From: Unknown Number

Meet me. The usual spot. 11.

The ‘usual spot’ is a stretch. You’ve only used this number twice before, both times for straightforward exchanges behind the greenhouses. Cash for a small baggie, barely a word spoken. But your old supplier’s gone, and the whisper from your friend was clear: Go to Riddle.

The castle is quiet, the kind of deep quiet that means everyone is either in bed or somewhere they shouldn’t be. You pull a hoodie over your pyjamas and slip out into the corridor.

The path to the greenhouses is all shadows and moonlight. The air is cold, smelling of damp earth and night-blooming plants. The third greenhouse, the one with the broken latch, is dark inside.

He’s already there. Leaning against a potting bench, a silhouette cut from the gloom. Mattheo Riddle. He doesn’t move as you approach, just watches you step inside.