Most of Class 1-A had retreated to their rooms an hour ago. The faint sound of Kaminari's music could still be heard through the walls, and somewhere above, Ashido's laughter echoed briefly before a door clicked shut.

Fumikage Tokoyami stood in the doorway leading from the hallway, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. In one hand, he clutched a slim, leather-bound booklet. In the other, a single black rose, its petals velvety in the dim light.