Nevermore, My Broken Heart

Chapter 8: Woe Upon a Time

Bianca broke into a swift stride the moment Wednesday's voice cut to static, her heels finding purchase on the courtyard stones as festival music played mockingly behind them. The melodies felt grotesque now—cheerful automatons dancing while their friend disappeared into a nightmare.

"This way," Bruno called over his shoulder. "Cemetery's through the north gate."

He moved like liquid through the crowd, werewolf instincts guiding him between clusters of oblivious students who continued pointing at brass dragons and clockwork dancers. Bianca matched his rhythm, noting the tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there twenty minutes ago when everything still felt manageable.

"I should've been watching," he muttered as they cleared the main displays. "Should've stayed closer. She was right there and I turned around for ten seconds—"

"Save it," Bianca cut him off, though not unkindly. "Tyler's been planning this. You couldn't have known."

Ajax fell into step beside them, one hand pressed against his beanie as if anchoring himself to something solid. "We'll find her," he said, though his voice carried the tremor it always held when stakes rose beyond his comfort zone. "Tyler couldn't have gotten that far, right? Even with whatever he used to drug her?"

Behind them, Kent jogged to catch up, his breathing slightly labored. "Cemetery's pretty big though. Lots of places to hide someone."

Bianca kept her expression neutral, but Kent was right. Nevermore's cemetery sprawled across several acres of Gothic monuments and shadow-draped crypts. If Tyler wanted somewhere dramatic for his confrontation with Wednesday, he'd have dozens of options.

They reached the courtyard's edge where warm lantern light gave way to moonlit paths that wound between weathered headstones. The festival's symphony faded to distant whispers, replaced by wind through ancient oaks and the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet.

"There," Bruno pointed toward an iron gate that stood slightly ajar. "That's the main entrance."

Before them stretched a landscape straight from a Gothic novel—moss-covered angels standing sentinel, elaborate tombs topped with stone gargoyles, and headstones leaning at drunken angles after decades of settling earth. Patches of silver moonlight filtered through the oak canopy, creating stark contrasts between light and darkness.

Bianca pulled out her radio. "Bianca to Wednesday. We've reached the cemetery entrance. Any updates on Tyler's exact location?"

Static crackled back, punctuated by sounds that might have been fighting—sharp impacts, the flutter of wings, something that could have been Wednesday's voice raised in effort or pain.

"Wednesday, do you copy?" she tried again.

More static, then silence.

"Great," Ajax murmured. "So we're on our own."

"We've handled worse," Bianca reminded him, though privately she wondered if that was true. Tyler as a controlled Hyde had been dangerous enough. Tyler unleashed, with time to plan and the element of surprise? That was a different kind of threat entirely.

Ahead of them, Bruno lifted his nose slightly, testing the air currents. "This way," he said, gesturing toward a path that wound deeper into the cemetery's heart. "I can smell... something. Fear, maybe. And something chemical."

The group followed him between monuments that grew increasingly elaborate as they moved away from the entrance. Here, Nevermore's founders and early benefactors rested beneath marble angels and bronze plaques that gleamed in the moonlight.

"There," Kent said suddenly, pointing toward something glinting in the gravel path ahead.

A sinking feeling settled in Bianca's chest as she recognized the black plastic casing. Enid's radio lay abandoned, the device still crackling with faint static.

Reaching it first, Bruno lifted the radio with trembling hands. The sight seemed to physically pain him, his face twisting with self-recrimination. "She was calling for help and I wasn't there. I was supposed to protect her and I—"

"It's not your fault," Ajax interrupted gently. "Who knows how long Tyler was waiting. A couple of seconds was all he needed."

"Doesn't matter," Bruno's voice carried raw guilt. "I should have—"

"Focus," Bianca interrupted. This was exactly how missions fell apart—team members consumed by what they should have done instead of what they needed to do. "Tyler chose this location for a reason. Where would he take her?"

With visible effort, Bruno pulled himself together. "Wednesday said the old mausoleum. There's a cluster of them deeper in, where the original academy trustees are buried."

They moved forward with renewed purpose, the abandoned radio a stark reminder of time's importance. Each step took them further from the festival's warmth and safety, deeper into shadows where predators waited with stolen prizes.

The wind sent oak branches creaking overhead, while in the distance, stone angels kept their silent watch over secrets that might soon include another tragedy.

From the cemetery's heart emerged the old founder's mausoleum, a monument to forgotten ambitions. Even in moonlight, Bianca could see this structure predated Nevermore's main Gothic architecture by decades—thick stone walls claimed by centuries of ivy, narrow windows allowing thin beams of silver to penetrate the gloom. The building stood simultaneously sacred and abandoned, a tomb guarding the academy's earliest secrets since before most of the current headstones existed.

"There," Bruno breathed.

Through the tall windows, they could see the interior—medieval knight statues standing in solemn watch with ceremonial swords at their sides, and on a raised stone sarcophagus that served as an altar, Enid's unconscious form lay frighteningly still.

Without hesitation, Bruno rushed toward the entrance, protective instincts overriding caution. "Enid!"

"Wait," Bianca called, but he was already pushing through the heavy wooden door that stood conveniently ajar. The invitation felt too perfect, too convenient, but with Enid visible and vulnerable inside, none of them were going to stand on ceremony.

As they filed into the ancient chamber, their footsteps echoed off stone that had witnessed two centuries of Nevermore's history. The space felt larger inside than its exterior suggested, with shadows pooling between carved pillars while shafts of moonlight cut across the floor.

At the sarcophagus, Bruno immediately checked Enid's pulse. "She's breathing. Pulse is steady but slow." Relief colored his voice. "Enid? Can you hear me?"

Taking position near the entrance, Bianca assessed their situation. The room offered good visibility but limited escape routes—those narrow windows were too high and too small for practical exits. The knight statues created blind spots where threats could hide, though they appeared to be simple stonework rather than concealment.

"This feels wrong," Ajax muttered from the center of the chamber, shifting his weight nervously while his eyes darted between shadows. "Like, really wrong. Who just leaves someone out in the open like this?"

"Someone who wants us to find her," Kent observed grimly, examining the room's architecture. "These walls are thick. Sound wouldn't carry far. And that door..." He gestured toward their entrance. "It's thick enough to keep things in or out."

Before Bianca could voice her growing unease, Enid stirred on the stone slab. Her eyelids fluttered, pale lashes casting delicate shadows against her cheeks as consciousness slowly returned.

"That's it," Bruno encouraged softly, clasping her hand. "Wake up."

Gradually, Enid's eyes opened, unfocused and confused as she tried to process her surroundings. "Bruno?" Her voice emerged as barely a whisper. "What... where am I?"

"You're safe now," he assured her, though the words rang hollow in the ancient chamber. "We found you. Tyler drugged you somehow, but you're going to be okay."

"Tyler?" The name seemed to trigger memory, fear flickering across her features as she struggled to sit up. "He was... the festival... I thought you were helping me but it was him and—"

Her explanation was cut short by the massive wooden door slamming shut with a resonating boom that echoed through the mausoleum like a funeral bell. The sound bounced off the walls, seeming to come from everywhere at once as the shadows deepened around them.

"Shit," Ajax breathed, lunging toward the entrance only to find it sealed tight. He pressed his shoulder against the wood, then the frame, searching for any give. "It's not budging. At all."

Rushing to assist, Kent strained alongside him against a barrier that refused to yield. "There's got to be a way out of here," he panted. "Some kind of lever or—"

"There is."

The voice drifted in from somewhere outside the structure, carrying Tyler's familiar cadence with new edges of satisfaction. Bianca felt her jaw tighten as she recognized the carefully modulated tone—the voice of someone who'd planned this moment.

"I'll open the door once our little science experiment is done," Tyler continued. "Until then, you're exactly where I need you to be."

Supporting Enid's still-unsteady form, Bruno helped her slide off the sarcophagus as she found her footing on the ancient stone floor. "What experiment?"

"You'll see soon enough. Though I should mention—struggling will only make it worse."

A strange mechanical humming began to emanate from somewhere within the walls, growing from barely perceptible to unmistakably present. The vibration resonated through the ancient stone, each pulse carrying an ominous rhythm that made the hair on the back of Bianca's neck stand up.

"What is that?" Enid whispered, clinging to Bruno's arm as the humming intensified.

Bianca felt the first whisper of something wrong, a subtle shift she couldn't quite identify. Whatever Tyler had planned, this was the beginning.

The ancient knights watched from their pedestals, silent witnesses to a predator's trap finally springing closed.

The tactical nightmare took Wednesday three seconds to assess: twelve crows with coordination from an avian controller, limited maneuverability on an elevated platform, and zero cover except the library doors six feet behind her assailant. The probable outcomes of engagement were unforgiving.

She moved.

"Running already, Wednesday? I expected more fight from Nevermore's celebrated hero," Judi's voice drifted through the night air as she reached for the door handle.

Her radio crackled with static. "Bianca to Wednesday. We've reached the cemetery entrance. Any updates on Tyler's exact location?"

Before she could respond, the crows struck in perfect formation—three diving for her head while two more targeted her hands, their timing precise as surgical instruments. Dropping low, she rolled against the stone railing as talons raked air where her face had been moments before.

The radio clattered across the balcony, black plastic skittering toward the edge as electronic static dissolved into meaningless noise. Another crow swept down, its wing clipping the device and sending it spinning over the railing into darkness below.

Perfect. No backup, no communication, and Tyler has Enid. This evening continues to exceed expectations.

More crows descended as she lunged through the library doors, their collective caws creating a cacophony that echoed off Gothic stonework. The heavy wooden panels slammed shut behind her, but victory lasted only seconds before several dark forms streamed through the gap she'd left.

Inside, the library's familiar silence felt oppressive rather than comforting. Moonlight filtered through tall windows, casting geometric shadows between towering shelves that stretched toward vaulted ceilings. The space had transformed from sanctuary into maze, each row of books creating corridors where predators could lurk.

Her planning continued automatically. The shelving units were solid oak, built to last centuries, their heavy construction offering both cover and potential weapons. Ancient texts filled each level from floor to ceiling—philosophy, literature, occult studies. The narrow aisles between stacks would limit the crows' aerial advantage while providing her with multiple escape routes.

Three crows had followed her inside, their movements instantly more cautious in the confined space. They perched on shelf tops, heads tilting as they tracked her movement through the bibliographic labyrinth.

"Clever girl," came Judi's voice from somewhere behind her, footsteps echoing off polished floors. "Though I wonder how long you can hide among dusty books while your precious roommate suffers."

Fingers trailing along leather spines, Wednesday moved deeper into the stacks, calculating distances and angles.

Machiavelli, Nietzsche, Poe—at least if I die here, I'll be surrounded by adequate literature.

Between Philosophy and Medieval History, she paused, listening as Judi's footsteps grew closer.

"Your strategy was admirable," Judi continued conversationally. "Radios, positioning, backup plans. Very thorough. Very Wednesday Addams."

A crow landed on the shelf above, its remaining eye catching the moonlight. The way it favored its left wing suggested injury or fatigue from the previous engagement—information to exploit.

"But you see," the executive assistant's voice maintained its warmth, "Tyler and I had our own strategy. While you planned for a Hyde, we planned for you."

Reading tables sat beneath hanging chandeliers at the library's heart, their crystal facets catching stray moonlight. The space offered better visibility but fewer hiding places. Wednesday needed to force Judi into a position where words became action.

"LOIS failed," she called out. "Your father's research died with him in a padded cell."

Footsteps paused. When Judi spoke again, politeness had sharpened into something with edges. "Augustus Stonehurst was a visionary. His methods were simply... ahead of their time."

"He was a madman who drove himself insane attempting to steal the powers of outcasts," Wednesday responded while moving between reading tables, maintaining distance as she gauged her pursuer's position.

"I've perfected his work." The warmth had vanished entirely from Judi's tone. "The integration process that destroyed his mind strengthened mine. I am what he dreamed of becoming."

