. Finally."

"That's good." Bruno's tone was gentle, but she caught the question he wasn't quite asking. "Did you tell her?"

The carousel's melody seemed to falter for a moment, though Enid knew it was just her imagination. She pressed her lips together, feeling heat creep up her neck as she remembered Wednesday's soft skin beneath her palm, the way her dark eyes had fluttered closed, how close they'd been to—

"I tried," she said quietly. "But her powers... she had another vision right when we were..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence without revealing more than she was ready to share.

Bruno nodded slowly, understanding flickering across his features. "Bad timing."

"The worst." Enid's laugh came out hollow. "And now we're here, planning to face Tyler together, and I can't even focus properly because I keep thinking about what might have happened if she hadn't—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "Sorry. This is probably weird for you to hear."

"It's not weird." Bruno's voice carried surprising warmth. "Feelings don't follow convenient timelines, you know? And Wednesday... she's worth waiting for."

The simple acceptance in his words made Enid's throat tighten unexpectedly. She'd been braced for awkwardness, maybe jealousy or hurt feelings. Instead, Bruno was offering understanding that felt like a gift she hadn't known she needed.

"You're being really cool about this," she said, studying his profile in the lantern light.

Bruno shrugged, watching a mechanical peacock spread its tail in a display of brass feathers. "I care about you, Enid. That means I want you to be happy, even if it's not with me." He paused, then added with a slight smile, "Besides, I've seen the way you look at her. And the way she looks at you, for that matter."

"The way she looks at me?"

"Like you're the only person in the room who makes sense." Bruno turned to meet her gaze. "Trust me, it's pretty obvious once you know what to look for."

Hope bloomed in Enid's chest, warm and bright despite her attempts to contain it. "Really?"

"Really." Bruno reached over to squeeze her hand briefly. "So when this is all over and Tyler's no longer a threat, maybe you'll get another chance to tell her how you feel."

Her radio crackled softly. "Kent to all positions," came the slightly breathless voice. "Just completed a circuit around the greenhouse displays. Everything looks normal. Lots of students taking photos with the mechanical flowers."

"Copy, Kent," Wednesday's voice responded immediately. "Maintain your patrol pattern. Tyler could still come from anywhere."

"Roger that. Kent out."

The communication was routine, but it sent a little thrill of security through Enid's system. Wednesday's coordination was working perfectly—they had eyes on every approach, clear communication, and backup positioned throughout the festival. For the first time since Tyler's escape, Enid felt genuinely protected.

They moved toward a brass quartet—wind-up musicians playing Mozart. Students had gathered in a small semi-circle, some swaying to the music while others pulled out their phones to record the performance. The atmosphere was so normal, so joyful, that Enid felt her last threads of anxiety beginning to unwind.

"This is actually really beautiful," she said, watching a mechanical violinist's bow move across silver strings. "I mean, I know we're here because of the mission, but... Principal Dort really created something special."

Bruno nodded, his own posture relaxing as they absorbed the festival's peaceful energy. "It's hard to imagine anything bad happening here. Look at everyone—they're having such a good time."

Near the fountain, she spotted Ajax standing beside the clockwork ravens, his beanie pulled low but his posture casual. He was chatting with two other students about the birds' wing mechanisms, looking for all the world like he was simply enjoying the displays rather than maintaining tactical surveillance.

Across the courtyard, Bianca had positioned herself near the faculty refreshment station as planned. Even from this distance, Enid could see her engaging in animated conversation with Professor Orloff, her laughter carrying across the space in a way that sounded completely natural.

"Wednesday really knows how to organize people," Bruno observed, following her gaze. "Everyone looks so... normal. Like we're not even on a mission."

"That's the point," Enid said, feeling a surge of pride in Wednesday's tactical thinking. "Tyler's expecting to find easy targets, not an actual response. We look like regular students because that's what we are—regular students who just happen to be ready for trouble."

They paused beside a mechanical garden where brass flowers bloomed and closed in endless cycles. Students knelt beside the display, examining the intricate petal mechanisms while a faculty member explained the hydraulic systems that powered the movements. The scene was so wholesome, so perfectly academic, that Enid felt her guard dropping even further.

Her earpiece buzzed again. "Ajax to coordination," came the familiar voice. "Still no visual on any threats. These displays are drawing really good crowds, though. Everyone seems to be having fun."

