something more

whispers in the rain

Whispers in the Rain

Florence had turned gray, the kind of gray that swallowed color whole. Rain hammered against the Academy’s windows, dripping down in silver lines that blurred the view of the courtyard. Students hurried past in cloaks and umbrellas, but Teny barely noticed. Her sketchbook lay open in front of her on the library desk, and all she could see were those eyes, the ones she shouldn’t have drawn.

The eyes of a ghost who might not be a ghost at all.

She traced the pencil lines with her finger, half-daring herself to rip the page out, half-terrified that if she did, it would summon him for real.

“Teny.”

Her head snapped up. And there he was. Matteo.

His hair clung damp to his forehead, his shirt collar open, and for the first time since she met him, he didn’t look like the untouchable prince of Florence Academy. He looked hunted.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, sliding into the seat across from her. His eyes flicked to the sketchbook, and the muscle in his jaw tightened.

“You’ve been gone,” she whispered, keeping her voice low.

“I had to.” His gaze locked on hers. “Some things you don’t understand, and you don’t want to.”

Her pulse hammered. “Then make me understand.”

For a second, something cracked in him. His eyes softened, his hand twitched like it wanted to reach for hers. But then the wall slammed back into place. “You think this is a game? That because you sketch my face you know me?”

Teny’s breath caught. “I don’t know everything, but I know you’re not as alone as you pretend to be.” She leaned forward, her voice trembling. “Is it true? About Angelo?”

His body went rigid. “Who told you?”

“You don’t answer questions with questions, Matteo.”

His lips parted, but before he could speak, the library doors swung open.

“Teny.”

Luca stood there, dripping rain onto the marble floor, eyes darting between her and Matteo. His expression said everything. He had seen too much, and not enough.

The silence stretched, a live wire.

“I’ll see you later,” Matteo muttered, standing so fast his chair scraped the floor. By the time Luca reached the table, Matteo was already gone, swallowed by the storm outside.

“What was that?” Luca demanded, his curls plastered to his forehead. “You and him, whispering like-like.."

“It’s not what you think,” Teny snapped, though her racing heartbeat betrayed her.

Luca’s laugh was sharp. “No? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like what I think.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn’t fair, that she hadn’t asked to be caught between shadows. But the words stuck in her throat.

“Careful, Teny,” Luca said finally, softer now but with a crack in his voice. “Matteo’s not the kind of storm you survive.”

By the time evening fell, Giulia was the one avoiding her. At dinner in the refectory, she sat three seats away, laughing too brightly at someone else’s joke, never once meeting Teny’s eyes. It hurt more than Luca’s anger.

Teny pushed food around her plate, her stomach twisting. She wanted to tell them both the truth, that she hadn’t chosen this, that it felt like the shadows had chosen her. But how could she, when even Matteo himself was running from answers?

---

Later, unable to sleep, she slipped outside. Rain still slicked the stone steps, and the city lights shimmered like fractured stars beyond the Academy walls. That’s when she heard it.

Two older boys stood near the iron gates, their voices low, carried by the wet wind.

“…sighted again. Not just in Milan now. Florence too.”

“De Luca business. Means trouble’s coming.”

Her breath caught. They glanced around, then hurried into the night, leaving their words echoing in her ears.

Trouble’s coming.

Teny hugged her arms around herself, shivering as though the rain had seeped into her bones. She turned back toward the dorms, but froze.

Her sketchbook lay on the step. She hadn’t brought it outside.

Hands shaking, she picked it up and opened it. Between her sketches of Matteo and the ghostly twin was a slip of paper, the ink smeared like it had bled in the rain.

Stop drawing ghosts.

They’re watching you.

Her knees nearly buckled. She scanned the courtyard, every shadow suddenly sharper, every rustle of the rain sounding like footsteps. But no one was there. No one she could see.

Clutching the sketchbook to her chest, Teny stumbled back inside, heart racing.

For the first time since coming to Florence, she wasn’t sure if her story was hers anymore.

It belonged to the shadows.