“That’s one favor you owe me,” Olgierd Sienkiewicz said, his voice a low, silken whisper. “I’ll be sure to collect.” Anka felt the words settle over her like a shroud, heavy and cold. Olgierd’s smile never wavered, but his eyes held a calculating glint that stripped away the last vestiges of the gala’s warmth. He paused for another beat, letting the implication hang in the air, then turned and melted into the dispersing crowd, leaving Anka with the unsettling certainty that the price for her momentary triumph would be steep. The opulent hall, which moments ago had thrummed with the energy of a hundred conversations, now felt cavernous and empty. Anka clutched the silver pendant, its cool weight a stark contrast to the heat rising in her cheeks. Her earlier relief had evaporated, replaced by a gnawing anxiety. Marek had offered guidance, Krystian had watched, and Olgierd had provided a lifeline, but each interaction felt less like assistance and more like the tightening of invisible strings. She needed to be alone, to process the rapid unraveling of her quiet life. The idea of returning to her lavish, unfamiliar dorm room felt overwhelming. Instead, she found herself drawn to the academy’s archive, a sprawling, Gothic edifice rumored to house scrolls dating back to the Continent’s earliest noble houses. Perhaps within its hushed, ancient walls, she could find a moment of anonymity. The main hall was a labyrinth of towering oak shelves, each segment lit by the soft glow of gas lamps. The air hung thick with the scent of old paper and polished wood. Anka wandered deeper, her fingers tracing the spines of leather-bound tomes, a strange comfort in the forgotten histories they contained. She found a secluded alcove near a leaded glass window, the moonlight painting a silver stripe across a heavy reading table. She sank onto the velvet bench, welcoming the stillness. “Found a quiet corner, have we, Anka?” Anka looked up sharply. Ludmila Wozniak emerged from between two shelves, her expression a mask of frigid composure that didn't quite hide the simmering rage in her dark eyes. She moved with a predator’s slow grace, coming to a halt directly across the table from Anka, her gaze like a physical weight. “The gala was… illuminating,” Ludmila continued, her voice deceptively calm. “Especially your performance. Such a keen intuition for Vodyanoy history, for someone who supposedly spent her entire life in a provincial flour shop.” Her lips curled into a disdainful sneer. “Don’t pretend, girl. I know you’re a fraud.” Anka’s throat constricted. Her mind scrambled for a defense, but no words would form. Her hands trembled, her knuckles white against the dark velvet. “Oh, you don’t need to say anything,” Ludmila said, waving a dismissive hand. “Your terrified little face speaks volumes. Do you think I’m a fool? That one little ‘correct answer’ means anything? The real Anastazja Vodyanoy was betrothed to me. I knew her. I knew every detail of her life, every flaw in her perfect facade. You are not her.” Ludmila leaned forward, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “And do you know what else? That storefront of yours? The one with the charming little apartment above it? It’s not so provincial anymore. I’ve had my people looking into your delightful past, Anka Nowakowska. A private investigator, discreet, very thorough. He’s already found a few… discrepancies.” Anka’s breath caught in her chest. Her heart thumped against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The shop. Her home. Janek. Cold dread prickled across her skin. Ludmila wasn’t just talking about academic disgrace; she was threatening her entire existence, her brother. “He’s very good at digging,” Ludmila continued, a cruel satisfaction in her eyes. “And soon, he’ll unearth everything. Every last lie. Then, Anka, you won’t just be humiliated. You’ll be cast out. And when the old dynasties decide they’ve been made a mockery of, they won’t be content with just sending you back to your pathetic life.” A cold smirk spread across Ludmila’s face. “They will make sure you disappear, just like the real Anastazja. And no one will ever find you.” The air around Anka felt thin, suffocating. The ancient archive, once a refuge, now seemed to press in on her, its shadows concealing unseen dangers. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her vision blurred at the edges. “Ludmila.” The voice was a low, steady rumble, cutting through the heavy quiet. Anka looked up to see Tomasz Zaleski standing at the entrance to the alcove, his broad shoulders filling the narrow opening. His uniform was impeccable, but his posture was rigid, his gaze fixed on Ludmila with an unwavering intensity. He moved with purpose, stepping between Anka and Ludmila, his presence a solid, unyielding wall. “This is a study hall, not a dueling ground,” Tomek said, his voice devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undeniable authority. “Your dispute will not be aired here.” Ludmila scoffed. “Stay out of this, Zaleski. This doesn’t concern the academy’s glorified hired help.” Tomek’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “I am Captain of Ostrov Security. Any student altercation concerns me. Especially one that involves threats.” His gaze was unwavering. “The Headmaster’s office will be informed.” Ludmila’s confident facade wavered. The mention of the Headmaster was a clear deterrent. She shot Anka a final, venomous look. “This isn’t over, Anka. Not by a long shot.” With a swish of her silk dress, she turned and strode out of the alcove, her footsteps echoing through the cavernous hall until they faded. Anka felt a profound trembling begin deep within her. The adrenaline began to recede, leaving her weak and disoriented. Tomek turned, his expression softening slightly as he looked at her. “Are you alright, Anastazja?” Anka could only shake her head, tears pricking at her eyes. She felt utterly exposed, utterly vulnerable. Tomek extended a hand, his fingers firm and reassuring. “Come. Let me take you back to your dorm. It’s not safe for you to be alone right now.” She took his hand, the warmth of his touch a surprising comfort against her cold skin. He led her out of the library, his large frame a shield against the imagined dangers lurking in the shadows. They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds their footsteps on the polished stone floors. When they were out of earshot, Tomek finally spoke, his voice quiet. “I overheard a part of what she said,” he admitted, his gaze straight ahead. “About your past. About the house of Vodyanoy.” He paused, then continued, his voice laced with a quiet earnestness. “My scholarship here, it was sponsored by the ancestral endowment. They provided for my education, for my kin. I owe them a great deal.” He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes serious. “I made a promise, Anka. To protect their legacy, and by extension, you. It is my duty.” His words were not a declaration of affection, but of unwavering loyalty, a steadfast commitment that, in her current state of terror, felt like a lifeline. He was the only one in this gilded cage who seemed to act without a hidden agenda, without asking for anything in return. Back in her dorm, the stillness pressed in on Anka again, but this time it felt less like peace and more like a vacuum. She sank onto her bed, the image of Ludmila’s hateful face burned into her mind. The threat against her storefront, against Janek, echoed with sharp clarity. Just as she was beginning to find a fragile calm, her phone buzzed, vibrating insistently on the nightstand. It was Janek. Her heart leaped with a frantic mix of fear and relief. She answered, her voice tight. “Janek? Are you alright?” “Anka!” His voice was high-pitched, laced with raw panic. “The bakery! Someone… someone broke in! It’s… it’s a mess, Anka. Everything’s smashed! And… and my medicine. The box, it’s gone, Anka! All of it!” The words hit Anka like a physical blow. The phone slipped from her numb fingers, clattering onto the plush carpet. Her vision swam. The vandalized flour bins, Janek’s destroyed medical supplies. Ludmila’s words, razor-sharp: *“My people looking into your delightful past… He’s very good at digging… They will make sure you disappear.”* It wasn't just social ruin. It was a direct, brutal attack. A clear message. Ludmila wasn’t playing games with reputation. She was coming for Janek.

The First Crack