Chapter 5 - Nora

The creak of the closing door behind me in the soft susurrus of the wind in the trees sounded as the castle had breathed in and sworn not to let me go. I froze, the frozen moment well-nigh holy, reverent. I had been bracing myself for cobwebs and dust, but the air was fresh, electric as storm weather. Lights blazed in the sconces, driving the dark away as I went deeper in.

The furniture was odd, with carvings of dragons as well as star constellations I had not noticed before. Dragons in a circle surrounded a broken crown hung above flames, the implication oppressively uncomfortable in my chest. When I went up the second floor, the panel swung open to my room. Warmer, as well as the comfort of the familiar, but shocking in size.

The four-postered bed, made of what looked like petrified wood, had bedding in every imaginable shade of ember red to smoky gray. A corner desk had new parchment along with magic quills, and shelves were lined high with ancient, blank tomes to be inscribed.

My closet creaked as it swung open, showing the uniforms in my size: the silver-buttoned, black-coated uniforms, blouses, and cloaks in plain black trim. When I touched one of the cloaks, the lining of it came to life in red and gold threads, and the picture of the broken crown was for one moment before it disappeared.

Hungrily, I looked at the tray of warm bread as the chicken soup materialized on the desk, as if the magic had read my thoughts. I picked the cloak and sat at the end of the bed farthest away, wrapped in warmth and comfort, the material smelling faintly of ashes, as if the campfire the night before had been doused in it.

I shut my eyes.

And that voice again, deep and soft, almost fond this time.

“Welcome home.”

My eyes shot open. I was alone. Still alone. But I didn’t feel it, not completely. Not anymore.

I woke up to sunlight. Actual sunlight, not flickering streetlamps through broken blinds or a cracked window barely holding its frame. For a few minutes, I forgot everything. The bed was warm. My limbs were heavy in the best way, like I’d finally slept without having to brace for someone yelling or taking the blanket. The room smelled faintly of woodsmoke and citrus soap, and I was cocooned in a bed that felt like it had remembered what I’d dreamed.

Then the tray reappeared. Not soup this time, but a sealed note resting on a cloth napkin beside a still-warm mug of something that smelled like cinnamon and caramel. My fingers trembled as I broke the wax. Aurelian House’s sigil was stamped clean and unmistakable, fractured crown, edges licked in flame.

Nora Carver, you are required to attend Orientation in the Great Hall. Your presence is expected immediately.

Calvin Arx, Headmaster

The words weren’t harsh, but they had weight. I had no idea what “Orientation” entailed, but the fact that the headmaster himself sent the notice made my stomach twist. I dressed quickly, choosing one of the uniforms left in the closet. The fabric fit perfectly, of course it did. I didn’t look like the girl who’d slept on benches or dodged glares in soup kitchens. I looked... almost like I belonged. Until I caught my reflection. Too pale, too thin, bruises still faint along my cheekbone from two nights ago. Even magic couldn’t hide that.

I was late. I knew it the moment the grand doors of the Great Hall creaked open and every head turned my way. Silence hit me like a slap. Not a pause. Not a murmur. Silence, like I’d stepped on sacred ground with muddy boots.

I stepped forward anyway.

Rows of students lined long banquet tables carved from obsidian and gold-veined stone. The vaulted ceiling arched high above, constellations shifting in slow motion. Candles floated midair, and magic buzzed like static against my skin. But none of that held my focus.

It was them.

The founding bloodlines. Vampires draped in elegance, wolves with sharp eyes and sharper postures, witches in embroidered robes that shimmered when they moved. They sat in territorial clusters, forming walls of judgment with their bodies. I didn’t need a map to tell who was who. You could feel the tension between species, the cold war simmering under polished uniforms and practiced sneers.

And I had just become the school’s newest anomaly.

Whispers followed me like smoke.

“That’s her.”

“She opened Aurelian.”

“She doesn’t look like a dragon.”

“She looks like a mutt.”

“Poor thing. Doesn’t even know what she is.”

I wanted to scream that I didn’t either.

Instead, I kept walking, cloak pulled tight around me, boots clicking softly across the marble floor. The pin at my breast shimmered with every breath I took, emotion shifting its color beneath the glamour enchantment. I didn’t know what the colors meant, but I was pretty sure mine was broadcasting something between “leave me alone” and “please don’t eat me.”

Even the faculty were watching. Professor Batista sat like a carved statue, lips pressed tight. Professor Voss leaned back in his chair, gaze narrowed. Professor Dana, the one with constantly shifting hair, looked openly curious, her braid streaked rose gold and seafoam at the same time. And Headmaster Arx? He watched like a man waiting to see if a storm would break or simply pass overhead.

I clenched my fists. Let them all look. Let them stare.

I was used to it. I’d always been the strange one, the outsider, the charity case no one wanted but couldn’t get rid of fast enough. It was almost comforting, this spotlight of disdain.

Except this time, some of them weren’t just staring. They were studying.

Predators with pedigrees. Vampires who flashed fangs when they smiled. Werewolves with jaws too still. Witches whose laughter felt more like spells cast sideways.

This time, I wasn’t just out of place. I was in danger of mattering.