Above, the remaining crows shifted restlessly, their movements creating soft whispers against ancient wood. Wednesday catalogued their positions while her mind processed escape routes and improvised weapons. The heavy reading chairs could serve as barriers. The chandelier chains offered potential for creative applications.

Most importantly, every second Judi spent pursuing her through literary corridors was time Tyler could spend harming Enid.

The library's architecture revealed itself as more than mere design in Wednesday's mind. The shelving units weren't merely storage—they were a weapon system waiting for activation. Ancient oak construction meant considerable weight, and the way each section connected to its neighbors suggested structural interdependence that could be exploited.

Her eyes traced the rolling ladder's track system, noting how the rails extended the full length of the Philosophy wing. The ladder itself was solid metal, designed to bear the weight of faculty members accessing the highest shelves. Physics flowed through her consciousness automatically: momentum, leverage, the domino effect that would result from applying force at precisely the right angle.

Twelve feet of ladder with enough momentum should knock over the first shelf. Physics would handle the rest—dominoes made of heavy wood and centuries of dusty literature.

And her plan was born.

The three remaining crows shifted nervously between perches, their movements constrained by the narrow aisles between towering shelves. What had been their advantage in open space became liability in these corridors. Their wingspan was too broad for effective maneuvering, their natural flight patterns disrupted by ancient wood and accumulated knowledge.

"Your birds seem less impressive indoors," Wednesday observed aloud, positioning herself near the ladder's base. "Next time you should pick your fights more carefully."

Laughter echoed from the Historical Texts section. "Momentary inconvenience. Unlike your situation, every second you spend playing hide-and-seek among dusty volumes is another moment Tyler has to... experiment with your roommate's pain tolerance."

The taunt hit as intended. Heat flared in Wednesday's chest, not anger but something darker—the absolute certainty that Tyler's death would be neither quick nor merciful when she finally reached him.

Testing the nearest shelf's stability with subtle pressure confirmed her theory about load-bearing stress points. Centuries of texts had created a precarious balance; the slightest disruption would send tons of leather-bound knowledge cascading toward the floor.

"Your concern for your friend's welfare is touching," Judi continued, her footsteps moving closer through the maze of scholarship. "But misplaced. Tyler's learned patience since your last encounter. He'll keep her alive long enough to ensure your full attention."

"My attention is currently occupied by pest control," she replied, edging toward the ladder while maintaining visual contact with the crow perched twelve feet above. "Though I suppose professional exterminators would call you vermin."

One of the crows attempted a diving strike, its talons extended toward her face. Dropping into a crouch, Wednesday let momentum carry the bird past her position before it crashed awkwardly into a shelf of Medieval Literature. Feathers scattered as it struggled to regain altitude in the cramped space.

"Seems like you've inherited your father's delusions along with his research," she said, grasping the ladder's frame.

"I've surpassed his achievements," came Judi's confident response. "The LOIS program succeeded where previous attempts failed. Sustainable ability transfer with minimal mental degradation."

"Minimal?" While beginning to apply pressure to the ladder, Wednesday tested its resistance. "You're hunting teenagers for revenge. That doesn't exactly scream 'stable mind' to me."

The accusation struck home. Judi's footsteps quickened, abandoning stealth for aggressive pursuit. "Elimination of obstacles isn't revenge—it's project maintenance. You represent an unacceptable loose end."

Above, another crow attempted to coordinate with its companions, but the narrow shelving forced them into single-file approaches that eliminated their numerical advantage. Their movements had become predictable, desperate rather than strategic.

Narrow aisles make for clumsy flying. It seems as if even supernatural birds can't defy physics.

Positioning herself at the optimal angle, Wednesday's hands gripped the ladder's frame as calculations finalized in her mind. Momentum requirements, trajectory analysis, the precise timing needed to maximize structural damage while minimizing personal risk.

"For someone who supposedly perfected outcast abilities, you're awfully dependent on birds and cheap shots," she continued, voice carrying the dark humor that emerged during her most dangerous moments. "Hardly evidence of evolutionary advancement."

"Results speak louder than words," Judi snapped, her voice closer now—perhaps only one section away. "When this is finished, normies will have access to every outcast ability. The artificial scarcity of supernatural gifts will become obsolete."

The plan was ready. Every variable accounted for, every angle calculated. But doubt crept through Wednesday's tactical certainty like ice water through her veins—each second spent orchestrating Judi's defeat was time stolen from Enid's rescue.

Trust the others. They're competent. They'll find her.

The affirmation felt hollow against the image of Tyler's predatory satisfaction, but it was the only choice that led to both victories.

Gripping the ladder tighter, she prepared to implement controlled chaos that would end this particular threat permanently.

Physics as poetry. Quite fitting for a library.

The three crows shifted nervously between perches, their wings rustling against bound volumes of Aristotle and Kant. They seemed to sense impending chaos, their movements growing more agitated as she positioned the ladder at the optimal impact point.

"Clever positioning," Judi's voice cut through the library's silence, emerging from between Historical Texts and Medieval Literature. "Though I'm afraid your academic demolition project ends here."

Wednesday's hands stilled on the ladder as she turned to find Judi standing fifteen feet away, no longer attempting stealth or misdirection. The executive assistant persona had vanished entirely, replaced by something far more dangerous.

A sleek black pistol was trained directly on Wednesday's center mass, Judi's grip steady with her finger resting against the trigger guard.

"A gun," Wednesday observed with flat disapproval. "How disappointingly normie of you."

"I preferred the crows," Judi replied, stepping closer while maintaining proper shooting distance. "Quieter. More poetic. Would have looked like a tragic accident—brilliant student killed by rogue birds during festival chaos." Her tone carried that familiar bureaucratic pleasantness. "But your retreat indoors forced me to adopt more direct methodologies."

Remaining motionless against the ladder, Wednesday assessed angles and distances. The weapon eliminated her ability to complete the domino plan—any sudden movement would result in immediate death. Above, the crows watched with anticipation, their eyes gleaming in the shadows of the bookshelves.

"Direct methodologies," she repeated. "Is that what LOIS protocols call execution?"

"Pest control," Judi corrected pleasantly. "You represent a significant threat to program continuity. Your interference at Willow Hill cost decades of research and dozens of viable test subjects."

"Viable test subjects." Her voice hardened. "You mean the outcasts you kidnapped and experimented on against their will."

"Willing participation was never a project requirement." A slight widening of Judi's smile accompanied her words. "Integration studies necessitate controlled environments and predictable variables. Willing participation was never a requirement."

The casual dismissal of agency and autonomy confirmed everything Wednesday had suspected about LOIS's true nature. These weren't researchers seeking scientific advancement—they were predators who'd found sophisticated justification for their appetites.

"Your father's madness was more honest," she said. "At least Augustus acknowledged his obsessions were destroying him. You've convinced yourself that systematic torture serves some greater purpose."

"My father was a pioneer working with limited resources." Despite the gun in her hands, Judi's tone remained conversationally pleasant. "Modern iterations of his work eliminate the psychological degradation that compromised his mind."

"Modern iterations. Like turning yourself into Tyler's new master." Shifting slightly, Wednesday tested how much movement the weapon would tolerate. "How long did the transfer take? Weeks? Months? Did you volunteer for the position, or was that decision made for you?"

Something flickered across Judi's expression—too quick to interpret, but definitely not the controlled satisfaction she'd maintained throughout their confrontation.

"Oh, my dear Wednesday, Tyler Galpin needs no master. His hatred for you runs deep enough to be his own driving force. I simply... showed him our mutual interests."

"Mutual interests like hiding behind birds while others do your killing."

"I prefer strategic thinking to brute force." The gun remained steady despite Wednesday's provocation. "Tyler handles direct confrontation. I manage surveillance and logistics. Efficient division of labor."

One of the crows released a sharp caw that echoed off vaulted ceilings. The sound carried meaning—either communication with distant allies or warning of approaching threats.

"Your management seems to have missed a critical detail," said Wednesday, forcing her voice to remain steady. "My friends know where Tyler took Enid. They're already following him."

"How wonderfully predictable." A wider smile spread across Judi's face. "Tyler was counting on that. Though I wonder how effective teenage heroes will be once they discover their... limitations."

Wednesday kept her expression carefully neutral. "What limitations?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough. Tyler's been so thorough in his preparations."

Dread pooled in Wednesday's stomach as she realized Judi knew something she didn't. Whatever Tyler had planned for the cemetery, it wasn't just a simple ambush. Her friends were walking into a trap she couldn't warn them about.

They're competent, she told herself firmly. They can handle whatever Tyler throws at them.

But doubt gnawed at her as she calculated how much time had passed. Fifteen minutes, maybe more. Long enough for Tyler to spring whatever surprise he'd prepared.

"You seem distracted," Judi observed with mock concern. "Worried about your little pack of amateur investigators? Don't be. Their deaths will be quick—Tyler's learned to save his creativity for special occasions."

Looking directly into Judi's eyes, Wednesday's expression revealed nothing of the rage building behind her ribs. "When I kill you, it won't be quick."

"Threats from someone trapped at gunpoint lack a certain credibility." The finger moved from trigger guard to trigger. "Though I admit, I'll miss our conversations. You have such interesting perspectives on mortality."

The crows shifted restlessly, moving between shadows as if preparing for violence. Wednesday remained perfectly still against the ladder, her mind racing through scenarios that all ended with bullets and blood.

Seventeen minutes since Tyler had taken Enid. How much time did she have left before his patience ran out?

The mechanical humming stopped.

Enid felt the absence like a physical wound, a hollow space where something vital had been torn away. She pressed her palms against the cold stone wall, trying to understand what had changed. The moonlight streaming through the mausoleum's stained glass seemed dimmer somehow, colors drained to gray shadows that offered no comfort.

"What was that sound?" Bruno asked, his voice echoing strangely in the sudden silence.

Ajax tugged at his beanie, frowning. "Some kind of machine? It felt like it was coming from the walls."

Bianca moved toward the center of the chamber. "The acoustics are wrong. This space should carry sound differently."

Kent stood near the entrance, shoulders tense. "Anyone else feeling... off? Like something's missing?"

Before anyone could answer, footsteps echoed from beyond the doorway—slow, deliberate, completely unhurried. The large wooden door swung open and a figure appeared in the entrance, silhouetted against the night sky.

Tyler Galpin stepped into the mausoleum, his human face calm and satisfied. No urgency, no rage, no desperation. Just cold certainty as his gaze swept across their group with the patience of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said pleasantly. "But we can get started now."

Ajax stepped forward immediately, one hand moving to his beanie. "Stay back." His fingers found the knit fabric, pulling it free in a smooth motion that should have sent his snakes writhing in defensive patterns. "I'm warning you—"

Nothing happened.

Ajax's snakes lay limp against his scalp, lifeless strands that moved only with the motion of his head. No deadly eyes, no petrifying gaze, no supernatural threat that had protected him his entire life.

"What..." Ajax's voice cracked with shock. He touched the snakes with trembling fingers, trying to coax movement from hair that remained stubbornly ordinary. "They're not... why aren't they...?"

Tyler's smile widened. "Performance issues?"

Bianca stepped forward, removing her pendant from her neck. "Tyler Galpin, you will leave and—"

The words fell into silence like stones dropped into deep water. No resonance, no supernatural weight, no power behind syllables that should have commanded absolute obedience. Her hand flew to her throat, feeling for the familiar vibration that accompanied her gift.

Nothing. Empty air and hollow sound.

"What the hell?" she whispered, trying again. "I order you to—" The words came out as ordinary speech, stripped of everything that made them dangerous.

Kent raised his hands, stepping forward. "Tyler Galpin, you will stop this and—" His siren voice should have carried the same compelling force as Bianca's, but the words emerged powerless, ordinary human speech that Tyler ignored completely.