"Confirmed," Wednesday's voice responded. "Continue monitoring your assigned sector. Tyler's patient—he'll wait for an optimal opportunity before revealing himself."

"Copy. Ajax out."

Even Wednesday's voice sounded calmer over the radio, Enid noticed. Less of the sharp edge that usually accompanied her tactical mode, more of the steady confidence that meant everything was proceeding according to plan.

"Do you think he's actually coming?" Bruno asked quietly. "Tyler, I mean. This all feels so... peaceful."

Enid considered the question, watching students laugh and point at a mechanical dragon that breathed harmless puffs of colored smoke. The festival was exactly what it appeared to be—a celebration of innovation and creativity, bringing the Nevermore community together after weeks of tension and fear.

"Wednesday's visions are usually right," she said finally. "But maybe... maybe this time the future changed because we're ready for it."

The possibility sent warmth spreading through her chest. What if their preparation had actually worked? What if Tyler, confronted with a coordinated defense instead of isolated targets, had simply decided to retreat and wait for a better opportunity?

"Maybe we're not going to need all those contingency plans after all," Bruno said, echoing her thoughts.

Above them, the mechanical ravens continued their aerial ballet, their wings catching moonlight as they soared through perfectly calculated patterns. The sight was mesmerizing, beautiful in a way that made everything else feel distant and unimportant.

For the first time in days, Enid allowed herself to simply exist in the moment—surrounded by wonder, protected by friends, and hopeful about futures that might include both safety and love.

The radio remained quiet at her hip, a reassuring presence that whispered of coordination and care.

The collision came from nowhere—a sharp impact against Enid's shoulder that sent her stumbling sideways into the clockwork carousel. She caught herself against the brass railing, turning to see a cloaked figure already melting back into the crowd of festival-goers.

"Hey!" she called after them, but the person had vanished among the identical burgundy cloaks that half the students were wearing against the evening chill. "Seriously? No apology?"

Bruno appeared at her side, concern flickering across his features. "You okay? That looked like it hurt."

Enid rubbed her sore shoulder. "Yeah, just some jerk who doesn't know how to watch where they're going." She shook her head, dismissing the incident. "Probably too busy staring at the horses to pay attention to actual people."

They continued their patrol, drifting toward a display of wind-up songbirds that filled the air with delicate melodies. The music was soothing, almost hypnotic in its complexity. Enid found herself swaying slightly to the rhythm, though something felt... off. The notes seemed to blur together at the edges, like listening to music underwater.

"These are incredible," she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. Had she always spoken this slowly? "The way they harmonize... it's like..."

She paused, trying to capture the thought that seemed to slip away like smoke. The birds' songs had taken on an ethereal quality, each note stretching and bending in ways that didn't quite make sense.

"Enid?" Bruno's voice came from somewhere far away, though he was standing right beside her. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, though the words felt thick on her tongue. "Just... the music is really beautiful, don't you think? It's making me feel..."

Drowsy. That was the word she couldn't quite reach. Everything had taken on a dreamlike quality—the lantern light smearing into golden halos, the crowd's conversations becoming a meaningless buzz of white noise, her own thoughts moving like molasses.

Bruno stepped closer, his hand finding her elbow. "Maybe we should sit down for a minute."

"No, no, I'm good." Enid blinked hard, trying to clear her vision. The display seemed to waver like a mirage, metals bleeding together into impressionist swirls. "Just need to... where did all these people come from?"

The festival crowd had somehow multiplied, or maybe her perception was playing tricks. Everywhere she looked, burgundy cloaks swayed in the lantern light, faces hidden beneath deep hoods. The sight made her dizzy, like trying to focus on a kaleidoscope.

"Bruno?" she called, turning to find him. But there were so many cloaked figures, all the same height, all moving with the same unhurried pace. "Bruno, where... I can't..."

Her coordination faltered as she took a step forward, her legs suddenly unreliable beneath her. Strong hands caught her before she could fall, steadying her.

"I've got you," came a familiar voice, though it sounded oddly distant. "Let's get you somewhere quieter."

Relief flooded through her drug-addled system. Bruno had found her, was taking care of her. Of course he had—he always seemed to know when she needed help.

The hands guided her away from the displays, toward the darker edges of the courtyard where fewer lanterns cast their glow. Each step felt like walking through deep water, her body heavy and unresponsive.

Her radio crackled against her hip. "Enid, report your position," came Wednesday's crisp voice through the static.

