something more

shadows in the courtyard

Shadows in the Courtyard

Teny didn’t sleep.

The note burned in her mind long after the candle by her bed guttered out. Stop drawing ghosts. They’re watching you. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined hands slipping the paper into her sketchbook, shadows bending over her while she dreamed.

By morning, the Academy felt different. Colder. The stone hallways stretched longer, the footsteps of other students echoed sharper. Even laughter at breakfast didn’t sound real, it sounded rehearsed, like everyone knew a secret but her.

Her sketchbook stayed in her bag, the slip of paper hidden deep inside. She told herself she wouldn’t open it again, but her fingers kept brushing over the leather cover, like a heartbeat she couldn’t ignore.

“Looking guilty already.”

The voice froze her. She turned, and there he was, Matteo. Leaning against the archway near the courtyard doors, his uniform untidy, hair damp from the mist outside. His eyes locked on her bag.

“Don’t,” he said. Quiet, but firm.

Teny swallowed. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t carry that thing around like it’s harmless. It isn’t.”

Her pulse quickened. “You mean the sketchbook?”

Matteo stepped closer, every movement sharp with tension. “You think you’re safe drawing shadows? You think putting a face to what shouldn’t exist won’t call it closer?”

Her breath caught. “The note. Was it you?”

For a moment, something flickered in his expression, anger, pain, fear, but then it vanished, replaced by that cool indifference he wore like armor. “If it was, you wouldn’t be asking.”

She clenched her fists. “Then who’s watching me, Matteo? Because someone is.”

His jaw tightened. He leaned down just enough for his words to slice into her ear. “You’re not supposed to be part of this. Walk away, Teny. Before you can’t.”

And then he was gone, melting into the morning crowd, leaving her breathless, furious, and more afraid than ever.

By midday, Luca found her in the studio wing, alone with a canvas she hadn’t touched. He didn’t smile. Not this time.

“You’re pale,” he said. “What did he say to you?”

Teny shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice cracked like lightning.

She looked at him then, really looked, at the boy who had been steady from the beginning, the one who laughed with her before the ballroom, before Matteo’s storms. The jealousy in his eyes now was too raw to hide.

“You care about him,” Luca said flatly.

Teny’s throat tightened. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is with him.” Luca’s hand curled against the edge of the easel. “You think you’re different from the others, but he’ll drag you down too. And when he does, I won’t be able to pull you back.”

Her chest ached. She wanted to reach for him, to tell him he was wrong, but the words died. Because part of her knew he was right.

---

Giulia cracked first that evening. She cornered Teny in their dorm room, her usually neat braid fraying at the edges.

“My parents warned me,” Giulia whispered, pacing the narrow rug. “They said the De Lucas weren’t just another old family. They were dangerous. Teny, Angelo didn’t just vanish. He left blood behind.”

Teny’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

Giulia’s eyes darted to the door, as if afraid someone might be listening. “People whispered he killed someone. That’s why Matteo never talks about him. That’s why the family pretends he’s dead. But if he’s here, if people are seeing him...”

Her words broke off, but the silence finished them.

Danger.

Real, breathing, bleeding danger.

That night, the storm finally broke. The rain came down in sheets, drumming against the Academy windows. Teny couldn’t stay still. She slipped on her coat and crept outside, heart pounding as if it already knew she was walking into something she shouldn’t.

The courtyard was empty, puddles rippling with each heavy drop. She stood beneath the iron gates, clutching her coat tight, the city beyond veiled in mist.

And then, movement.

Her breath froze. A figure stood just beyond the gates, half-shrouded by rain. Tall. Shoulders broad. The face…

Her chest constricted.

It was Matteo. No, it couldn’t be. The features were the same, but sharper. Wilder. His eyes glowed with something Matteo’s never did.

The figure stepped closer, until the rain blurred everything but his gaze.

“Teny,” he whispered.

Her name. On his lips.

Before she could move, before she could even breathe, the figure vanished into the storm, leaving only the echo of her name and the certainty that the ghost in her sketches was real.

Angelo De Luca was here.

And he knew who she was.