Enid felt panic rising in her throat as she flexed her fingers, reaching for claws that wouldn't come. Her nails remained short and human, no supernatural strength flooding her limbs. Beside her, Bruno's breathing quickened as he faced the same devastating realization.

"No powers," Tyler observed, his tone conversational. "Just ordinary kids playing dress-up in a school for freaks."

"How?" Bianca demanded.

Tyler shrugged. "The 'how' doesn't really matter right now, does it?"

Ajax touched his snakes again, desperate. "This isn't possible. Powers don't just... stop."

"Don't they?" Tyler's expression carried twisted glee. "Turns out even monsters have off days."

Enid watched her friends' faces cycle through shock, disbelief, and growing terror. These were people who'd relied on their abilities their entire lives—Ajax's protective petrification, Bianca's and Kent's siren songs, her and Bruno's werewolf strength and agility. Stripped of their gifts, they were just teenagers facing a monster with nothing but hopes and dreams.

"How long?" Kent asked, his voice hollow with growing panic.

Tyler tilted his head, considering. "Who knows? Could be minutes. Could be forever." He studied their faces. "Guess we'll find out together."

"Where is she?" Enid stepped forward despite her terror, her voice shaking but determined. "What did you do to Wednesday?"

"Wednesday?" Tyler's eyes lit up with genuine pleasure. "She's probably busy getting her eyes picked out by crows." He paused, savoring Enid's expression. "Judi had such creative ideas."

The ancient mausoleum felt smaller suddenly, walls pressing closer as the reality of their situation solidified. No powers, no backup, no escape. Just five powerless teenagers trapped in a stone tomb with a predator who'd been planning this trap for days.

The silence stretched like a held breath, broken only by Tyler's satisfied chuckle and the distant echo of festival music that seemed to mock their predicament. Enid glanced around the ancient chamber, searching for anything—a weapon, an escape route, some miracle that might level the impossible odds they faced.

"We need to move," Bianca said suddenly, her voice sharp with focus despite the fear in her eyes. "There has to be something in here we can use."

Enid followed Bianca's gaze to the stone knights standing sentinel around the mausoleum. Each carved figure gripped a ceremonial sword—not decorative replicas, but actual steel blades that had been placed with the tomb's original occupants. The weapons caught moonlight along their edges, promising real steel against supernatural threat.

"The swords," Kent breathed, understanding immediately.

Without discussion, they scattered toward the statues. Enid reached the nearest knight and wrapped her fingers around the ancient hilt, surprised by its weight. The blade came free with a metallic whisper that seemed to cut through the chamber's oppressive atmosphere.

Bruno hefted his weapon, testing its balance. "These are real. Old, but real."

Ajax pulled his sword free with both hands, the steel trembling slightly in his grip. "I always sucked at fencing."

"Just point the sharp end at Tyler," Bianca instructed grimly. "Keep moving, don't let him corner you."

Tyler watched their desperate preparations with genuine amusement. "Swords? Really? That's your best plan?"

"Better than standing here waiting to die," Kent shot back, raising his blade defensively.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Tyler's smile widened, showing too many teeth. "At least waiting would be quicker."

Enid gripped her sword's handle with both hands, the cold metal surprisingly reassuring despite its unfamiliar weight. Around her, her friends formed a rough circle, blades pointed toward their center where Tyler stood with confidence.

"Five teenagers with rusty swords," Tyler continued. "Against someone who's been dreaming of this moment for months. Do you really think those toothpicks will make a difference?"

His shoulders broadened, joints crackling as bones lengthened beneath skin that took on a sickly gray pallor. The transformation was deliberate, theatrical—Tyler savoring their growing horror as his true nature emerged.

"God," Bruno whispered, his sword wavering as Tyler's frame expanded beyond human proportions.

The confined space of the mausoleum made Tyler's true size even more horrifying. Nearly seven feet of supernatural predator loomed over them, his elongated skull scraping against the ancient stone ceiling. Muscles bulged beneath gray skin while his jaw distended, revealing rows of jagged teeth that caught moonlight like broken glass.

Enid felt her sword grow heavier in her hands. The weapon that had felt substantial moments before now seemed laughably inadequate against claws that could tear through stone and speed that made human reflexes seem like slow motion.

Yet she held her ground. They all did, because running meant certain death and fighting at least offered the illusion of hope.

The Hyde that had been Tyler Galpin studied them, saliva dripping from his distended jaw onto ancient flagstones. When he moved, it would be explosive, overwhelming, final.

"This is going to be fun," he said, his voice distorted by inhuman anatomy but still recognizable.

Ajax stepped forward without warning, positioning himself directly between the Hyde and his friends. His sword trembled in his grip, but his voice was steady.

"Run."

"Ajax—" Enid started.

"Now!" he shouted, lunging toward Tyler. "Get out of here!"

The others hesitated for only a heartbeat—leaving Ajax felt like abandonment, but staying meant they all died. As steel rang against supernatural claws, they bolted for the doorway.

Behind them, Ajax's breathing grew labored as stone chips flew from impacts against the mausoleum walls.

Enid's last glimpse was of her friend, small and determined and hopelessly outmatched, sacrificing himself to buy them time.

The scream cut through the night air like shattered glass—Ajax's voice breaking on a note of agony that made Enid's stomach clench with horror. The sound stretched impossibly long before ending in a wet thud that echoed off ancient stone.

Silence followed. Heavy, terrible silence that seemed to press against her eardrums.

Then Tyler emerged from the mausoleum.

His elongated frame filled the doorway, gray skin glistening with moisture that might have been sweat or something worse. His distended jaw worked slowly, as if savoring a taste, while those sharp teeth caught the moonlight.

He paused in the entrance, tilting his grotesque head to study the cemetery around him. When his gaze found them crouched behind a weathered headstone thirty yards away, his lips pulled back in what might have been a smile.

A roar exploded from his throat—primal, triumphant, echoing off Gothic monuments like a challenge to everything still breathing. The sound reverberated through Enid's bones, triggering instincts that screamed at her to flee, to hide, to do anything except face the monster that had just killed her friend.

"Move," Bianca hissed, grabbing Enid's arm. "Now."

They bolted from their hiding spot, feet pounding against gravel paths as Tyler's laughter followed them into the maze of headstones and marble angels. The cemetery transformed around them—peaceful monuments becoming cover, elaborate mausoleums creating blind corners where death might wait. Ancient oaks cast twisted shadows that concealed movement, making every shifting branch a potential threat.

"This way," Bianca whispered. She guided them between monuments, using the terrain's natural barriers to break line of sight. "Keep the larger tombs between us and—"

Stone exploded beside Kent's head as Tyler's claws raked across a marble cherub. The Hyde had covered the distance between them in seconds, moving with impossible speed through terrain that should have slowed him down.

Kent rolled desperately, his sword clattering across flagstones as Tyler's second swipe missed by inches. "Shit, shit, shit—"

Bruno hauled him upright, both of them stumbling toward a cluster of elaborate Victorian monuments that offered temporary concealment. "He's too fast. We can't outrun him."

"Don't have to outrun him," Bianca panted, pulling them deeper into the cemetery's heart. "Just have to survive long enough for—"

"For what?" Tyler's voice drifted from somewhere behind them, unhurried and amused. "Wednesday's probably crow food by now. No one is coming to save you."

Enid felt her heart drop at the words, but she forced herself to keep moving. Wednesday was alive. She had to be alive. The alternative was unthinkable.

They reached a section where family mausoleums created natural corridors between towering monuments. Bianca pushed them against the wall of a Gothic tomb, all of them breathing hard as they tried to orient themselves.

"Can we circle back?" Kent whispered. "Check on Ajax?"

"Ajax might already be dead," Bianca said bluntly, though her voice cracked slightly. "Tyler wants us to go back. That's why he's taking his time."

Wet breathing echoed from somewhere too close, accompanied by the soft scrape of claws against stone. Tyler was hunting, using his enhanced senses to track their movements while savoring the prolonged terror.

"Split up," Bianca decided. "He can't follow all of us."

"Bad idea," Bruno protested. "We're stronger together."

"We're dead together," she countered. "This way we have a chance."

Before anyone could argue, Tyler's form appeared at the end of their stone corridor, silhouetted against moonlight like a nightmare given flesh. His head swiveled toward them.

They scattered.

Enid found herself running alone between monuments that blurred past in her peripheral vision. Behind her, Tyler's breathing grew closer—not winded, but excited. The sound of a predator enjoying the chase.

"Little wolf without her claws," his voice drifted through the cemetery air. "How does it feel, Enid? Being helpless?"

She ducked behind a massive angel statue, flattening herself against cold marble as footsteps approached.

"I've been dreaming about this moment," Tyler continued. "Watching you realize that all your supernatural strength was just borrowed time. That underneath all that power, you're just a scared little girl."

Somewhere to her left, Kent cried out in pain—a sharp, agonized sound that cut off abruptly. Enid bit her lip to keep from calling his name, tasting copper as she fought against the urge to help.

"Found one," Tyler announced with satisfaction. "Though he's not nearly as fun as you'll be."

Movement flickered at the edge of her vision—Bruno darting between monuments, trying to reach Kent's position. Tyler's form blurred past in pursuit, and the collision when he caught Bruno rang out like a car crash.

Bruno's scream echoed off stone as he hit a marble monument. The ancient structure cracked under the impact, pieces of carved stonework raining down around his still form.

"Two down," Tyler called cheerfully. "Who's next?"

Enid clutched her sword tighter, tears streaming down her face as she listened to her friends' suffering. This was her fault. Tyler wanted her specifically—the others were just entertainment, obstacles between him and his real target.

"Come out, Enid," Tyler's voice carried false gentleness. "You're only making this harder on your friends. Come out, and I might make their deaths quick."

She almost believed him. Almost stepped out from behind the angel statue to face whatever Tyler had planned. But movement caught her eye—Bianca, bloodied but still moving, gesturing frantically from behind a distant mausoleum.

The siren mouthed a single word: "Run."

Enid ran.

She fled deeper into the cemetery, past monuments to forgotten faculty and benefactors whose carved faces seemed to watch her desperate flight. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, muscles burning from exertion her enhanced physiology should have made effortless.

"That's better," Tyler's voice followed her, unhurried. "I do love a good chase."

The cemetery's layout worked against her—paths that seemed to lead toward escape doubled back on themselves, depositing her in circular clearings surrounded by elaborate tombs. Tyler had herded her here deliberately, using the terrain to limit her options.

As she rounded a weathered mausoleum, Tyler appeared from the shadows beside her. His claws raked across her ribs before she could dodge, tearing through fabric and flesh. Enid stumbled, gasping at the sudden pain, but forced herself to keep moving. Blood soaked through her torn clothing, the wound sending spikes of agony through her side with each step.

"First blood," Tyler called after her. "Don't worry—there's plenty more where that came from."

She pressed one hand against the wounds, feeling warm blood seep between her fingers as she continued her desperate flight. The injury slowed her down, made each breath a struggle, but she didn't stop.

She found herself in the cemetery's oldest section, where simple headstones gave way to elaborate Victorian monuments. A massive oak dominated the space, its ancient branches creating a canopy that blocked much of the moonlight. Blood from the gash on her ribs had spread across her torn clothing, and her injured shoulder throbbed with each movement.

Footsteps approached slowly.

"End of the road," Tyler announced, stepping into the clearing.

His Hyde form looked even more monstrous in the filtered light—gray skin stretched over haunting anatomy, claws that dripped with moisture she didn't want to identify. When he smiled, those terrible teeth promised agony before death.

"Just you and me now, Enid." His voice carried twisted satisfaction. "The way it should have been from the beginning."

She raised her sword with trembling hands, the blade feeling pathetically inadequate. Her injuries made the weapon feel heavier, her grip less certain. But it was all she had—that and the desperate hope that Wednesday was still alive somewhere, still fighting.

"Stay back," she managed, though her voice shook. "I'm warning you."

Tyler's laughter filled the clearing, bouncing off monuments to echo through the night air like the sound of madness itself.

