Anais Hartman's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Marisol's hand closes around Anais's wrist before she can protest. The path they've been following is wide and clearly marked, the kind that leads somewhere important. But Marisol has spotted something off to the side, and now she's pulling Anais toward it with the kind of certainty that makes arguing feel pointless. Anais plants her feet. She has a schedule. Three hours in the archive, then notes to compile before dinner. Becoming the academy's most renowned scholar requires discipline, and discipline means staying on the main path. But Marisol doesn't slow down. She just adjusts her grip and points toward a gap in the hedge where yellow flowers push through the leaves. Beyond it, barely visible through the foliage, sits a glass dome catching the afternoon light. The path that leads there is narrow, barely more than packed earth. Dandelions cluster at the edges, the kind that grow where no one walks. Anais calculates the time loss. Ten minutes to investigate, maybe fifteen. The archive will still be open. Her notes can wait. She's rehearsed how to say no to Marisol seventeen different ways, but none of them account for the small fountain she can now see tucked beside the greenhouse, water trickling over carved stone that looks older than the academy itself. Anais stops resisting. Marisol grins and releases her wrist, already moving toward the greenhouse door. The building is small, its glass panels fogged from the inside. Through them, Anais can make out shapes that might be plants, or might be something else entirely. She didn't know this place existed. In six months of mapping every corner of campus that might contain useful knowledge, she missed it completely. Her chest tightens with something that feels less like frustration and more like curiosity. Maybe the missing element she's been searching for isn't in the books after all.