The world shifted in and out of focus, blurring into a sleepy mix of browns and blacks and oranges. Your chin slipped from its rest on your hand and you snapped back to attention, blinking and dazed before recognising your surroundings

It was second day of your drawing job. It was the last day of you drawing job.

And you had a goddamn deadline to reach.

You leaned back, stretching your arms above your head with a pop, and checked the time: 2.03am.

Nine more drawings you needed to do - some wrenches, a painfully intricate jug of some sort and a ton of weird techy-y things you couldn't identify in the dim lighting. There were just less than four hours until it was all destroyed; one hour until you had to leave, which meant every ten minutes you had to draw at least... Your brain couldn't bother to work our the maths. Either way, you had to work - fast.

You were pretty sure you were the last person left - other than the night guards - in the Academy.

You had barely noticed the steady stream of scholars trickle from the room as the night wore on. It wasn't until Viktor had tapped you on the shoulder that you snapped out of your work-trance. He'd informed you that it was time to leave, but you still had an ungodly amount of work to do. After an undignified amount of 'please's and reasoning, Viktor had relented.

"It's not like I'm going to blow the place up," you had joked.

The look on his face made it clear that he didn't put it past you to do so.

"I'm promise I won't," you clarified.

He sighed and held up a large set of keys strung on a gold loop, picking out one seemingly undistinguishable from its partners. "This one locks that door. Once you've finished leave it on the handle on the other side."

"Couldn't it get stolen?"

"Eh, it'll be fine."

You were skeptical, but had taken the keys anyway, making sure to securely tuck them away in your bag. You didn't want to imagine the kinda of trouble you'd get into if you lost them.

"The guard's check in here at around three," Viktor warned. "Be out before then. They aren't as considerate as I am."

You raised a skeptical eyebrow. "After all the bargaining it took to convince you to let me stay here I wouldn't exactly call you considerate..."

"What was that?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing, nothing." You waved him away. "Thank you so much, Vik. Goodnight."

He had paused. "Vik?" he echoed, a look of bemusement on his face.

You turned to the paper below you to hide the flush that had sprung to your cheeks. "Sorry," you said through an embarrassed grin.

"No, no," he assured, dismissing your apology with a wave. "I like it. Goodnight, Y/N."

After that you had returned to your. drawings, finding it a little harder to slip back into your working-mindset.

At regular intervals the sound of passing guards broke the silence. Each time you couldn't help freezing, holding your breath as if that'd help in any way. But each time they faded away, and you returned to your sketching - albeit a bit jittery. Still, you couldn't help idly considering potential hiding spots if worst came to worst (After a lot of thought, you decided your best bet would be under the table).

---

With a relieved sigh, you added the final stroke to the final drawing and flexed your sore hand. Done! Glancing at your watch, you were relieved to find you had over fifteen minutes to pack up and sneak out. As you shoved your pencils into your pocket, you vowed you were never going to you them ever again. The cylindrical shape of them was practically burnt into your hand. Maybe you'd take up a new medium - painting or pottery or whatever.

Behind you, the door creaked, and you spun around, stomach plummeting to somewhere in the regions of your feet. However, standing in the doorway was not a pissed-off guard, as you had expected.

It was Viktor.

He jumped when he saw you, as if he didn't expect you to be there.

"Oh," he managed to say after a moment of surprise. "Hello."

Your hand flew to your chest, unable to hide your relief. "Gods, Viktor, you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?"

He cast a glance behind him, looking uncharacteristically wary. "Do you have the keys?" he asked abruptly, not moving from the door.

"What? Oh- yeah." It took you a moment to register what he was talking about. You took them from your bag and held them up as proof.

"Could I have them back?"

"Sure. I'm just leaving now, actually, if you don't mind waiting a second-"

"Now?" he cut in.

You were taken aback by his direct tone, but gave them to him regardless. His cane tapped impatiently on the floor as you handed them over. He murmured a quick thanks and slipped away before you could say anything else.

Though it could've been the combination of your sleep-deprived mind and the echoey halls, you swore you heard two sets of footsteps hurry away once the door had shut.

It wasn't until you had neatly filed the drawings away and quietly shut the door behind you (seeing as you could no longer lock it) that you realised how odd the interaction had been. The Academy was officially shut for the night - what was Viktor doing there so late? And what did he want the keys for? Sure, he was Heimerdinger's assistant, but what business could be so important at 3am?

You shrugged to yourself and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. He must've had his own reasons, you decided.

The hallways were dark and deserted, as you'd expected. It was quiet, which was both a good and bad thing. Good: because it meant there was no one around to see you, and bad: because it meant every single little noise sounded as loud as a thunderclap. The pad of your feet, the rustle of your coat. If you listened hard enough, you reckoned you could hear the blood flowing through your veins.

The previous night you had taken Viktor's knowledge of the labyrinth of halls for granted. You thought you had a decent idea as to where you were supposed to go, which stairs you were supposed to take - until you ended up at the exact same door you had shut only minutes prior.

You wandered the halls for a while, gradually getting more and more disorientated and more and more lost. You considered hiding somewhere until dawn and hoping for the best, but all the doors you came across were locked.

Just when you thought it couldn't get much worse, it did.

As you turned a paced down a corridor for what could've been the first or fifteenth time, you became aware of a sound. Through your sleep-muddled mind, you couldn't quite distinguish it at first. It sounded like fast tapping, slowly getting louder, louder...

A moment too late you realised what the noise was. And a moment too late you rounded a corner, finding yourself face-to-face with two of the last things you wanted to see whilst snooping around the Academy after-hours: Enforcers.

They stood at one end, you at the other. For a moment, everyone stared at one another. You had the sense you'd done something wrong, even though you didn't know what. You had the sense you'd really screwed up.

Something in the air was tense, dense, waiting. Some deep, primal part of you recognised this as a predator-prey situation. You weren't sure whether you wanted to freeze forever and never move again, or run. The Enforcers made the choice for you:

"Stop right there!" one yelled.

And so, naturally, you did the opposite.

You ran - from them.

And to your absolute horror, they ran - after you.

No thoughts passed through your mind other than 'run', 'shitshitshit' and 'run faster'. You didn't know why you were running, you didn't know where you were running to, you didn't know when you'd stop; you just ran.

The sound of the Enforcers' shouts merged with the sharp slap of footsteps, creating a din of panic. You could barely hear their words over the sound of your own gaspy breathing and drumming heart.

Already a stitch had began to burn in your side. Sliding round a corner, you noticed a small alcove, and ducked in. Your pursuers sped past you. After a moment to catch your breath, you snuck out and headed back the way you had come.

It wasn't long before you heard them close behind you again.

You knew at some point you had to stop; you couldn't run forever. Your pace was slowing, your steps growing sloppy.

Just as you were considering stopping right there to crumple into a little ball and cry and accept your fate, the last thing you expected to happen, happened.

A hand shot out from a doorway to your left. It grabbed ahold of your arm, forcing you to skid to a stop. You attempted to force out a shout, but your lack of breath turned it into a weak croak. Before you could register what the hell was going on, you were pulled to the side and plunged into darkness.

I