CHAPTER 37: THE INTRUDER

[Principal Camila’s Office—]

The corridors of Monster Academy slept in silence, their usual chatter drowned by the hum of the night lamps and the faint whisper of wind brushing against the tall glass windows. Every creak and echo of the floorboards was amplified in the stillness.

A hooded figure emerged from the dark end of the corridor— tall, cloaked in ash-gray fabric that shimmered faintly like smoke. Their boots made no sound on the polished floor. The hood shadowed their face completely, but a faint glow pulsed beneath the folds of their sleeve.

They paused at the end of the hallway— before the brass-plated door that read:

PRINCIPAL CAMILA V. ASTOR

The figure tested the handle.

Click.

It was locked.

"Damn it," a low voice muttered beneath the hood.

They raised their hand and whispered something under their breath.

"Solven ath’rel, disarmara loci."

A faint hum filled the air. The lock trembled slightly— but didn’t yield. A second, sharper whisper followed:

"Breaken thorra veth!"

The air snapped with a crackle of blue light. The runes on the door briefly glowed, then sizzled away like melting frost. The figure smiled darkly.

"Never trust old magic to hold," they murmured, pushing the door open.

The there, the door was unlocked. The intruder slipped inside.

Principle Camila’s office was exactly what one would expect— neat, commanding, yet filled with the faint scent of magic and old parchment. The moonlight bled through the curtains, illuminating shelves lined with scrolls, crystals, and relics that pulsed with dormant energy. Every item had its place. Every drawer, its secret.

The cloaked figure wasted no time. They moved with purpose, scanning the documents on the desk— reports, attendance lists, student logs— until their gloved hand brushed against a thick, leather-bound folder sealed with the academy’s insignia.

They flipped it open.

Rows upon rows of names appeared in neat, golden ink. "STUDENTS SELECTED FOR THE GALVESTON EXCURSION AND PAIRING ASSIGNMENTS."

The figure’s eyes darted through the list until. Their finger traced the names, whispering as they went:

"Arden, Lira, Suki, Jasmine, Chito, Rain... Valkyrie Saltsman."

They froze.

Paired with Punch Duran.

A low hiss escaped them. "Not anymore." They raised both hands, fingertips glowing faintly with deep violet energy. The air in the room grew colder.

"Scriptum alterra... sanguis revere."

The golden ink on the page began to swirl and ripple like liquid gold. The letters beside Valkyrie Saltsman shimmered, twisted, and began to melt into unreadable symbols.

The figure continued, voice lower now, resonant with focus:

"Rewrite thy bonds. Claim thy fate. Relasce vinca, miren astrae."

A flash of white light pulsed across the page.

The ink solidified again— this time with new letters..

The intruder froze for a moment, staring at the pairing, their breath audible beneath the hood. Then, slowly, a whisper slipped past their lips. "Hmmm...papa will be proud of me"

The new name glowed briefly before sinking into the parchment as though it had always been there. No trace of magic remained.

The figure smirked beneath the hood. "Perfect."

They closed the file, setting it back exactly as it was, even aligning the papers beneath it. Whoever they were, they were practiced and meticulous. Every motion carried the precision of someone who had done this before.

Just as they turned toward the door, a faint sound echoed from the hallway— muffled voices.

"...I’m telling you, Darren, I double-checked the manifests myself."

"That’s not the point," came another voice, deeper and sharper. "You can’t be too trusting with these selections. If Venom has eyes in the academy..."

The intruder’s head snapped toward the door, their pulse quickening.

"Shit..." They cursed.

It was Camila and Darren approaching. And they were coming closer.

The figure extinguished their magic with a whisper, "enterdedre" the faint glow in their hand died instantly. Every light in the room seemed suddenly brighter, every tick of the clock louder as before.

There was no time.

They scanned the room, looking for a place to hide— the heavy drapes? Too obvious. The back of the desk? Too exposed. Then their eyes flicked to the tall cabinet filled with relics.

Without hesitation, they slipped behind it, pressing themselves flat against the wall just as the office door handle turned.

"Umbra veilis."

(Veil me in shadow.)

The figure in the cloak darkened, merging seamlessly with the wall.

