Room 413

Chapter 3: Room 413

The Shadow Guard didn’t follow me up the stairs. He just watched from the bottom landing with that same unreadable expression—like he was betting on how many steps before I collapsed.

I made it to the second floor before my vision grayed at the edges. I stopped, leaned against the cold stone wall, and breathed through my teeth. Poker face. Always poker face.

Footsteps echoed behind me—light, unhurried. A guy appeared at my elbow. Early twenties maybe, human by the heartbeat. Short brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses, wearing the BludHeaven uniform already: black blazer, white shirt, blood-red tie, dark trousers. The shield-and-bat emblem sat over his heart, the single crimson tear-drop on the bat’s belly catching the dim hallway light.

“Thought you might need this,” he said, holding out a plain black box about the size of a shoebox. No smile, just quiet efficiency. “I’m your assigned guide. Name’s Elias. They told me to get you settled.”

I stared at the box, then at him. “They send a babysitter for every scholarship kid?”

“Only the ones who arrive half-dead and mouth off to the queens on night one.” He shrugged. “You’re special. Congratulations.”

I took the box. It was heavier than it looked.

Elias fell into step beside me, matching my hobbling pace without comment. We climbed the last flight in silence. West Tower smelled like old books, cedar, and something faintly metallic—blood, maybe, or just the memory of it.

Room 413 was at the end of the hall. The door was already cracked open, light spilling out.

Elias pushed it wider. “Welcome home.”

Three guys looked up.

The first was sprawled on the bottom bunk of a set of triple-stacked beds, long legs hanging off the edge. Dark skin, dreads tied back, earbuds in, scrolling on a phone. He gave me a lazy once-over and nodded once.

Second sat at the desk nearest the window, laptop open, typing fast. Pale, freckled, red hair in a messy bun. He glanced up, blinked twice like he was recalibrating, then went back to whatever code he was writing.

Third leaned against the wall by the closet, arms crossed. Tall, broad-shouldered, blond hair buzzed military-short. He looked me up and down like I was a stray dog someone had dragged in.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “They said new roommate. Didn’t say half-corpse.”

Elias cleared his throat. “Nico Black. Human Integration Scholarship. Try not to kill him before breakfast.”

The blond snorted. “No promises.”

I ignored him and limped inside. The room was bigger than I expected—three sets of bunk beds (one still empty), four desks, a shared bathroom door, and a narrow window overlooking the cliffs and the churning Pacific below. The walls were stone, but someone had tacked up posters: a vintage motorcycle, a pixel-art vampire game, a map of pre-Accords territories marked with red Xs.

Elias set my box on the empty bottom bunk. “Your stuff’s in the closet. Uniforms, towels, bedding. They measured you from the hospital records. Everything should fit.”

I opened the closet door.

Rows of black blazers, white shirts, red ties, dark trousers—all in my exact size. The emblem on every breast pocket: the shield, the bat, the single blood-drop tear. Like the school was crying for something it already killed.

Fresh towels stacked on the shelf. A pair of black boots on the floor. Even socks. Black, of course.

I turned back to the box on the bed, flipped the lid.

Inside: a sleek black phone, the BludHeaven logo etched into the back. No brand name, no model number—just the bat and the tear. A charger. A folded note on top.

I unfolded it.

*Orientation breakfast: 0600. West Hall. Do not be late.

Bloodmate Board rankings posted at midnight tomorrow.

Try to stay alive until then.

—Administration*

No signature. Just that cold, clinical tone.

The blond—still watching me—finally spoke. “You know what the Bloodmate Board is, right?”

I shook my head.

He laughed once, short and mean. “It’s the school-wide ranking system. Top human candidates for… companionship. Dating. Blood bonds. Whatever the queens and the upperclass vamps are shopping for. Two thousand students. Maybe two hundred humans total. You’re fresh meat, scholarship boy.”

The guy on the bunk pulled out one earbud. “He’s ranked already. They don’t hand out phones unless you’re on the board.”

I looked at the phone again. Then at the three of them.

Elias sighed. “They posted a preliminary list an hour ago. Just the top fifty. You’re number twenty-one.”

The room went quiet.

Twenty-one.

Out of two thousand.

The redhead at the desk finally spoke, voice soft. “No one’s ever met all four queens on their first day. Not even the pureblood legacies.”

I stared at the phone in my hand. My reflection looked back—pale, bruised, eyes too dark, too hollow.

I’d stood at the bottom of the stairs and told them I’d do anything.

Apparently, they’d believed me.

The blond pushed off the wall. “Better get some sleep, twenty-one. Tomorrow’s when the real fun starts.”

He flicked the light switch as he headed to his bunk.

Darkness swallowed the room except for the faint crimson glow from the hallway sconces.

I sat on the edge of my bed, ribs screaming, cast heavy, phone cold against my palm.

I had no idea why I was ranked twenty-one.

I had no idea what the queens really wanted.

But one thing was clear.

I wasn’t invisible anymore.

And in a place like BludHeaven, that was more dangerous than any car accident.

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