Enid fumbled for the device, her fingers clumsy as she tried to activate the transmission button. "I'm... Wednesday? I think something's wrong with... the music is so pretty and I can't..."

The words tumbled out in a slurred mess that even she couldn't follow. Her tongue felt too large for her mouth, her thoughts scattered like leaves in wind.

"Enid, you're not making sense," Wednesday's voice carried sharp concern. "Where are you? Bruno, respond with Enid's location immediately."

"Bruno's helping me," Enid managed, leaning more heavily on the strong hands that guided her. "He's... we're going somewhere quiet because I feel really weird and..."

The radio disappeared from her grip, plucked away by fingers she couldn't quite see. She heard it clatter somewhere behind them, Wednesday's voice calling her name through the static before cutting to silence.

"Don't worry about that," came the soothing voice. "You just need to rest."

They had reached the tree line now, where festival sounds grew muted and shadows deepened. Enid's legs finally gave out completely, sending her stumbling against a broad trunk for support. Her vision swam, the world tilting at impossible angles.

"Bruno," she mumbled, trying to focus on the figure beside her. "I think someone... something's really wrong. I can't think straight and everything feels..."

She looked up, expecting to see Bruno's concerned features, his warm eyes and the careful expression he wore when he was worried about her.

Instead, she found herself staring into Tyler Galpin's predatory gaze.

Terror sliced through the drug haze like ice water, sharp and clarifying despite her compromised state. Those weren't Bruno's gentle hands that had guided her here—they belonged to the monster who'd been hunting her for days. The face that stared back at her carried none of Bruno's warmth, only cold and satisfied hunger.

"No," she whispered, the word barely audible through her numb lips. "No, no, no..."

She tried to run, to scream, to do anything that might alert the others. But her legs wouldn't obey, sending her crashing to the forest floor in a tangle of uncooperative limbs. Leaves and dirt pressed against her cheek as she struggled to crawl, to put distance between herself and the nightmare that wore Tyler's face.

"Help," she tried to call, but the sound came out as little more than a whimper. "Please, someone..."

Footsteps approached slowly, deliberately, like someone who had all the time in the world. Tyler's boots appeared in her failing vision, polished leather that caught stray moonlight filtering through the canopy above.

"Don't worry, Enid," his voice drifted down to her, calm and almost gentle. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not yet."

She tried to respond, to tell him exactly what she thought of his promises, but the words wouldn't form. Her vision was fading at the edges, consciousness slipping away despite her desperate attempts to stay alert.

"You're just going to help bring Wednesday to me," Tyler continued, his tone conversational. "I think she'll be very interested in meeting once she realizes what I've taken from her."

The last thing Enid saw before darkness claimed her was Tyler crouching down beside her prone form, his expression satisfied as he watched her lose the fight against whatever drug coursed through her system.

Somewhere in the distance, festival music continued to play, clockwork dancers spinning their eternal waltz while mechanical birds sang their programmed songs. The celebration carried on, unaware that one of its participants had just vanished into the hunting ground of a predator who'd been waiting all evening for exactly this moment.

Wednesday settled into position on the library balcony, the cold stone railing providing an anchor point as she raised the binoculars to her eyes. The festival spread below her like a clockwork diorama, all brass gleams and burgundy shadows under the lantern light. From this elevation, the courtyard's tactical geography became crystal clear—sight lines, bottlenecks, escape routes, blind spots where threats could emerge or victims could vanish.

Beginning her systematic sweep, she catalogued positions and movements. Ajax maintained his station near the central displays, successfully blending casual conversation with surveillance duty. Bianca held her post near the faculty refreshments, engaging Professor Orloff in animated discussion while her eyes tracked movement patterns across her assigned sector. Kent circulated through his designated area with nonchalance, a mobile asset providing flexible coverage.

Everything was going according to plan. The coordination was flawless, communication clear, defensive positioning optimal.

So why couldn't she stop watching Enid?

Her binoculars drifted repeatedly to the figure in pink and blue, currently standing beside the mechanical carousel with Bruno's solid presence at her side. They navigated together through the festival, his hand finding the small of her back as they weaved through clusters of admiring students. When Enid pointed excitedly at the clockwork horses, Bruno leaned closer to catch her words, both of them immersed in the display's wonder.

They looked... comfortable. Natural. Like two people who belonged together.

