"Don't worry," the Professor whispered into his ear. "By the 10:00 PM bell, you'll be the most popular study aid in the department."
"Observation is the only teacher," Vane replied, not looking away from the screen.
He looked down at his own wrist. His heart skipped. The mark was there. Night School Anatomy Lesson.mp4
Elias backed toward the door, but the handle was cold—no, not cold, missing . Where the door should have been was only a smooth, seamless wall of bone-white drywall.
He looked back at the screen. The video was still playing. It now showed the classroom he was currently standing in, filmed from the corner ceiling vent. He saw himself standing there, trapped, while the Professor approached him from behind. "Don't worry," the Professor whispered into his ear
Professor Vane, a man whose skin looked like parchment stretched too thin over a bird’s skeleton, stood at the front. He didn't use PowerPoints. He used a file titled .
On the screen, Vane reached out a hand. In reality, Elias felt a cold, dry palm settle on his shoulder. His heart skipped
"The lesson hasn't finished, Mr. Thorne," Vane said, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the chalkboard. "We’ve only just reached the part where we discuss the soul's exit point."