A faint glow returned to the lock, the melted metal reforming as if untouched.

And then the door opened. Again.

Camila entered first, her presence filling the room with authority even in silence. Her long coat swayed behind her, and her expression was unreadable— tired, perhaps, but ever sharp. Darren followed, his crimson eyes scanning the office like a predator sizing its surroundings.

"Strange," Camila murmured, stepping further in. "I could’ve sworn I locked this."

Darren’s gaze darkened. "Maybe you didn’t."

"I always do," she replied flatly, her fingers brushing over the desk. She glanced at the window, then at the faint scent of burnt metal near the handle. But can’t see any scar or stain because they were gone. "Or maybe... someone paid us a visit."

The cloaked figure held their breath.

Darren’s eyes narrowed, his demonic senses flaring. He stepped toward the center of the room, nostrils flaring slightly.

Camila noticed the hesitation. "Something wrong?" she asked, with her voice calm but alert.

He took another measured breath before replying. "...No. Probably nothing." He straightened, smoothing the front of his coat. "For a moment, I thought I sensed something irregular— but there’s no trace of movement, nor magical residue that stands out."

Camila didn’t look convinced. "Your senses rarely fail without cause."

"True," Darren admitted evenly, "but even precision has its limits. Whatever you’re worried about, it’s not in here."

Camila crossed to her desk, fingertips brushing against a stack of sealed folders— the same one that had just been tampered with. Her expression was composed, yet a subtle tightness framed her eyes. "Still, I’ll have the corridors rechecked before departure. I want no vulnerabilities before and after the Galveston excursion."

"A reasonable precaution," Darren replied, his tone respectful. "We’ve had too many disturbances lately— it’s best not to rely solely on wards."

Camila nodded slightly, her eyes fixed on the desk. "Agreed. Oscar will review the surveillance seals and entry logs. If anyone’s been wandering after hours, I’ll know by morning. Recently I caught Stephanie sneaking around this office, I don’t know what she wants, but I’ld hate to believe what my heart is telling me to."

"Stephenie?" he called.

But Camila didn’t respond as she does not like repeating words twice. He gave a curt nod. "Hmmm, if so...then I’ll keep my eyes on her, Stephanie is the last person we should be worried about right now."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward him. "We don’t have the luxury of mistakes, Darren. Not now. Everyone is a suspect" she paused and whispered slowly. "Including you..."

"I deeply understand your obsession and distrust with us devils, but I can assure you, we’re not as evil as you portay us to be..." he countered— not with defiance, but a calm, measured tone that reflected experience. "...Suspicion is useful only when grounded in fact. And you my dear are just paranoid" he concluded.

Camila folded her hands over the desk, taking a breath before exhaling softly. "Whatever Darren, let’s just focus on what we can control— the Galveston delegation. I’ll finalize the transport circle placements and confirm the pairings. You can handle the guardian assignments."

"Already in progress," Darren replied. "Security formations are mapped. Once the lists are settled, I’ll oversee the departure protocols myself."

The conversation carried the precision of two leaders used to operating under half trust for each other and pressure— methodical, composed, and firm.

After a pause, Camila finally said, "Good. Then we’re done here." She moved toward the shelves, adjusting a few scrolls that had shifted out of place.

Darren gave the room one last look, his expression unreadable. Whatever trace he’d thought he sensed was gone now— or buried too deeply to matter. "If anything else comes up, you know where to find me." he said, and turned to leave.

Camila murmured, "Hmmm..." She said as she followed him to exist the office, since she had nothing else to do for the day.

Before she closed the door, she gave the room one last suspicious look and then BAM, She shut the door and made sure to lock it after.

When the door closed behind them, silence reclaimed the office.

For several seconds, nothing stirred— until the faintest breath escaped from behind a heavy cabinet. A shadow shifted, and a cloaked figure emerged from hiding, their pulse racing. They glanced toward the desk where the altered file still lay undisturbed, a sly grin curling beneath the hood.

"Perfect," they whispered, brushing a strand of hair from their face. "GALVESTON... HERE I COME."

Without another sound, they slipped through the toilet window, vanishing down the lower balcony just as the last candle in the corridor flickered and died.