"Or what?" he asked, taking another step forward. "You'll poke me with that butter knife?"

Behind her, the massive oak offered no escape—only bark and shadow. To her sides, elaborate tombs created walls that channeled her toward the monster that had been hunting her all evening.

Tyler had planned this moment perfectly. No powers, no backup, nowhere to run.

Just Enid Sinclair, powerless and terrified, facing the nightmare that had nearly destroyed her and Wednesday's friendship.

His massive frame advanced, forcing Enid backward until cold stone bit into her spine. The elaborate Gothic monument trapped her against its carved angels and weathered inscriptions, leaving nowhere to retreat as the Hyde loomed over her bleeding form. His elongated jaw split into that horrible grin, saliva dripping from teeth that caught moonlight like broken promises.

"Look at you," he whispered. "All that fire, all that fight, and now you're just... ordinary."

Enid grasped her sword with slick fingers, blood from the gashes across her ribs making the hilt slippery and unreliable. Her shoulder throbbed where she'd collided with a marble headstone during the chase, each movement sending spikes of pain through her battered body.

"I want you to know something before this ends," Tyler continued, his claws tracing patterns in the air inches from her face. "Wednesday's going to blame herself, you know. When she finds what's left of you. All that guilt, all that rage, and nowhere to put it. I almost feel sorry for her."

"Wednesday isn't weak," Enid managed, though her voice shook with both terror and fierce loyalty. "She won't break."

"Won't she?" Tyler's head tilted, his grotesque features splitting into that horrible grin. "Even Wednesday Addams has limits. And watching her precious roommate die because she couldn't save her? That might just be the thing that finally cracks that cold little heart of hers."

The psychological blow hit harder than his claws had, sending guilt and anguish crashing through her chest. She'd promised to protect Wednesday, sworn they'd face whatever came together. Instead, she'd let herself be separated, drugged, trapped while her roommate fought alone against whatever horror Tyler had arranged.

Tyler leaned closer, his breath hot against her face. "I saved the best for last, Enid. You get to die knowing you failed everyone who ever—"

Steel bit deep across Tyler's back, the blade drawing a line of steaming blood from shoulder to spine. His roar of surprise and pain exploded across the cemetery as he spun away from Enid, massive claws swiping at the figure that had struck him.

Bruno stood behind the Hyde, ceremonial sword gripped in both hands, his face set with determination. Blood streamed from multiple wounds across his arms and chest—evidence of his own chase through the cemetery's maze of horrors—but his stance remained steady.

"Get away from her," he growled, raising the blade between Tyler and Enid.

Tyler's elongated features twisted with rage as he faced this new threat. "The boyfriend comes to play hero. How touching."

"I'm not playing anything," Bruno replied, conviction burning in his eyes. "You want her? You go through me first."

The Hyde's laughter filled the clearing, but there was less humor in it now, more genuine anger at having his moment interrupted. "Gladly."

Tyler moved with inhuman speed, claws raking toward Bruno's chest in strikes that should have ended the fight immediately. But Bruno was ready—he ducked low, rolled sideways, brought his sword up in defensive patterns that spoke of actual training rather than desperate flailing. The ceremonial blade met supernatural claws in a shower of sparks, the metal somehow holding against forces that could shred stone.

Yet skill could only bridge so much of the gap between human and monster. Tyler's next swipe found its mark, claws tearing through Bruno's sleeve to open parallel wounds across his forearm. The werewolf stumbled backward, blood streaming down his arm, but managed to keep his sword between them.

"Still think you can save her?" Tyler taunted, pressing his advantage. His claws struck again, this time catching Bruno across the chest and sending him staggering against a weathered headstone.

Bruno gasped as pain flared through his ribs, but he forced himself upright. Something was different—the impact that should have shattered bone had merely bruised. His movements felt stronger somehow, more coordinated than they had moments before.

Tyler sensed the change too, his predatory instincts registering the subtle shift in his opponent's capabilities. When his next strike came, Bruno didn't just dodge—he countered, driving his sword point toward the Hyde's exposed flank. Tyler twisted away, but not quickly enough. The blade opened a shallow cut along his ribs, drawing more of that steaming blood.

"You little…" Tyler breathed, studying Bruno with new wariness.

Bruno stared at his own hands, feeling strength flow back into limbs that had been frustratingly ordinary just minutes before. When he flexed his fingers, familiar claws extended from his fingertips—not full transformation, but enough to remind him what he was beneath the human facade.

"My powers," he whispered, wonder and relief flooding his voice. "They're coming back."

Behind a distant monument, Bianca felt it too—the familiar resonance building in her throat, the subtle vibration that meant her siren voice was stirring to life. She caught Kent's eye and saw the same realization reflected in his expression. Their abilities were returning.

But Enid flexed her fingers desperately, reaching for claws that still wouldn't come. While the others began to feel their supernatural gifts stirring, she remained trapped in ordinary human flesh. Her strength stayed absent, her healing factor silent, her wolf form as distant as ever.

The realization sent panic cascading through her chest. They were recovering their advantages while she remained vulnerable, helpless, exactly what Tyler had wanted her to be.

Tyler's mind processed the shifting battlefield. One partially-powered werewolf he could still easily handle, but two sirens coordinating their abilities would be devastating to his enhanced hearing. The odds had changed from overwhelming advantage to genuine threat.

"This isn't over," he announced, his massive form already backing toward the shadows between monuments. "Not even close."

Bruno raised his sword, claws gleaming in the moonlight. "Running away? That's not very Hyde-like."

"I'm not running," Tyler replied, his voice carrying cold certainty rather than defeat. "I'm choosing my moment."

His gaze found Enid against the monument, and his grotesque features split into one final, terrible smile. "Enjoy your borrowed time, little wolf. I'll be seeing you again very soon."

The Hyde melted into the cemetery's shadows, leaving only the echo of his laughter and the promise of future violence. The night seemed to exhale around them, releasing tension that had been building toward explosive confrontation.

Bruno immediately dropped his sword and rushed to Enid's side, gently assessing her injuries. "Are you hurt? I saw him catch you during the chase."

"I'm okay," Enid lied, pressing one hand against the wounds across her ribs while she struggled to process everything that had happened. "My powers—they're not coming back like yours. I can't feel anything."

Before Bruno could respond, Bianca and Kent emerged from their hiding places, both moving with careful steps that spoke of their own injuries. Relief flooded their faces when they saw Enid upright and breathing.

"Is everyone—" Bianca started, then stopped as she took in Bruno's bloodied state and Enid's obvious wounds. "God, look at you both."

"We're alive," Bruno said simply, though exhaustion made his voice shake. "That's more than I thought we'd manage."

"Ajax," Enid said suddenly, the name cutting through her relief like a knife. "We have to check on Ajax."

Without waiting for discussion, she pushed away from the monument and began running toward the mausoleum. Her injuries protested every step, and her missing powers made the distance feel impossibly long, but guilt drove her forward. Ajax had risked everything to give them a chance—she couldn't bear the thought that his courage had been wasted.

The others followed, their own wounds forgotten in the face of more immediate concerns. The mausoleum loomed ahead like a tomb of judgment, its ancient stones holding answers they were afraid to discover.

Inside the chamber, they found Ajax partially buried under fallen stone debris, his face pale and streaked with blood. But his chest rose and fell with steady breathing, and when Bianca knelt to check his pulse, she found it strong and regular.

"He's alive," she announced, relief making her voice crack. "Unconscious, but alive."

They carefully extracted him from the rubble, supporting his weight as they assessed his injuries. Multiple contusions, probable concussion, but nothing that looked immediately life-threatening. The ancient knights watched from their pedestals, their stone faces impassive as they observed the aftermath of violence in their sacred space.

"We need to get him help," Kent said, studying Ajax's pale features. "Head injuries are nothing to mess with."

"And we need to find Wednesday," Enid added. "Tyler said something about crows, about Judi. She's out there somewhere facing whatever she arranged."

"We can't split up," Bruno protested. "Not with Tyler still loose and your powers—"

"I don't care about my powers," Enid interrupted, though the lie burned her throat. "Wednesday needs help. Now."

Bianca studied their small group—Ajax unconscious, Bruno and Enid both wounded, Kent holding his left arm where Tyler's claws had ripped through it. They were in no condition for another confrontation, especially not when their abilities were only partially restored.

"Some of us need to get Ajax back to the festival," she said finally. "Find faculty, get him proper medical help. The others..."

"I'm going after Wednesday," Enid declared, her tone brooking no argument. "With or without backup."

The ancient mausoleum seemed to press closer around them, weight of decision and consequence settling over their shoulders.

Time was running out, and Wednesday was still out there in the dark.

Wednesday's mind catalogued every detail—the gun's barrel remained steady at center mass, fifteen feet of distance, three crows perched between Philosophy and Medieval Literature like harbingers of convenient death. Behind her tactical assessment, more urgent calculations churned: eighteen minutes since Tyler had taken Enid. Long enough for violence. Long enough for permanent damage.

"Your silence is telling," Judi observed. "Usually you have such delightfully morbid observations about mortality."

"I'm considering whether bullet wounds would improve your personality," Wednesday replied, though her attention was divided between immediate survival and the terrible arithmetic of time. "I doubt it."

The crows shifted restlessly above them, their dark forms creating shadows between ancient spines of Aristotle and Kant. One released a soft caw that echoed through the library's acoustics—communication or warning, impossible to determine which.

"You know what I find fascinating about your situation?" Judi continued, finger resting against the trigger. "You've spent so much energy orchestrating everyone else's safety. Coordinating defenses, delegating responsibilities, ensuring your precious friends had backup plans. Very admirable leadership qualities."

A muscle tightened in Wednesday's jaw. Each word felt calculated to distract her from action, to keep her trapped in this position while Tyler accomplished his objectives elsewhere.

"But all that careful planning becomes irrelevant when you're the one who needs rescuing," Judi added with mock sympathy. "And there's nobody left to help."

"You assume I require assistance," Wednesday said. "Perhaps your research into outcast psychology missed certain... personality traits."

Before Judi could respond, a sound shattered the library's silence—Tyler's triumphant roar echoing across campus from the direction of the cemetery. The sound carried victory and violence, a predator's announcement of successful hunt.

Judi's head turned slightly toward the noise, her attention flickering for just a split second as she registered what Tyler's roar might mean.

Wednesday's mind shifted into motion.

Now.

Her hand closed around Summa Theologica, its thick binding promising substantial weight distribution. Aquinas's complete theological treatise became a projectile that sailed through the dim light.

The massive tome struck Judi in the shoulder, spinning her sideways as she stumbled against the Historical Texts section. The gun wavered but didn't fall.

"Medieval philosophy," Wednesday observed, already reaching for another weapon. "Aquinas would approve of the application."

The Critique of Pure Reason followed immediately—Kant's dense German idealism concentrated into seven hundred pages of academic heft. This volume caught Judi center mass, doubling her over as breath escaped in a sharp gasp.

The crows reacted instantly, diving from their perches in coordinated fury. Wednesday ducked as talons raked air where her head had been, then grabbed The Complete Works of Aristotle with both hands. The collected wisdom of ancient Greece became a battering ram that sent the first crow tumbling through the Philosophy section.

"You little—" Judi's composure cracked as she fought to regain her balance, gun swinging wildly as she tried to track Wednesday's movements between the narrow aisles.

"Normie," Wednesday finished, hurling Being and Time. Heidegger's existential phenomenology struck the weapon's barrel just as Judi attempted to aim, sending the pistol spinning across polished floors into the Renaissance Texts section.

The remaining crows pressed their attack, forcing Wednesday to weave between towering shelves as wings and talons created chaos above her head. She grabbed The Republic and sent Plato's political philosophy sailing toward the nearest bird, catching it mid-dive and sending feathers scattering between ancient spines.

