Chapter 2: Vestiges in the Dark

West Hall smelled like old money trying to pretend it wasn’t haunted.

The corridor swallowed sound. Dark wainscoting, stone beneath, portraits of dead benefactors whose eyes had that same faint sheen of judgment she’d seen on Manila judges and senators. Here, the wealth wasn’t new and anxious; it was ancient and bored.

Umbra moved beside her with a soundless, steady stride, each shift of muscle fluid under his dark coat. He stayed close enough that his shoulder brushed her thigh on every third step. His head was up, nostrils flaring, reading the place the way she read people.

“Old teeth,” she whispered in Tagalog. “Luma na, pero matalim pa rin.” It’s old, but still sharp.

Noah walked ahead of them with the unthinking precision of someone who had grown up in halls like this. His blazer fit like it had been tailored straight onto his body: clean lines, expensive cloth, that unforgiving white shirt against sun-gold skin and pale hair. From the side, he looked carved, not born.

Luca kept pace behind them. He didn’t walk; he lounged in motion. Dark hair pushed back with careless fingers, green eyes taking in everything, and pretending to be impressed by nothing. His tie was already loosened, throat exposed above the open button as if rules existed so he could ignore them.

Three of them, stacked in a narrow corridor: heir, serpent, exile.

Her ring caught the light as she brushed her fingertips along the carved chair rail. Obsidian and gold, the insignia etched so sharply it had cut her once, years ago. She’d kept the scar

A promise: you belong to something older than this place. Don’t forget.

“West Hall houses the oldest families,” Noah said without looking back. His voice stayed level, but his shoulders held a quiet tension. “The board members’ children. Endowment lines. The… historically established.”

“Legacies,” Luca translated lazily from behind her. “He means the ones whose grandparents bought the stone you’re standing on.”

“Some of our families donated the stone,” Noah said.

“Some of us,” Luca returned, “donated the people who carried them.”

The air thinned.

Althea watched Noah’s back. No flinch. No glare. Just a slight slowdown of his stride, as if he weighed every response and chose silence because it hurt more.

She let out a soft, almost sympathetic hum.

“Fun neighborhood,” she said.

Noah glanced over his shoulder, and those ice-pale eyes cut straight through her. Up close, they weren’t flat at all; there was a storm in there, tightly sealed behind glass.

“It can be… inhospitable,” he admitted. “But no one here will touch you, Miss Sombra.”

The “no one” sounded less like reassurance and more like a sentence being passed.

Luca’s mouth curved, more edge than warmth. “You’re assuming they’ll be brave enough to try.”

They stopped outside a heavy door marked 320. Noah produced a brass key, turned it once, and stepped back, holding the door open with a small, formal gesture that might have looked courtly if he hadn’t been so tense.

“Your room,” he said. “I asked facilities to check it this morning.”

He shouldn’t have had time. He’d had duties, students, a million other things to command. But he had made time.

He’d checked her room.

She allowed a soft smile, sweet as honey dripping over glass.

“Thank you,” she said, and the warmth in her tone landed on him like a hand.

Umbra slipped inside first, big frame gliding past her thigh. The room greeted them with warmed wood and late light pouring through tall windows, a single bed, a battered desk, and bookshelves that had seen better decades. It was simpler than she expected—less gilded cage, more quiet cell.

Umbra sniffed every corner, then leapt onto the bed and turned twice before lowering himself with a groan, chin on paws, watching the doorway like a soldier waiting for an attack.

Althea stepped inside and ran her fingers along the carved bedpost. The wood was worn smooth by years of hands. Her ring clicked against it, the sound sharp and familiar. It dragged her back to the ancestral house in Laguna, to her lola’s altar, to nights she thought destiny meant becoming an obedient blade.

She wasn’t that girl anymore.

When she turned, Noah was watching her hand.

Not the ring’s design. The way she touched the room, like she was already bending it to her.

His gaze lifted to her, and for a moment, he forgot to be perfect.

He looked… moved. Drawn in. Almost devout.

He banked it fast.

“Cozy,” Luca said from the doorway. He hadn’t crossed the threshold. His shoulder pressed lazily to the frame, one ankle hooked behind the other, his posture declaring; I enter only if I choose. “Almost misleading.”

“Misleading how?” she asked, voice warm and curious, soft enough to feel like an invitation without being one.

His gaze swept the space before settling on her.

“Places like this,” he murmured, ”pretend they’re harmless. They wrap you in polished wood and sunlight and then ask which pieces of yourself you’d like to carve away to fit.”

“Comfort as camouflage,” she said, her tone gentle, thoughtful enough to unsettle.

He smiled, slow and pleased. “Exactly.”

Umbra released a low, judgmental huff.

Luca’s eyes flicked to the bed, then back. “He’s protective.”

“He has good instincts,” she replied, stroking Umbra’s head once, the affection tender without being soft.

That earned her a real laugh, quiet and genuine. Noah watched it with a stillness that wasn’t jealousy but something deeper, darker.

“Orientation is at eight,” Noah said. “We welcome new students in the main hall. Headmistress Vale will speak. So will I.

“Speeches? I don’t know about that,” she said, teasing lightly, sweetness curling around he words. “You’re not making this easy for me.”

His mouth almost curved. “Music. Drinks,” he offered. “There’s atmosphere.”

A small pause.

“It’s expected that you attend.”

Expected by him. By the school. By her family name hanging above her like an execution order.

“Will you be there?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered instantly.

And instantly regretted it.

Her eyes flickered knowingly. His throat worked.

“I mean,” he said, “as part of my responsibilities.”

Luca tracked each nuance like he was cataloging ammunition.

“And you?” she asked him. “Will you be there?”

Luca’s smile cut like silk. “I’m contractually obligated to attend any event where wealthy people pretend their legacy isn’t built on blood.” He tilted his head. “In this case, the entertainment might actually be interesting.”

“I’ll see how I feel,” she said, letting her tone soften, the kind of sweetness that disarmed men who thought they were immune to it.

Noah nodded. “If you need anything, my number is in your packet.”

He stepped back, giving her space. Always controlled. Always measured. But his posture betrayed a single crack of wanting.

Luca lingered.

“Jet lag hits hard,” he said quietly, the flippancy gone. “Rest.”

“I’m not afraid of things that hit hard,” she replied.

His gaze warmed. “No,” he said. “You wouldn’t be.”

He finally left.

The door closed.

Silence settled.

Umbra approached her and nudged her knee until she sat on the bed. She stroked the rough silk of his fur, her touch affectionate but sure.

“Tatlong araw lang. Just three days,” she whispered. “And you already think they’re a mess.”

Umbra huffed. Agreement.

“They’re trouble,” she said. “Both of them.”

He lay at her feet like a sentry.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Noah Laurent:

Orientation is optional.

Being underestimated is not.

If you decide to come, I’ll be at the entrance.

Heat curled low in her stomach

A second message.

Luca Ashford:

If he scared you off, don’t let him.

The fun ones don’t stay in their rooms.

She laughed under her breath. She hadn’t given either of them her number.

When she slept, her dreams turned violent. When she woke, she dressed in black.

And when she stepped into the courtyard, she found Luca cornering a freshman, Noah approaching like justice incarnate, and the first real glimpse of the war she’d walked into waiting for her.