I had just found a seat near the end of one of the long tables when the temperature seemed to drop. I kept my head down, staring at the plate in front of me like the carving of a phoenix on its rim might swallow me whole and take me somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

No such luck.

I felt them before I saw them. Predatory attention has a weight to it, like the air thickens just enough to choke on. Every instinct I’d learned in years of school hallways and foster group dinners told me to shrink smaller, disappear. But the chair scraped against the floor as someone leaned in too close.

“Hope the castle bathed you, dragon girl. You smelled like alleyway trash when you showed up.”

The voice was husky and amused, wrapped in a drawl sharpened by purpose. I didn’t look up at first. I didn’t need to. Her scent was all pine and musk, unmistakably wolf. Her leather jacket creaked as she shifted, her perfect hair catching the overhead lights. She smelled expensive. Dangerous. Confident.

“Did she say dragon?” another voice purred, softer but twice as cutting. “We weren’t expecting anyone… feral.”

That one was perfume and powdered venom. Sweetened poison. Her heels clicked even when she wasn’t moving, like she could announce her dominance with every gesture. I finally looked up, and the vampire girl’s smirk was painted on like her lipstick, bold, blood-red, and impossible to ignore. She looked at me like I was gum on a five-hundred-year-old shoe.

The third came last, with silk gloves and a velvet voice. “I heard she lit a spell before anyone trained her. Dangerous. Or maybe just unstable.”

Witch. Definitely. Her magic clung to her words like static, enough to make my skin prickle. She smiled like it meant something, but her eyes were already sliding over me like I wasn’t worth the effort.

They moved like they’d practiced this. A half-circle around me, just far enough from the staff to be unnoticed, just close enough that I couldn’t leave without pushing through them. They oozed polished cruelty, all glittering superiority and calculated malice.

I swallowed hard.

They didn’t ask my name. Didn’t offer theirs. That wasn’t the point. I was supposed to be grateful they’d even acknowledged me, even if it was just to tear me down.

My bruises, fading but still visible, drew their gaze like blood in water. The uniform, though perfectly tailored by the castle’s magic, wasn’t enough to hide the fact that everything about me screamed outsider. My shoes still bore the scuffs of too many days spent walking without a destination. My cloak hadn’t earned wear, but it already carried the weight of being worn by the wrong girl.

“Look at her,” the vampire girl whispered, loud enough to sting. “All dressed up in something she didn’t earn.”

“She won’t last a week,” said the wolf, her smile baring just a little too much tooth. “Place will spit her out like bad meat.”

I clenched my fists under the table, nails digging into my palms. I told myself not to cry. Not to flinch. I’d survived worse than rich mean girls with too much magic and too little kindness. I’d survived backhands and concrete and being forgotten in stairwells.

But it still hurt.

Because for a second, just one second, I had let myself believe I was welcome here.

And now they were reminding me that I wasn’t.

For a moment, I wanted to vanish. To pull into myself like I always had. In the system, silence was safety. You kept your head down, made yourself forgettable, and hoped no one noticed the bruises. But now, here, something stirred under my skin. Hot and ancient. It didn’t feel like fear. Not exactly.

It felt like fire.

The air around me shifted. Barely a tremor, but it sent a ripple through the space between us. Briar’s smirk slipped, just a hair. Selina’s eyes narrowed. Juliet’s fingers twitched at her side like she’d sensed it too. The room seemed to lean toward me, like the walls had caught their breath.

I stood straighter. My cloak, which had been trailing softly behind me, moved like it knew the rhythm of this confrontation. The ember-red lining shimmered with a pulse that matched my heartbeat. I met Briar’s gaze, my voice flat.

“You might want to back off,” I said. “Before I lose control of my unstable bloodline.”

Something cracked between us. Not loud. Not visible. But they felt it. Juliet stepped back, her velvet gloves clenched. Selina’s smile became brittle. Even Briar tilted her head, as if reassessing her prey.

Then I sensed him.

Not in the circle with the others, but across the room, half in shadow, watching. A boy. No. A presence. He wore the same base uniform as the rest of us, a tailored black coat, crisp white shirt, dark slacks, and boots. But his cloak was lined in deep forest green, the silver thorn patterns barely catching the light. A polished wolf sigil gleamed at his shoulder, unmistakable even from this distance. Hawthorne House. Werewolf.

His build was lean and sharp, like someone used to strength but too smart to flaunt it. His tie was slightly askew, as though he didn’t care much for rules, and his jaw held the kind of calm I couldn’t tell was boredom or calculation. His eyes, icy blue and unreadable, were locked on me. Not with judgment. Not with disgust. Just... scrutiny. Stillness. Like a wolf measuring the shape of something unfamiliar.

I didn’t know who he was. But I knew he had noticed me.

And he didn’t look away.

Then, as silently as he’d appeared, he turned and left, the hem of his cloak brushing the stone like mist curling back into shadow. Gone. As if he’d seen all he needed and decided to keep the rest of his conclusions to himself.

The mean girls hadn’t moved. But they’d lost momentum. They weren’t backing down exactly, but the air wasn’t theirs anymore. For once, I wasn’t the one retreating.

I was still scared. Still standing. My palms trembled. My knees wanted to give out. But I held my ground.

And something in me, something that had always been afraid, finally inhaled.