"I find most situations improve with a little chaos," Wednesday noted, selecting Ethics from the same shelf. "This library was far too organized." Spinoza's mathematical approach to moral philosophy proved effective against the third crow, which crashed into a display of Classical Philosophy.

Judi scrambled toward the fallen weapon. "Decades of research! Generations of scientific advancement! And you're throwing books at me!"

"Knowledge is the deadliest weapon," Wednesday replied, hefting The Phenomenology of Spirit. Hegel's absolute idealism sailed through the moonlit air, striking Judi's reaching hand just as she touched the gun's barrel.

The impact sent the weapon skittering further away, metal against marble creating sparks that illuminated the library's Gothic architecture. Judi cursed—actually cursed, professional vocabulary abandoned for gutter-level invective.

"Your father would be ashamed," Wednesday continued, moving between shelves as she selected her next projectile. "Reduced to scrambling across floors like a common animal."

Above, the crows regrouped despite their losses, circling between chandelier chains and arched domes as they prepared for another coordinated strike. Wednesday noted their positioning while her hands found Das Kapital—Marx's economic theories.

"Augustus spent years developing LOIS protocols," Judi snarled, abandoning her pursuit of the weapon to face Wednesday directly. "I perfected his work! Enhanced it! And you're destroying everything with amateur hour tactics!"

"Amateur hour?" Wednesday's voice carried dark amusement as she readied her throw. "This is applied literary criticism."

Marx's complete analysis of capitalist economics caught Judi in the ribs, sending her staggering against a reading table. The impact scattered generations of scholarship—parchment and vellum cascading across the surface like winter leaves.

"You think this changes anything?" Judi gasped, one hand pressed against her side. "Tyler still has your precious roommate. While you're playing projectile philosopher, he's tearing her apart piece by piece."

Heat flared behind Wednesday's ribs—not anger but something darker, more consuming. The image of Tyler's satisfaction mixed with Enid's terror created mathematics that demanded immediate resolution.

But tactical thinking overrode emotional response. The gun lay twenty feet away. The crows maintained aerial superiority despite their losses. And Wednesday's position near the rolling ladder remained optimal for implementing her original plan.

"Your psychological manipulation lacks subtlety," she replied, moving toward the ladder's frame. "But you've confirmed my assessment of Tyler's priorities."

Above, the remaining crows prepared for another dive. Judi straightened despite obvious pain, her eyes tracking between Wednesday's position and the fallen weapon. The momentary advantage Wednesday had gained through bibliographic bombardment was already dissolving.

Time to escalate from individual projectiles to architectural solutions.

Gripping the ladder's metal frame, Wednesday finalized her calculations: momentum, leverage, the domino effect that would transform ancient wisdom into an avalanche of binding and paper.

"Let's see how well you and your birds handle controlled demolition," Wednesday said, beginning to push.

The ancient track system groaned under pressure, metal rails protesting as she applied calculated force at the optimal angle.

"What are you—" Judi's voice cracked with sudden understanding.

"Physics," Wednesday replied, throwing her full weight behind the ladder's momentum.

The metal frame slammed into the first shelf with tremendous force, sending The Complete Works of Shakespeare tumbling like domino pieces. The impact reverberated through the connected oak sections—a deep, resonant crack that spoke of structural failure and impending disaster.

Above, the crows released panicked caws as their perches began to sway. Theological Studies tilted precariously, leather spines sliding against each other in leather-bound avalanche. Philosophy followed immediately after, centuries of moral theory cascading toward the floor in deafening impacts.

"You maniacal little—" Judi scrambled toward her fallen weapon as the first shelf toppled completely.

The crash shook the entire library. Choking clouds of dust exploded upward as oak met marble with violence that echoed throughout the space. Principia Mathematica, The Divine Comedy, and War and Peace became projectiles of their own, their weight and momentum adding to the chaos as they struck surrounding furniture.

Wednesday pressed herself against the nearest stable support—a marble pillar that had witnessed centuries of academic pursuit—as the domino effect accelerated beyond her calculations. The second shelf surrendered to physics with even greater violence, its collapse triggering sympathetic failures in adjacent sections.

Historical Analysis crashed into Renaissance Texts, which toppled into Modern Philosophy, creating a cascade of destruction that transformed the library's heart into a battlefield of binding and paper. The air filled with floating particles and scattered pages, the ambient light revealing an apocalyptic atmosphere as knowledge itself became weaponized.

The remaining crows fled in absolute panic, their wings beating frantically against dust clouds as they sought escape through upper windows. One wasn't quick enough—caught beneath a falling section of Classical Literature that silenced its cries.

Judi's desperate lunge for the weapon became tragically irrelevant as the expanding destruction reached her position. Her fingers had barely touched the gun's barrel when Political Theory crashed down around her, Machiavelli and Hobbes delivering their own form of social contract.

"Should have chosen a smaller venue for your final performance," Wednesday observed, dodging a particularly heavy volume of Encyclopædia Britannica as it tumbled from collapsing heights.

The woman who had perfected Augustus Stonehurst's research found herself buried beneath ancient wisdom, her executive assistant persona finally silenced by the very knowledge she'd tried to exploit. A fitting end—crushed by the weight of learning she'd never truly understood.

Floating particles continued settling as the final shelves surrendered to gravity's inevitability. The library's ancient silence returned gradually, broken only by occasional groans from stressed wood and the soft patter of loose pages drifting downward like literary confetti.

Wednesday stepped carefully through the wreckage, dust motes dancing in the pale light as she navigated between fallen shelves and scattered philosophy. The destruction exceeded her calculations—generations of academic pursuit now reduced to literary debris scattered across marble floors like the aftermath of a bibliographic apocalypse.

Near the Historical Texts section, a pale hand protruded from beneath a collapsed oak shelf. Judi Spannegel lay motionless, her executive assistant composure finally broken by the weight of human knowledge. Blood trickled from a gash above her left temple, staining scattered pages of The Prince with crimson that seemed oddly appropriate for Machiavelli's political theories.

Kneeling beside the debris, Wednesday pressed two fingers against Judi's neck. A steady pulse confirmed life, though the woman's breathing remained shallow and labored. Unconscious but alive—a disappointment that she shouldn't ignore.

She reached toward Judi's throat, then hesitated. Tyler's roar echoed in her memory—twenty-two minutes since Enid's abduction. Every second spent eliminating one threat was time stolen from addressing a more immediate danger.

Her protective instincts overrode darker impulses. The living took precedence over the unconscious.

Searching through the scattered contents of Judi's bag, Wednesday found two glass syringes filled with amber liquid. The substance caught moonlight with oily consistency that suggested chemical complexity beyond simple sedatives. Her analytical mind processed possibilities: the same compound Tyler had used to incapacitate Enid, or perhaps something worse.

Evidence. And potentially a medical necessity, depending on Enid's condition when Wednesday finally reached her.

She pocketed both syringes without hesitation, feeling the glass casings against her side. Around her, the library continued settling into its new configuration—oak beams groaning under redistributed weight, loose pages floating gently to the floor.

The remaining crows had vanished entirely, either fled through upper windows or neutralized by collapsing scholarship. No witnesses except an unconscious enemy and ancient wisdom.

Wednesday stood, brushing dust from her blazer as she assessed the scene one final time. Judi would survive to face interrogation and imprisonment, though permanent unconsciousness would have been more merciful than Wednesday wanted to be.

Her boots crunched across debris as she moved toward the library's main entrance, each step creating small avalanches of loose pages. The heavy doors opened with their familiar groan, releasing her into night air that felt sharp and clean after the choking dust of demolition.

The festival courtyard had transformed in her absence. Students clustered in confused groups near mechanical displays that no longer captured their attention, their faces turned toward the library building with expressions that suggested the destruction had been audible from outside. Faculty members moved between them with obvious concern, attempting to maintain order while assessing potential threats.

Near the central fountain, Principal Dort stood with rigid posture that conveyed barely contained irritation. His eyes swept across the festival's disrupted geometry before settling on Wednesday's figure emerging from academic ruins.

Their gazes met across fifty-plus feet of cobblestone. Dort's expression shifted from confusion to recognition—the look of authority confronting evidence of significant property damage combined with unanswered questions.

He opened his mouth, one hand rising in a gesture that would clearly demand Wednesday surrender an appropriate explanation.

Wednesday turned away without acknowledgment, already making her way toward the cemetery path that wound through Nevermore's grounds like a shadow between ancient trees. Whatever administrative consequences awaited could be addressed after more pressing matters were dealt with.

Behind her, Dort's voice called something that might have been her name or possibly a command to stop, but the words dissolved into night air. She had neither time nor inclination for delays when Tyler's roar still echoed in her memory like a predator's victory announcement.

The festival's brass gleams and burgundy shadows fell away as she entered the wooded path, her pace increasing with each step toward whatever violence awaited discovery. The glass containers jabbed against her with each movement—tangible evidence of preparation for outcomes her mind refused to fully contemplate.

Tyler had twenty-three minutes alone with Enid. In her experience, predators accomplished significant damage in far less time.

The cemetery gates appeared through darkness ahead, iron bars twisted into patterns that matched Gothic architecture while maintaining their fundamental purpose of containing the dead. Beyond them lay stone monuments and ancient mausoleums where her friends had pursued a Hyde without understanding the true scope of what they faced.

Silence pressed against her eardrums like burial shrouds.

Too quiet. Violence should leave echoes.

Wednesday pushed through the gates and disappeared into shadows between weathered headstones, moving toward whatever truth awaited among the sleeping founders of Nevermore Academy.

The festival continued behind her, its melodies and muted conversations fading into insignificance as she embraced the darkness that had always been her natural element.

Tyler's massive frame cut through shadows between weathered monuments, his elongated limbs moving with grace despite the rage that burned through every fiber of his transformed being. The ancient headstones seemed to shrink away from his presence, their carved angels and weeping cherubs unable to offer comfort against the violence that stalked among them.

They escaped.

The thought circled through his mind like a vulture, picking at his satisfaction until nothing remained but raw fury. He'd planned everything perfectly—the device, the trap, the psychological warfare. They'd been helpless, ordinary, exactly what he'd dreamed of making them. And somehow they'd still slipped through his claws.

His breathing came in harsh pants that steamed in the cold air, each exhalation carrying the metallic taste of blood and disappointment. The wounds Bruno had managed to inflict stung along his ribs, shallow cuts that would heal but served as constant reminders of how the night had gone wrong.

Five powerless teenagers. That's all they were. And I couldn't even finish that.

Claws scraped against marble as he passed an elaborate Victorian tomb, leaving gouges in stone that had weathered a century of Vermont winters. The satisfying destruction did nothing to ease the humiliation that gnawed at him like acid.

But as his fury reached its peak, a different thought cut through the rage—cold, sharp, redirecting his attention.

Wednesday.

She'd been fighting Judi at the library during his hunt. If his carefully orchestrated trap had somehow failed, if his prey had escaped despite being stripped of their supernatural advantages, what did that mean for the other half of his plan?

The possibility that Wednesday might have won sent electricity through his nervous system, transforming rage into something far more dangerous. His obsession with her had driven every decision since his escape from Willow Hill, the need to prove his dominance over the girl who'd humiliated him becoming a hunger that consumed everything else.

The scattered Nightshades suddenly felt like a distraction. They were wounded, frightened, probably fleeing toward whatever help they could find. But Wednesday...

Wednesday was the real prize. The one who mattered.

With renewed purpose, he moved through the cemetery, shadows bending around him as he turned toward Nevermore's heart.

Whatever had happened at the library, he needed to know. And if Wednesday had somehow survived Judi's trap, then perhaps the night wasn't a complete failure after all.

His enhanced senses caught her scent before his eyes found her form—that distinctive blend of old parchment and black coffee that had haunted his dreams during months of imprisonment. The trail led from the library's Gothic entrance toward the cemetery path, a straight line of purpose that spoke of her single-minded determination.

There.

