It was properly late, and Finn was yawning so widely like we’d spent the evening discussing the weather rather than homicidal necromancers and sentient stone monsters. I wasn’t much better.

  Once we’d established that the cat was unlikely to murder me immediately — though not without kindly suggesting I draft a will, just in case — my friends decided to retreat to their own beds. Sensible people. Leaving me alone with a demonic predator.

  Yes, I know. It’s reckless. It’s the magical equivalent of sharing a studio flat with a wolf and hoping for the best.

  But throw Moorka out?

  I couldn’t.

  And truthfully… I wasn’t even sure she could be thrown out.

  Finding alternative accommodation required energy. I had none. Besides, when I looked at her, something twisted inside my chest. I am completely alone here. And yet, looking at this spiked, glowing-eyed creature from the abyss, I felt… less alone.

  Ridiculous. I know.

  Still true.

  “Right, Mal, that’s enough horror for one evening. I’m not going anywhere tonight. Not even for your furry apocalypse.”

  “Tomorrow we can investigate the sealed wing,” Elvira added. “Your umbrifelis would love the space.”

  They left. The door shut, and the room fell quiet. Silence.

  The kind of silence that presses on your ears.

  I sat down slowly on the bed and suddenly realised I was exhausted in a way that felt older than my body. Three days. That’s all it’s been. In that time I’ve died. Twice. Been resurrected. Accidentally performed an unwilling public striptease. Nearly died again. Charmed a skeleton. Been cursed. Uncursed. And acquired a demonic companion.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Excellent orientation week.

  Moorka behaved like any ordinary cat — if ordinary cats had armour instead of fur and could probably disembowel you before breakfast. She groomed herself. Sharpened her claws her claws on the heavy bed leg. Watched me with that expression cats specialise in: I tolerate you.

  I stood in the middle of the room for a while, as if I’d misplaced the purpose of my own existence.

  Then I did small, human things. Unpacked clothes. Wiped dust. Smoothed the blanket. Took out my toothbrush.

  There’s something deeply absurd about brushing your teeth in a magical academy built over catacombs. Dark rituals. Ghosts. Undead experiments. And you’re there wondering if they offer complimentary dental. While I’m in a magical world, maybe I should fix everything? Back home, dentistry costs so much sometimes you have to borrow from your parents just to get a filling.

  Parents… Mum, Dad…

  How are they?

  They think I’m dead.

  I didn’t have my phone when I jumped. They must have found it. Called the police. Maybe my friends kept quiet about the dare. Maybe Mum thinks I simply vanished.

  God.

  Mum…

  The thought hit like something physical. My throat closed. Tears came without asking permission. The first drop slid down my cheek.

  I wiped my face and stared at my damp fingers.

  Maybe that’s a good sign.

  The dead don’t cry.

  I know I’m Professor Grey’s experiment. A magical anomaly. Something held together by magic… But I feel alive! I’m tired. I’m scared. I miss home so badly it aches.

  That has to mean something.

  One day I’ll break whatever binds me to that cursed professor and go home. It might take years. It might take surviving this place first. But I will.

  Do you hear me, Mum? I’m coming back.

  “Universe,” I whispered into the dark, feeling faintly foolish, “if you can drop me here, you can send me back. I’ll stop complaining about work. I’ll smile at customers. I won’t even lose my temper when someone steals my lunch from the staff fridge. I’ll forgive Irina and her idiotic pond idea. I’ll forgive everyone. Just… send me home.”

  The universe, predictably, declined to respond.

  Moorka climbed onto the bed and settled at my feet with the weight of a small, judgemental dog. Her purr started — deep, mechanical, steady. Like a miniature tractor trying to comfort me.

  I stroked her automatically.

  “You’re heavy,” I muttered. “We had a Scotch Terrier. Big. Scruffy. Gentle. He used to sleep like this.”

  Moorka nudged my knee and purred louder, as if trying to drown out my thoughts. I lay down without bothering to undress properly and pulled the blanket over myself.

  I’m tired of being afraid.

  Tomorrow can bring catacombs, gargoyles, rumours of immortal necromancers - tonight, I’ll sleep.

  And if I wake up in the morning, it means I’m still alive.

  The demonic cat purred at my feet, and somehow that felt like the safest thing I had in this world.