prologue

Nyx Calder learned early that survival had nothing to do with kindness.

The gates of Briarcrest Academy rose from the mist like a judgment carved in iron and stone, their wrought crests catching the pale morning light. Beyond them stretched manicured lawns, ivy-choked buildings, and spires that scraped the sky with quiet arrogance. Power lived here. Old power. The kind that didn’t need to announce itself because it had already decided your worth.

Nyx tightened her grip on the strap of her worn duffel bag as the gates slid open without a sound.

No welcome. No acknowledgment.

Just permission.

She stepped inside.

The air changed instantly, with cleaner, colder, sharpened by expectation. Students crossed the grounds in tailored uniforms and polished shoes, laughter low, measured. Every glance was an assessment. Every smile is a calculation.

Nyx kept her head high. Looking weak was an invitation to be devoured.

She hadn’t come to Briarcrest to belong. She’d come because survival demanded it. Because the scholarship chained her future to this place whether she wanted it or not. Because her mother’s marriage had suddenly, strategic, irreversible, and had dragged Nyx into a legacy she despised.

Because the Moore name now followed her like a shadow.

The main hall loomed ahead, all vaulted ceilings and stained glass glorifying founders who had rewritten history without asking permission. As Nyx crossed the threshold, conversation dipped. Eyes followed her. They searched her face for recognition, for lineage.

They found none.

Good.

“Transfer student.”

The voice was smooth. Controlled.

Too close.

Nyx turned.

Alaric Moore stood at the base of the grand staircase as if the building had been constructed around him. His uniform was immaculate, blazer cut perfectly, tie aligned with surgical precision. Dark hair restrained. Expression is calm to the point of indifference.

But his eyes….

Nyx felt the recognition strike like a blade between her ribs.

She had seen those eyes before. Across a polished dining table she’d avoided. In photographs she’d refused to study. In the man her mother now called husband.

Her stepbrother.

For a heartbeat, the world stalled.

Alaric’s composure fractured, but just barely. A flicker. Shock. Calculation.

Then control snapped back into place.

So he knows, Nyx realized.

And worse, he hadn’t expected this to matter.

The room seemed to lean toward them, instinctively sensing something wrong.

Nyx forced her voice steady. “And you are?”

A lie. A challenge.

A flicker of amusement curved Alaric’s mouth, sharp and dangerous. “Alaric Moore.”

The name rippled through the hall like a warning.

Briarcrest royalty. The heir. The untouchable.

And now, by law and ceremony alone, tied to her.

“Congratulations,” Nyx said coolly. “You want a medal?”

A few students inhaled sharply. Someone laughed, and then stopped, as if realizing laughter might be dangerous.

Alaric stepped closer. Too close. His voice dropped, meant only for her. “Most transfers try harder to impress.”

Nyx leaned in, close enough that only he could hear. “Most stepbrothers don’t pretend we’re strangers.”

The word landed between them like a live wire.

Something dark flashed in his eyes, and not anger.

Interest.

Wrong, undeniable interest.

“You shouldn’t say that,” Alaric murmured.

Nyx smiled without warmth. “Then you shouldn’t look at me like you remember.”

A pause. Charged. Unforgivable.

“You’ll learn quickly,” he said at last, voice smooth again, “that Briarcrest rewards obedience.”

Nyx straightened. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t intend to survive quietly.”

She brushed past him.

The contact was brief. Incidental.

Electric.

Her shoulder grazed his arm, and the shock rippled through her like a mistake she’d already made once too often.

Behind her, Alaric didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

That night, the bell rang at precisely ten. Lights-out. Silence enforced by more than rules.

Nyx lay awake, staring at the ceiling as moonlight spilled through tall windows. Her roommate slept peacefully, unaware that Nyx’s pulse hadn’t slowed since morning.

She listened.

Briarcrest exhaled in the dark, with footsteps in distant halls, whispers threading through walls, a low mechanical thrum beneath it all.

She rose quietly.

Down staircases meant for staff. Through a door that should have been locked, but wasn’t.

The room beyond was circular, windowless. Screens lined the walls, glowing with shifting data.

Merit scores.

Influence rankings.

Projected futures.

Nyx’s name flashed briefly.

Calder, Nyx. Provisional.

“So it’s not enough to live in my house,” a voice said softly. “You have to trespass on my secrets too.”

Nyx spun.

Alaric stood in the doorway.

This time, he didn’t look bored.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

Nyx folded her arms. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

He closed the door.

The click echoed, and final, deliberate.

“This,” Alaric said, gesturing to the screens, “is Briarcrest. This is how control is maintained.”

Nyx’s stomach twisted. “You let this decide people’s lives?”

His jaw tightened. “I was raised to.”

For the first time, the heir looked like a prisoner.

“This place doesn’t allow weakness,” he said quietly. “And it doesn’t forgive attachments.”

Nyx stepped closer. Too close again. “Then why warn me?”

Alaric hesitated.

Because you shouldn’t exist here.

Because you shouldn’t matter.

Because if anyone ever notices the way I look at you, it will destroy us both.

Instead, he said, “Because you’re already a liability.”

Nyx smiled slowly. “Then we have something in common.”

The bell rang, only once. A curfew breach.

Alaric reached for her wrist without thinking.

The contact lingered a fraction too long.

Familial.

Forbidden.

Unmistakably wrong.

Don’t, Nyx told herself.

Neither of them moved.

Somewhere beneath the academy, the machine recalculated.

Two names linked by marriage, not blood.

Two lives are already too close.

Two variables the system could not safely contain.

Nyx pulled free. “Careful,” she murmured. “People might start to talk.”

Alaric watched her disappear into the shadows, control slipping just enough to terrify him.

For the first time in his life, Briarcrest felt fragile.

And it had already marked them both as uncontrollable.