Pressing against the shadow of an ancient oak, he watched her move through the darkness fifty yards ahead. Even in the filtered moonlight, Wednesday's silhouette was unmistakable.

And she was alone.

No backup. No clever little schemes. No walls of supernatural protection between them. Just Wednesday Addams, walking directly toward him through the darkness she'd always claimed to love.

Perfect.

He allowed his transformation to complete itself, bones lengthening with wet pops as his jaw distended to accommodate rows of sharp teeth. The pain felt like pleasure now—each shift in his anatomy bringing him closer to what he was meant to be. What she had made him become.

His breathing slowed to match the rhythm of a stalking predator. This wasn't about the others anymore, wasn't about proving dominance over powerless teenagers or satisfying immediate bloodlust. This was about destiny. About the connection that had been forged between them in moments of violence and betrayal, tempered in the fires of Willow Hill's isolation.

She'd kissed him once. Seen his true nature through psychic vision and still chosen to get close enough to touch. That memory sustained him like a prayer—the taste of her lips mixed with the moment of her revulsion when understanding dawned.

She knew what I was. And she still wanted me.

This conviction carried him through months of chains and therapeutic sessions that tried to convince him his feelings were manufactured, artificial constructs of psychological manipulation. But they were wrong. What he felt for Wednesday transcended programming or control—it was recognition. Two monsters acknowledging their kinship across the pretense of civilization.

He positioned himself where the cemetery path narrowed between towering monuments, shadows pooling thick enough to conceal his approach. Ahead, she continued with that same measured pace, apparently unaware that destiny walked on clawed feet just beyond her perception.

When she was close enough to smell the copper tang of blood on his breath, Tyler stepped into her path.

"Hello, Wednesday," he said, his distorted voice carrying twisted satisfaction. "I've been waiting for you."

She stopped on the path, her boots settling against worn cobblestones. No surprise flickered across her pale features as she took in Tyler's transformed state—seven feet of supernatural predator blocking her way forward, gray skin glistening with moisture that might have been sweat or something worse.

"Tyler. Your aesthetic hasn't improved."

His elongated jaw split into what passed for a smile among creatures that had abandoned humanity. "You're not running. I appreciate that about you, Wednesday. Always so eager to stare death in the face."

"Death and I have an understanding," she replied. "Though I suspect what you're offering is far more tedious than actual mortality."

Tilting his head, Tyler savored the familiar bite of her words. Months of imprisonment had failed to dull the memory of how her voice could strip away pretense with surgical precision. "Still so clever. Still so confident. Even now, when there's nowhere left to run."

"Running implies fear of the destination." Her dark eyes tracked the placement of his claws, the coiled tension in his unnaturally long limbs. "I'm simply deciding whether you're worth the effort of a proper confrontation."

"Oh, I think you'll find me very worth your attention." He raised one clawed hand, and she noted the dark stains that coated the extended talons. "Especially when you see what I brought you."

Her expression remained fixed, but something shifted behind her eyes—a calculation being rapidly adjusted. "Enid."

"Your precious roommate left quite an impression," he continued, rolling his massive shoulders as he began to advance. "All that fire, all that determination to protect you. It was almost touching, really. The way she kept saying your name even when—"

"The past tense suggests either poor grammar or wishful thinking," Wednesday interrupted, though her voice carried a subtle edge that hadn't been there moments before. "Given your educational background, I assume the latter."

Laughter like breaking glass mixed with distant screaming echoed off weathered monuments. "Always trying to control the narrative. But you can't talk your way out of this one, Wednesday. No clever schemes, no last-minute rescues. Just you and me and all that unfinished business between us."

"Unfinished business." She repeated the phrase as if tasting something particularly unpleasant. "Is that what you call your pathetic obsession with proving relevance?"

"I call it destiny." His claws extended fully, moonlight catching the razor edges as he prepared to close the distance between them. "We're connected, you and I. Bound by blood and betrayal and that beautiful moment when you finally saw what I really was."

The girl's stance remained perfectly still, a porcelain statue that refused to acknowledge the approaching storm. "I saw a disappointment. Nothing more."

His claws drew back, muscles coiling beneath gray skin as he prepared to end months of obsessive anticipation with a single devastating strike. The space between them collapsed to nothing—close enough to see the twisted satisfaction burning in his inhuman eyes.

A rock struck him squarely in the shoulder.

The impact wasn't devastating—barely more than an irritating tap against his supernatural physiology—but it shattered his focus at the critical moment. Tyler stumbled sideways, his carefully planned attack dissolving into awkward recovery as confusion replaced predatory certainty.

"What the—" He spun toward the source of the projectile, twisting awkwardly as he searched shadows between monuments for whatever had dared interrupt his moment of triumph.

Agnes DeMille materialized from thin air behind him like a conjurer's trick, her slight frame becoming solid against the Gothic backdrop of weathered stone. Her green eyes held fierce determination despite the terror that made her hands shake.

"Ta-da," she whispered, though her voice cracked with fear.

In the split second that Tyler remained turned away and off-balance, Wednesday moved.

Her hands found the syringes Judi's unconscious form had provided, glass barrels catching moonlight as she drove both needles deep into Tyler's exposed flank. The amber liquid disappeared into his system—whatever compound had been meant for her friend now finding a more appropriate target.

A roar exploded across the cemetery, pain and fury combining into a sound that sent sleeping crows bursting from ancient trees. He lashed out instinctively, claws raking toward Wednesday reflexively.

Sharp edges caught the fabric of her blazer, tearing through wool and the white shirt beneath. Shallow scratches opened across her ribs—painful but not deep, more warning than true damage.

"You little—" His voice distorted further as the drug began its work, movements already becoming sluggish despite the rage that burned brighter than ever. "What did you do to me?"

"Applied basic chemistry," Wednesday replied, stepping back to assess the efficacy of her intervention. "Though I suspect the dosage was calculated for someone considerably smaller."

The massive Hyde form swayed as the amber liquid worked through his supernatural physiology, his legs trembling with the effort to remain upright. The drug fought against his Hyde constitution—designed for humans, struggling against anatomy that defied medical precedent. But chemistry had its own inexorable logic, and even monsters eventually surrendered to pharmaceuticals.

"You think this changes anything?" he slurred, words thick with sedative haze. "We're bound together, Wednesday. Blood and betrayal and that perfect moment when you kissed me."

A clawed hand reached toward her face with movements that had become sluggish and uncertain. Despite everything—the violence, the obsession, the months of imprisonment—his touch against her cheek carried twisted tenderness.

"I'll always be part of you now," Tyler whispered, his inhuman features softening with chemical fog. "Every time you close your eyes, you'll remember what we had. What we could have been. You'll never forget me."

Wednesday stepped back from his touch.

"You're correct," she said, her voice cutting through the night air with surgical precision. "I won't forget you. You'll serve as an excellent cautionary tale about the tedium of obsession. A reminder that mediocrity can achieve grotesque proportions when left unchecked."

Tyler's drug-hazed mind struggled to process her words, confusion flickering across his monstrous features.

"When people ask what became of Tyler Galpin," she continued, "I'll tell them you rotted in a cell, forgotten by everyone except the guards who drew the unfortunate duty of feeding you. Your name will become synonymous with pathetic failure—the boy who confused stalking with romance and delusion with destiny."

"No, that's not—" He tried to step forward, but his legs betrayed him. "We have something. You felt it too."

"I felt revulsion," she replied matter-of-factly. "The same sensation one experiences when stepping in something unpleasant. Briefly memorable, easily cleaned away, ultimately insignificant."

His attempts at protest dissolved into incoherent mumbling as the sedative claimed victory over his supernatural constitution. The massive form crumpled to the cemetery path, gray skin reverting to human pallor as his transformation unraveled. The Hyde retreated, leaving only an unconscious teenager surrounded by weathered monuments to the genuinely dead.

Kneeling beside his still form, Wednesday pressed two fingers against his neck to confirm the drug's effectiveness. His pulse remained strong but slow.

"Good work," she said to Agnes, who remained visible now that the immediate danger had passed. "Your timing was acceptably dramatic."

Agnes managed a shaky smile despite the terror that still made her hands tremble. "I figured you had a plan. I just needed to give you an opening."

Rising to her feet, Wednesday brushed dust from her torn blazer as she assessed Tyler's unconscious form one final time. The boy who had dominated her thoughts for days, who had filled her dreams with violence and her waking hours with tactical calculations, now looked remarkably ordinary sprawled across ancient cobblestones.

"Stay with him until faculty arrives," she instructed Agnes. "If he shows signs of consciousness, become invisible and find help."

"Where are you going?"

Her gaze turned toward the cemetery proper, where shadows between monuments held answers to more pressing questions. "To collect my friends. They've had quite enough adventure for one evening."

Her boots carried her deeper into the darkness, leaving Tyler Galpin exactly where he belonged—unconscious, defeated, and forgotten.

Enid's mind wouldn't settle, thoughts careening between fragments of terror like shards of broken glass.

Wednesday's out there alone.

Her fingers flexed instinctively, reaching for claws that refused to come. The familiar weight of her werewolf strength remained absent, leaving her feeling hollow and exposed in ways that made her chest ache.

"She's okay," she whispered, more to convince herself than Bruno. "She has to be okay."

Bruno moved beside her, his nose lifted slightly as he tested the air currents. His injuries from the mausoleum had slowed him, but his partially restored senses were already proving invaluable as they navigated the cemetery's maze of monuments.

"I can track her," he said, his voice carrying reassurance that Enid desperately needed. "Your scent is all over this place, but hers is fresher, more concentrated toward the back section."

Enid tried to access her own enhanced senses, the way she'd done countless times before. Nothing. Just ordinary human perception that felt frustratingly limited after a lifetime of supernatural awareness. The absence hit crushed her heart each time she attempted to summon abilities that simply weren't there.

They wound between headstones and mausoleums, shadows creating a landscape of stark contrasts that made every movement seem threatening. Ancient angels kept silent vigil while gargoyles perched on towers watched their desperate search with stone eyes. The festival music had faded to distant whispers, replaced by wind through oak branches and the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet.

"Tyler could still be out there," Enid said, her voice tight with anxiety. "What if he found her first? What if—"

"Hey." Bruno's hand found her shoulder, gentle but grounding. "Wednesday Addams doesn't go down easy. You know that better than anyone."

She did know that. Wednesday was brilliant, resourceful, perfectly capable of handling threats that would overwhelm other people. But knowing it and feeling it were different things entirely, especially when Enid's own helplessness made every shadow seem like a potential ambush.

Her hands curled into useless fists, the emptiness where her transformation should be sending another spike of frustration through her system.

Come on, she thought desperately. I need you. We all need you.

Nothing.

Bruno suddenly stiffened beside her, his posture shifting from casual tracking to focused attention. His nose lifted, catching something in the air currents that flowed between the monuments.

"There!" he said, pointing through a cluster of elaborate tombs.

Enid's gaze followed his gesture, scanning shadows between ancient stonework for any sign of movement. Her human vision felt inadequate, missing details that her werewolf sight would have caught immediately.

Then she saw her.

Wednesday emerged from the darkness between headstones, moving with careful steps but visibly alive and conscious. Her blazer was torn, her white shirt showing signs of whatever confrontation she'd faced, but she carried herself with that familiar perfect posture that meant she remained fundamentally intact.

Both girls froze when they spotted each other, a moment of pure recognition that seemed to suspend time itself. Relief flooded through Enid's chest so powerfully that her knees nearly buckled. She's alive. She's okay. She's here.

Wednesday's dark gaze swept over them, taking in Enid's bloodied clothing and Bruno's protective stance beside her. Something flickered across her features—confusion, maybe something sharper—as she processed the sight of them together in the moonlit cemetery.

For a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other across the space between monuments, two friends who'd survived the night's horrors finding each other again among the stones that marked older endings.