Focus, Wednesday commanded herself, forcing the binoculars back to tactical sweep patterns. Personal feelings have no place in operational oversight.

But the image lingered at the edges of her consciousness—Enid's animated gestures as she explained something about the mechanical displays, the way Bruno smiled at her enthusiasm, how perfectly they complemented each other's movements through the crowd. Yesterday, in their dorm room, there had been something else entirely. Soft touches and vulnerable confessions, the space between them contracting until they were breathing the same air, eyes fluttering closed as they leaned toward each other...

Then the vision had ripped her away, and when consciousness returned, Enid was all business and mission planning. As if the moment had never happened.

Perhaps it hadn't, she mused, adjusting the binoculars' focus. Perhaps her mind had manufactured subtext where none existed. Enid had a documented history of relationship complexity—prolonged uncertainty with Ajax, difficulty articulating her feelings, tendency toward avoidance when confronted with emotional decisions that required definitive commitment.

The evidence suggested a pattern of romantic indecision rather than any specific attachment to Wednesday herself.

Below, Bruno guided Enid toward a display of wind-up songbirds, their brass forms catching lantern light as delicate melodies drifted upward through the courtyard air. Even from this distance, Wednesday could see Enid swaying slightly to the rhythm, her face bright with genuine delight. When Bruno said something that made her laugh, the sound carried clearly across the stone space.

They looked happy. Settled. Like the confusion and conflict of recent weeks had resolved into something clean and uncomplicated.

Wednesday lowered the binoculars, pressing her fingertips against the bridge of her nose as unwelcome emotions churned beneath her ribs. This was precisely why personal attachments interfered with operational effectiveness. She should be monitoring threats, not analyzing relationship dynamics that had no bearing on their success.

Her radio crackled softly. "Ajax to coordination," came the familiar voice. "Still no visual on any threats. These displays are drawing really good crowds, though. Everyone seems to be having fun."

She lifted the radio to respond, then paused as movement caught her peripheral vision. A lone crow perched on the library's stone gargoyle, its dark form barely visible against the Gothic architecture. Nothing unusual—crows were common around Nevermore, particularly after recent events involving Judi Spannegel's avian assets.

Except this crow had only one eye.

"Confirmed," she said into the radio, careful to keep her voice neutral. "Continue monitoring your assigned sector. Tyler's patient—he'll wait for an optimal opportunity before revealing himself."

The one-eyed crow tilted its head, studying her with clear intelligence. Its remaining eye caught the lantern light from below, glittering like a black pearl as it released a single, harsh caw that seemed directed specifically at her position.

More crows began arriving.

They came in ones and twos at first, landing on the library's architectural details with soft whispers of wing against stone. A pair settled on the balcony railing six feet to her left. Another trio perched along the Gothic arch overhead. Within minutes, at least a dozen dark forms surrounded her position, their collective presence transforming the balcony from vantage point to cage.

Wednesday's hand moved to her radio, but she didn't activate it. These birds weren't attacking—they were watching. Each sharp, intelligent gaze fixed on her with unwavering focus, as if waiting for something specific to happen.

Misdirection, she realized.

The birds maintained their positions for several long moments, their attention never wavering from her face as festival sounds drifted up from the courtyard below. Students laughed and applauded the mechanical displays while faculty demonstrated their innovations, the celebration continuing without any awareness of the predatory surveillance taking place above their heads.

Then, as if responding to some invisible signal, all twelve crows took flight simultaneously. Their wings beat in perfect synchronization as they disappeared into the night sky, leaving Wednesday alone on the balcony with the terrible understanding of what their presence had accomplished.

While she'd been focused on the birds, something had happened below.

Lifting the binoculars once more, she scanned desperately for signs of disturbance in the crowd. Ajax remained at his post near the central displays. Bianca continued her conversation with Professor Orloff. Kent moved between positions according to plan.

But where was Enid?

The binoculars swept frantically across the courtyard, searching for pink and blue among the burgundy cloaks and brass gleams. Near the mechanical carousel, students clustered around the clockwork horses, but Enid's distinctive appearance was nowhere among them.

"Enid, report your position," she commanded into her radio, her voice sharper than intended.

Static crackled through the device for several heartbeats before Enid's response came through—slurred, confused, barely coherent. "I'm... Wednesday? I think something's wrong with... the music is so pretty and I can't..."

"Enid, you're not making sense," Wednesday responded. "Where are you? Bruno, respond with Enid's location immediately."

