Detention with the Devil

Chapter 4: Behind the Board

Behind the Board

Minutes dragged like hours inside Room 304. The strange sliding sounds had quieted, but the feeling of being watched only deepened - heavy, unblinking, pressing against every surface. Elara kept glancing at the front wall, where the tall, dark‑framed blackboard hung slightly crooked, as if shifted many times over decades.

Damian sat still, eyes half‑closed, but Elara noticed his attention never truly left the room. "You come here often, don't you?" she asked quietly. "Not just bad grades or fights... you're put here on purpose."

He opened his eyes, gaze sharp and direct. "The Blackwoods built this place. They also built its prisons - visible and hidden. I'm the heir... so I'm expected to know exactly how every lock and every secret works."

Elara stood slowly, stepping carefully toward the front, drawn by something she couldn't name. "What's behind it?" She nodded toward the blackboard.

"Things people were told to forget." Damian didn't stop her; he only watched closer. "Touch it, and you might not like what you find."

Curiosity outweighed fear. She reached out, fingers brushing the wood frame - rough, worn smooth along certain edges from years of hands. She pushed gently at one side; it shifted easier than it looked, sliding sideways with a low, grinding groan, revealing a narrow, shadowed space behind.

The air that drifted out was colder, dust‑thick, and carried a sharp, old smell of paper and dried ink. Etched directly onto the plaster were lines of handwriting, neat but frantic, covering almost every inch - names, dates, fragments of records, and a large central note written in bolder, deeper cuts:

THE WEST WING NEVER CLOSED - THEY ONLY LOCKED THE DOORS.

Founders' promise = Founders' debt

One taken, one given - always equal

Elara's breath caught. "What does it mean - 'one taken, one given'?"

Damian stood and moved to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, voice lowered to a grave murmur. "Oldest rule of Blackwood Academy. The price for its prestige, its wealth, its long survival... always paid in kind. Students disappear, transfer away suddenly, vanish from records... and the school keeps shining brighter each year."

"Is that why they sent us here together?" Elara whispered, looking up at him. "Not because we were caught... but because we were chosen?"

Before Damian could answer, heavy footsteps returned in the hallway - faster, heavier, and heading straight toward the door. A key rattled sharply in the lock, turning with a loud, authoritative snap.

Damian pushed the blackboard back quickly, sliding it just in time to hide the writing as the door swung open. Mr. Valdez stood framed in the doorway, face calm and unreadable, eyes scanning the room and settling last on Elara and Damian standing too close together.

"Time is up," he said flatly. "Leave. Now."