The space between them dissolved as they both moved at once, feet pounding against worn gravel as they navigated the maze of headstones and weathered monuments. Enid barely registered the obstacles—marble angels and spires blurred past as her focus narrowed to the familiar silhouette racing toward her through the moonlight.

They collided beside an elaborate Victorian tomb, Wednesday's slight frame hitting Enid with surprising force. Arms wrapped around each other instinctively, and suddenly Enid was sobbing—harsh, ugly sounds that tore from her throat without permission.

"I'm sorry," she gasped against Wednesday's shoulder, her voice breaking on each word. "I'm so sorry. I got captured and drugged and I couldn't fight him and my powers are gone and I was supposed to protect you but I—"

"Stop." Wednesday's voice cut through her spiral with characteristic bluntness, though her arms tightened around Enid's shaking form. "Tyler has been neutralized. He's unconscious and should remain so for several hours."

Enid pulled back slightly, tears streaming down her face as she searched Wednesday's dark eyes. "You're okay? Really okay?"

"Judi Spannegel is buried under approximately two tons of classical literature," Wednesday replied matter-of-factly. "Tyler has been injected with enough sedative to incapacitate a small rhinoceros. Both threats have been eliminated."

The delivery was so perfectly Wednesday that fresh tears spilled down Enid's cheeks—relief mixing with residual terror and exhaustion. She tried to draw on her wolf strength to steady herself, grasping instinctively for the supernatural grounding that had always been there.

Nothing.

The void sent fresh despair through her system even as she clung to Wednesday's reassuring presence. Her hands trembled, aching for power that wouldn't manifest.

"My powers still aren't—" she started.

"We'll figure it out," Wednesday said, and for once her voice carried something softer than usual. Her own hands trembled slightly where they pressed against Enid's back, though she was trying to hide it.

Bruno approached carefully, giving them space while maintaining protective awareness of their surroundings. "We should head back," he said gently. "Ajax and the others need help."

Wednesday nodded, stepping back from the embrace but staying close enough that her shoulder brushed Enid's as they began walking. Enid leaned heavily on Bruno's steady presence, her injuries and emotional exhaustion making each step an effort.

"What did you do to Tyler exactly?" Bruno asked as they navigated between monuments toward the cemetery's main path.

"Applied pharmaceutical intervention," Wednesday replied. "Two syringes of whatever compound Judi had on her. The irony felt appropriate."

"And Judi?"

"Unconscious in the Nevermore library. She'll survive to face appropriate consequences."

The distant wail of police sirens grew louder, echoing across Nevermore's grounds as emergency vehicles approached the campus. Red and blue lights flickered between the trees, casting shifting shadows across the cemetery's Gothic landscape.

"Faculty's going to have questions," Bruno observed.

"Let them ask," Wednesday said dismissively. "I have more pressing concerns than administrative curiosity."

Enid felt Wednesday's gaze on her as they walked, that familiar intensity softened by something that looked almost like worry. The attention should have been comforting, but knowing she couldn't access her wolf strength to protect either of them made her feel exposed in ways that went beyond physical vulnerability.

"Tell me what happened with your powers," Wednesday said suddenly. "The precise sequence of events."

"There was this mechanical humming in the mausoleum," Enid explained, grateful for something concrete to focus on. "Then it stopped, and suddenly none of us could access anything. Ajax's snakes were just noodles. Bianca's and Kent's voices were normal. Everything just... gone."

Wednesday's expression sharpened. "But the others began recovering theirs."

"Bruno's claws and strength came back during the fight. Bianca said she could feel her siren voice stirring. But mine..." Enid's voice trailed off as fresh frustration welled up in her chest.

"Temporary suppression," Wednesday stated with certainty that Enid desperately wanted to believe. "Tyler needed you powerless, but the effects are clearly reversible."

"What if they're not?" The words escaped before Enid could stop them. "What if I'm just... normal now?"

Bruno squeezed her shoulder gently. "Hey. Normal's not a bad thing to be."

"It is when everyone you care about needs protecting," Enid replied, her voice thick with emotion.

Wednesday stopped walking abruptly, turning to face Enid directly. "Your worth isn't contingent on supernatural abilities. Tonight proved that decisively."

"How? I got captured immediately. You had to save me."

"Agnes saved me," Wednesday corrected. "And your capture provided necessary intelligence about Tyler's capabilities. Without that information, my approach would have been significantly less effective."

The words were clearly meant as comfort, delivered in Wednesday's characteristic analytical style. But they still felt hollow against the memory of helplessness, of being exactly what Tyler had wanted her to be.

The police sirens reached the main campus now, their urgent wails mixing with confused voices as faculty tried to coordinate responses to multiple incidents across Nevermore's grounds.

"Come on," Bruno said. "Let's get back before they start wondering where everyone went.".

They emerged from the cemetery path to find Nevermore's courtyard transformed into something from a disaster film. Police cars lined the circular drive, their lights strobing across stonework in a kaleidoscope of emergency colors. Ambulances waited with doors thrown wide, EMT crews unloading equipment. Faculty members and students clustered in worried huddles near the fountain, their voices carrying sharp concern as they tried to coordinate responses to multiple incidents across campus.

The festival decorations remained in place—brass dragons still breathing harmless fire, clockwork dancers spinning their eternal waltz—but they looked grotesquely cheerful against the backdrop of emergency response. Mechanical birds sang sweet melodies while real paramedics prepared stretchers and trauma kits.

"Ajax!" Enid called out the moment she spotted the EMT crews, her voice breaking on his name. "There are injured students in the cemetery! Ajax, Bianca, Kent—they need help now!"

She stumbled forward, one hand pressed against the wounds across her ribs while the other gestured frantically toward the path they'd just emerged from. Blood had soaked through her torn festival clothing, and exhaustion made her legs shake with each step, but her protective instincts overrode everything else.

"Ajax is unconscious with a head injury," she continued, her words tumbling over each other in desperate urgency. "Bianca and Kent have claw wounds. They're in the old founder's mausoleum—please, they've been waiting too long already."

The lead EMT immediately gestured to his team, and three crews grabbed their equipment bags before jogging toward the cemetery entrance. Enid watched them disappear into the darkness with relief that made her knees buckle slightly. Help was finally coming for her friends.

"Ms. Sinclair! Ms. Addams!" Principal Dort's voice cut across the courtyard as he approached with brisk strides, his burgundy cloak dramatic against the emergency lights. Behind him followed Morticia and Gomez. Thing scuttled between them, keeping pace despite his lack of legs.

Dort's expression mixed relief with administrative concern as he took in their bloodied state and torn clothing. "What exactly happened in the library? We've had reports of significant structural damage, but the details have been... unclear."

Wednesday lifted her chin despite her obvious fatigue. "Judi Spannegel attempted to eliminate me. I responded with applied physics and classical literature. She's been neutralized."

"Neutralized?" Dort's eyebrows rose. "You mean she's been apprehended?"

"I mean she was unconscious beneath approximately two tons of collapsed shelving when I left to address the Hyde situation," Wednesday replied, though something flickered behind her dark eyes. "Both threats have been eliminated."

Dort exchanged glances with a nearby officer before turning back to them. "Ms. Addams, we've conducted a thorough search of the library and surrounding areas. There's no one trapped under any collapsed shelving. Judi Spannegel is nowhere to be found."

Wednesday's eyes widened. Enid watched her roommate's carefully controlled composure crack for just an instant, shock and self-recrimination flashing across her pale features before the mask snapped back into place.

"Impossible," Wednesday said, though her voice carried the brittle edge of someone whose certainty had just been shattered. "I confirmed loss of consciousness. The structural collapse was comprehensive."

"The library is in shambles," Dort confirmed. "Hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage to the collection and infrastructure. But there are no bodies, conscious or otherwise."

Morticia stepped forward, her dark eyes assessing Wednesday's visible wounds with maternal concern. "Cara mía, you're injured. This conversation can wait until—"

"No." Wednesday's voice cut through her mother's gentle protest. "If Judi escaped, she remains a threat. We need to find her current location."

Thing appeared at Wednesday's feet, tapping out a rapid sequence against the cobblestones. His movements seemed to ask what he'd missed and whether they were safe.

"Tyler has been sedated and contained," Wednesday informed him. "Judi's status is... under review."

Enid watched the exchange with growing unease. The idea that the woman who'd orchestrated tonight's horrors might still be free sent fresh adrenaline through her exhausted system.

"Where would she go?" Enid asked, hating how small her voice sounded. "She has to have backup plans, right? Escape routes?"

"Undoubtedly," Wednesday replied, her analytical mind already working through possibilities despite the visible strain of maintaining composure. "LOIS represented decades of research and significant financial investment. Such operations always include contingency protocols."

Gomez moved to stand beside Morticia, his warm presence a sharp contrast to the cold emergency lighting. "We'll find her, cara mía. The authorities have been alerted, roadblocks established. She won't get far."

But Enid caught the doubt in his tone, the recognition that someone with Judi's resources and preparation might have anticipated exactly this scenario. The festival courtyard suddenly felt exposed, too open, despite the heavy police presence.

In the distance, sirens wailed as more emergency vehicles approached the campus. The sound should have been reassuring—help arriving, order being restored—but instead it felt like a countdown to something worse.

Wednesday turned toward the library without discussion, her boots already carrying her across the courtyard. The building loomed ahead like an accusation, its windows dark except for the harsh lighting that cast severe shadows across stone facades.

Enid followed despite the pain that lanced through her ribs with each step. Her torn clothing stuck to the wounds where blood had begun to clot, but she couldn't let Wednesday face whatever they'd find alone. Not again.

The heavy wooden doors had been propped open by emergency crews, yellow tape stretched across the entrance like warning ribbons. Wednesday ducked under without hesitation, and Enid trailed after her into chaos that defied comprehension.

The library's heart had been transformed into an archaeological disaster. Toppled shelving created mountain ranges of oak and leather, their contents scattered across marble floors in drifts of yellowed pages and broken spines. Centuries of accumulated knowledge lay trampled beneath the weight of structural failure, philosophy mixed with poetry in ways their authors never intended.

Stark white illumination revealed the true scope of destruction Wednesday had unleashed. Dust particles still danced in the air, catching light like academic snow while the smell of old paper and splintered wood created an atmosphere of scholarly apocalypse.

"There," Wednesday said, pointing toward a section at the heart of the devastation.

Where Judi's unconscious form should have been trapped beneath tons of fallen oak, they found only empty space. Disturbed debris suggested something large had been extracted, leaving behind scattered pages and the sharp scent of copper that indicated blood.

Wednesday knelt beside the displacement, her fingers tracing patterns in dust that told a story she didn't want to read. A dark stain marked where Judi's head had been, surrounded by the impressions of someone working to clear heavy obstacles.

"She either wasn't unconscious," Wednesday said, her voice flat. "Or she regained consciousness faster than anticipated."

Near the Historical Texts section, Judi's pistol lay abandoned among scattered volumes of political theory. The weapon's presence confirmed panic rather than calculated retreat—someone fleeing rather than intending to keep fighting.

A blood trail led from the displaced debris toward the library's emergency exit, droplets growing fainter as they approached the door that stood slightly ajar. Beyond lay darkness and escape routes that could lead anywhere on campus or beyond.

Wednesday's jaw tightened as she stared at the blood trail. "I should have confirmed the kill. Should have ensured she couldn't become a threat to anyone else."

The admission cost her—Enid could see it in the way Wednesday's shoulders drew inward, the microscopic crack in her usually impenetrable composure. For someone who prided herself on thorough planning and flawless execution, leaving such a dangerous enemy alive represented failure on multiple levels.

The harsh light shifted suddenly as the crews outside adjusted their equipment, and the illumination fell across Enid's torn clothing for the first time since they'd left the cemetery. Wednesday's gaze followed the light, taking in details that shadows had mercifully concealed.

The wounds were worse than either of them had realized.

Tyler's claws had opened three parallel gashes across Enid's ribs, each roughly four inches long and deep enough to require medical attention. Blood had soaked through her festival clothing and dried in dark patches that spoke of significant blood loss. What should have been minor injuries for a werewolf had become serious trauma for an ordinary human.