More garbled words came through the static, Enid's voice growing fainter and more confused. "Wednesday? I feel really weird... everything's spinning and I can't... Bruno's helping me but…"

Enid's rambling continued, each word more disjointed than the last, before the transmission cut to static that felt like listening to drowning.

"Bruno, report," Wednesday commanded, her fingers white-knuckled around the radio.

"I can't find her." Bruno's voice finally crackled through, panic evident despite his attempts at control. "She was right here, we were looking at the birds, and then she just... Wednesday, she's gone. I turned around for maybe ten seconds and she wasn't there anymore."

Wednesday's tactical assessment collapsed into horrifying clarity. Tyler had moved while the crows held her attention, and her prediction about him targeting Enid specifically had proven catastrophically accurate.

"Ajax, visual confirmation from your position," she ordered.

"Negative on Enid," came the immediate response. "Scanning the central displays now, but I don't see her anywhere. These crowds are getting pretty thick though."

"Bianca, report from overwatch."

"Nothing unusual from my sector," Bianca's crisp voice responded. "Faculty supervision looks normal, students are engaged with the displays. No signs of disturbance."

"Kent, status."

"Still mobile between positions. Should I leave and go to Enid's last known location?"

The question hung in the air as Wednesday processed options that all led to the same conclusion—her carefully coordinated defense had been outmaneuvered by a predator who understood exactly how to exploit her priorities.

Soft footsteps on stone announced another presence before she could formulate a plan. Turning from the balcony railing, Wednesday found Judi Spannegel emerging from the library's shadows, her familiar executive assistant persona replaced by something far more predatory.

"Looking for someone?" Judi asked, her tone conversational as she approached.

The sight of her should have been surprising—Judi was missing—thought to be dead, killed during the chaotic prisoner revolt at Willow Hill. Instead, Wednesday felt only cold recognition settling into place like a key finding its lock.

"Where is she?" Wednesday's voice carried no inflection, no emotion that might be weaponized.

Judi's smile widened, satisfaction replacing warmth. "Tyler has her, of course. Your roommate made such an easy target once we provided the right... incentive to separate her."

We. The pronoun confirmed what Wednesday had already suspected—Judi and Tyler had coordinated this attack, exploiting the festival's chaos to isolate their primary objective.

"What do you want?"

"Tyler wants to finish what he started at Willow Hill," Judi replied, examining her fingernails. "You interfered with his autonomy, Wednesday. He's developed quite specific ideas about how to respond to that interference."

Wednesday's every instinct screamed at her to abandon this position and pursue Enid directly, but Judi's presence created an immediate problem that couldn't be ignored.

"Where?" she demanded.

"Oh, Tyler's chosen somewhere appropriately dramatic for your reunion." Judi's tone remained maddeningly conversational. "Where Nevermore's founders sleep peacefully."

The cemetery. Specifically, the old mausoleum that predated the academy's main construction—stone chambers that matched the architecture from her vision.

As if reading her thoughts, Judi raised one hand and released a sharp whistle that cut through the festival's mechanical melodies. Her crows came streaming back to the balcony in perfect formation, their dark forms settling on Gothic stonework. Within seconds, Wednesday found herself surrounded by countless watchful eyes.

The message was unmistakably clear: she wouldn't be going anywhere until she dealt with the threat directly in front of her.

Wednesday's mind processed options in the span of heartbeats. Personal rescue versus coordinated response. Individual heroism versus strategic delegation. Trust versus control.

For once in her life, the choice felt obvious.

She keyed her radio. "Tyler has taken Enid to the old mausoleum in the cemetery. Bruno, you're primary pursuit. Ajax, provide backup. Bianca, shift overwatch to cemetery approaches. Kent, mobile support."

"Wednesday, what about you?" Ajax's voice carried immediate concern.

Glancing at Judi, who watched the orders with smug satisfaction as crows began settling on the balcony railings around them, their dark eyes glinting in the festival lights below.

"I have another threat to deal with," Wednesday replied curtly. "Go. Now."

The radio erupted with quick acknowledgments as her team mobilized.

Within seconds, Wednesday could see them moving through the festival crowd below towards the cemetery. She clipped her radio back to her belt and faced Judi directly.

More crows continued arriving to perch around the balcony's Gothic stonework.

"Now then," Judi said pleasantly. "Shall we begin?"