Wednesday's hands moved toward the wounds, then stopped inches away, trembling slightly as she processed the full scope of what Tyler had accomplished.

"Oh," she breathed, the sound barely audible above the distant chaos outside.

Enid watched Wednesday's careful composure crumble like paper in flame. Her roommate's dark eyes traced each laceration, cataloguing depth and placement. But beneath the analysis, something else flickered—guilt so profound it made her next words shake.

"I'm sorry."

The apology came out strangled, as if Wednesday had to force each syllable past barriers she'd spent years constructing. Her pale hands hovered near Enid's wounds, wanting to help but afraid to cause additional pain.

"This is my fault," Wednesday continued, her voice growing stronger as self-blame found its rhythm. "This was my plan. I positioned everyone. I—"

"Wednesday, no." Enid caught her roommate's hands before they could retreat, pressing them against her own despite the wetness that still seeped through torn fabric. "You saved us. All of us."

"You were captured by Tyler because I wasn't focused. I sent the others after you, and they fell right into Tyler's trap." Wednesday's words came faster now. "You all nearly died because I didn't plan adequately."

"You gave us a fighting chance." Enid squeezed the pale hands that trembled between her own. "Without you, we both would have died."

Wednesday's breathing hitched as she stared at the blood that stained both their fingers now. For once, her analytical mind offered no solutions, no tactical adjustments that could undo the night's casualties. Just the terrible arithmetic of leadership—decisions made in darkness that extracted payment in friends' blood.

Around them, the library's ruins whispered with settling wood and scattered pages, a monument to violence that had solved nothing and cost everything.

Footsteps echoed through the ruined library as someone approached, heels clicking against scattered debris with careful precision. Morticia emerged from between toppled shelves, her elegant black dress somehow untouched by the chaos around them.

"Cara mía," she said, addressing Enid directly. "I wanted to thank you."

Enid blinked in surprise. "Thank me?"

"For being there for Wednesday. For standing beside her when darkness threatened." Morticia's dark eyes held genuine warmth as she took in Enid's torn clothing and visible wounds. "Your bravery tonight will not be forgotten."

The acknowledgment from Wednesday's mother—someone whose approval felt almost mythically difficult to earn—sent unexpected emotion flooding through Enid's chest. She managed a shaky smile despite everything.

"She saved us," Enid replied. "All of us."

"And you saved her from carrying that burden alone," Morticia said, her gaze shifting between them with something that looked almost like maternal pride.

More footsteps announced Sheriff Santiago's arrival. She surveyed the library's destruction before her gaze settled on Wednesday.

"Of course it would be you," Santiago said, though her tone carried resignation rather than accusation. "Next time you decide to redecorate, maybe give us a heads up first?"

Wednesday squared her shoulders. "The structural damage was necessary."

"I'm sure it was." Santiago gestured toward the emergency exit where the blood trail disappeared into darkness. "Any idea where Ms. Spannegel might have gone?"

"Multiple possibilities," Wednesday replied. "But she's injured and without immediate resources. That limits her options significantly."

"We'll find her," Santiago said with quiet confidence. "It's just a matter of time."

As the adults coordinated search efforts around them, Enid felt the night's events settling into her bones like lead. Tyler was captured, Judi had fled but was wounded, and everyone she cared about had survived.

But as she tried once more to summon her werewolf strength and felt nothing, she realized her own journey was far from over.

The maintenance shed's door crashed open with enough force to rattle its weathered hinges. Judi stumbled through the entrance, her appearance obliterated by dust, blood, and the humiliation of defeat. Her once-perfect hair hung in disheveled strands across her face, matted with plaster and the slick of her own blood. Dark stains spread across her cheerful sweater—the costume of harmless competence now revealed as the pathetic disguise it had always been.

"Tyler!" she called, her voice cracking with barely contained rage. "Where the hell are you?"

The shed's interior greeted her with silence. Weak light from a single hanging bulb revealed Slurp seated at the rickety table, his pale fingers moving across an array of components, gears, and mechanical fragments. Each piece had been arranged with care, organized by size and function in patterns that suggested deeper purpose.

He didn't look up at her dramatic entrance.

"The Hyde isn't here."

Judi pressed one hand against the gash above her temple, feeling fresh warmth seep between her fingers. "What do you mean he's not here? Where is he?"

"Captured, I assume." Slurp held up a delicate brass gear to the light, examining its teeth. "Based on the sirens and general commotion from the direction of the cemetery."

"Captured? And you're just sitting here playing with—with whatever this is?"

Her gaze swept across the table, taking in the organized display of mechanical components. Some pieces looked ancient, their surfaces green with patina. Others appeared more recent, their metal bright and unmarked by time.

"Research equipment," Slurp corrected, setting the gear into its designated position. "Decades of work, perfectly preserved where I left it."

Judi stared at him in disbelief. Crimson continued trickling down her face as she struggled to process his complete lack of concern for their spectacular failure.

"We just lost everything, Ezekiel." she snarled. "Tyler's been captured. I barely escaped with my life. Wednesday Addams destroyed my father's legacy, and you're sitting here arranging scrap metal like nothing happened."

"Your father's legacy was always doomed to failure." Reaching for another component, a complex assembly of springs and clockwork mechanisms, Slurp continued his methodical work. "Augustus was brilliant, but he lacked the backbone for proper execution."

The words struck deeper than any physical wound. Judi felt her carefully constructed world—the vision of carrying forward her father's work, of proving his genius to a world that had dismissed him—crumbling like the library shelves that had nearly crushed her.

"How can you say that?" Her voice rose to near-hysteria. "LOIS was groundbreaking research. The ability transfer protocols, the integration studies—"

"Crude attempts at something far more elegant." Slurp finally looked up from his work, his pale eyes meeting hers with clinical detachment. "Augustus was trying to copy outcast abilities. I was designing methods to transcend them entirely."

Judi's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood. "Then why did you help us? Why agree to work with Tyler if you thought our plans were doomed?"

"Because you created the perfect distraction while I retrieved what actually mattered." He gestured toward his organized display. "Several years of real research, hidden in Iago Tower exactly where I left it. While you and Tyler played revenge games with teenagers, I reclaimed the tools to reshape human evolution itself."

Judi realized with dawning horror that she had never been his ally—she had been his unwitting accomplice, drawing security attention away from his true objectives while he pursued goals she couldn't begin to comprehend.

"You used us," she whispered.

"I leveraged the situation to my advantage," Slurp corrected. "Much as your father should have done instead of fixating on personal grudges and revenge."

"What's our next move?" Judi demanded, wiping away the redness from her temple with the back of her hand. "We can't just sit here while Wednesday Addams destroys everything we've worked for."

His pale fingers continued their methodical arrangement of brass components, each piece finding its designated position with mechanical precision. "There is no 'our' next move. My objective will continue as I had originally planned."

"Accomplished?" Judi's voice cracked with disbelief. "Tyler's been taken, my research facilities are in ruins, and that little psychopath has exposed LOIS to the authorities. How is any of this accomplished?"

"Because you were never pursuing real research." He held up a delicate clockwork mechanism, its gears catching the weak light. "You spent decades attempting to perfect technology that was deliberately sabotaged from the beginning."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your father didn't go mad from scientific failure," Slurp continued with clinical detachment. "He went mad from guilt. Augustus and I discovered what permanent ability transfer actually required, and his conscience couldn't handle the truth."

Judi's blood ran cold. "What truth?"

"Permanent power transfer necessitates the death of the original outcast." His tone remained unnervingly conversational. "Not temporary suppression. Not voluntary surrender. Complete biological termination to release their abilities for harvesting."

The shed's walls seemed to close around her as understanding began to dawn. "That's impossible. My abilities came from voluntary experimentation. My father would never—"

"Your father and I killed a freshman avian student to grant you those permanent abilities." Slurp's mechanical heart ticked steadily in the growing silence. "A thirteen-year-old boy. We tested the true protocols on him during winter break when most students had gone home."

Judi's knees buckled. She pressed both hands against the wall behind her, feeling rough wood splinter under her fingernails as she fought to remain upright.

"You're lying."

"I have no reason to lie. The technology is my design, not Augustus's. He was merely my assistant until his squeamishness became problematic." Another component found its place in his arrangement. "When he realized the permanent transfers required… sacrifices, he sabotaged the research rather than continue."

"My father told me the permanence was a mystery he never solved," Judi whispered.

"Because he deliberately crippled my work to prevent further killings. All those 'failed' experiments at Willow Hill—the temporary transfers, the mental degradation, the inability to achieve lasting results—Augustus programmed those limitations himself."

The foundation of everything Judi believed about herself, about her mission, about her father's brilliance crumbled like ancient stone. Her life's work hadn't been advancing revolutionary science—it had been trying to perfect a system specifically designed to fail.

"He went insane from guilt," she breathed.

"Quite correct. Though 'moral cowardice' would be more accurate than insanity." Moving to the next component, Slurp continued his work. "Evolution requires difficult choices. Augustus lacked the vision to see beyond individual casualties."

Judi slumped against the wall, her legs no longer able to support her weight. A crimson drop from her temple stained her ruined sweater as the full scope of her delusion revealed itself.

"The boy... he's dead because of me."

"He's dead because of progress. Your avian abilities represent the successful culmination of years of research. His sacrifice enabled you to transcend the limitations of ordinary human biology."

The casual dismissal of murder as "sacrifice" sent nausea churning through Judi's stomach. Everything she'd accomplished, every crow under her command, every moment of supernatural power—all built on the corpse of a child.

"You knew," she said, horror creeping into her voice. "When you agreed to help us, you knew what my abilities really cost."

"Of course. I was there." Slurp's smile held no warmth. "Your father wept afterward. Claimed we'd become monsters. I found his emotional response rather tiresome."

Judi stared at the creature who'd once been her father's brilliant student, understanding finally piercing through decades of carefully constructed lies. This wasn't a resurrection—this was the return of the monster who'd corrupted her father's research and driven him to madness.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because our partnership has reached its natural conclusion." With a gesture toward his organized components, he rose from his chair. "I have what I came for. You've served your purpose. Continuing this charade would be inefficient."

"All these years," Judi said, backing along the wall toward the corner of the shed. "I thought I was continuing his work, proving his genius. But I was just... just playing with broken toys."

"Yes. Though you provided valuable misdirection." Another step. "Your theatrical revenge against Nevermore drew security attention while I retrieved what actually mattered from Iago Tower."

The shed's corner pressed against her shoulders. Nowhere left to retreat. Judi's fingers clawed uselessly at the weathered wood as understanding turned into terror.

"The device," she whispered. "You built something into the tower."

"Decades ago, during my original research. A much larger version of the localized transfer technology." His smile held no warmth. "Capable of extracting every outcast ability within Nevermore's grounds simultaneously."

Horror flooded through her veins. "That would kill them all."

"The price of advancement. The concentrated power of an entire academy of outcasts will provide abilities far beyond what individual transfers could accomplish." His hands moved toward her. "Think of it as the ultimate expression of your father's vision—if he'd possessed the fortitude to see it through."

Judi pressed herself against the corner, her ruined sweater catching on rough splinters. The irony struck her with devastating clarity—she was experiencing exactly what her victims at Willow Hill had felt. Trapped, helpless, facing death at the hands of someone who viewed her as nothing more than a component in their research.

His fingers reached toward her throat. The steady tick-tick-tick of his mechanical heart seemed to grow louder, filling the shed with its relentless rhythm. Judi's final coherent thought formed with brutal clarity: she'd wasted her entire existence pursuing meaningless goals while believing herself brilliant.

Her father's madness hadn't been failure—it had been moral horror. Every outcast she'd tortured and killed had died for nothing. Her life's work was as empty as the deaths she'd caused.

The ticking grew louder. Then stopped. Then nothing.