C1

The air in the Blackthorn hallways didn’t smell like a school; it smelled like ozone and expensive cologne. It was a sterile, pressurized environment designed to crush anyone who didn't belong to the Syndicate.

I leaned my forehead against the cool steel of my locker, my fingers trembling slightly as I keyed in the biometric bypass. My knuckles were still stained with the ink of the ledgers I’d been balancing since dawn.

"Blackthorn isn’t a playground for spoiled brats, Valeria."

The voice was like a blunt instrument. Brandon Voss stood close enough that I could smell the espresso on his breath. He didn't just stand in my space; he occupied it, his broad shoulders blocking the fluorescent light above us.

"It’s a shark tank for the heirs of the underworld," he sneered, leaning a heavy hand against the locker next to mine. "Move, or I’ll make sure you’re liquidated before the final bell."

I didn't flinch. I slowly turned my head, meeting his gaze with a look of practiced boredom. "Is that a threat, Brandon? Because your father’s tech firm is currently trading at a loss. If I were you, I’d be more worried about your inheritance than my presence in this hallway."

Brandon’s face darkened, a vein pulsing in his temple. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me. "You’re a ghost, Valeria. A Devereux in name only. Without a seat at the Syndicate table, you’re just the help in a designer blazer."

"Then stop talking to the help and get to practice," I said, snapping my locker shut with a metallic thud that echoed through the nearly empty corridor. "You’re blocking my path."

"Watch your mouth," he hissed, his hand darting out to grip my shoulder. His fingers dug into the fabric of my blazer—a hand-me-down from a cousin who hated me. "One call to my father and you’re back in the Undercellar cleaning bloodstains off the tile."

I looked down at his hand, then back up at him, a thin, sharp smile touching my lips. "And yet, here you are, trembling while you try to loom over me. Did the varsity captain lose his nerve, or just his dignity?"

He recoiled as if burned, his face flushing a deep, ugly crimson. "You're dead weight, Devereux! A glitch in the system that hasn't been purged yet!"

"Funny," I whispered, stepping past him, my shoulder brushing his. "I don't feel dead. But you look like you’re having a cardiac event. Move."

The exit to the academy was guarded not by gates, but by the sheer opulence of the students' fleet. A matte-black Ferrari was parked horizontally across the main driveway, cutting off the pedestrian path.

Seraphina Voss leaned against the hood, her manicured nails tapping a rhythmic, predatory beat against the carbon fiber.

"Stop right there, charity case," she called out, not even looking up from her phone. "Did you think you could leave without paying the tax?"

I checked my watch. The seconds were ticking down toward my shift at the Voss estate. If I was late, I wouldn't get fed. "I’m late, Seraphina. Get to the point before I lose interest."

Seraphina finally looked up, her blue eyes cold and vacant. She gestured grandly at the car behind her. "You don't have the right to be bored in my presence. Do you see this? It costs more than your entire bloodline is worth."

"It’s a nice car," I admitted, shifting my bag to my other shoulder. "Shame about the driver’s personality. Is there a reason you’re blocking the exit?"

"I heard you put your hands on Brandon." She stepped toward me, her heels clicking like a metronome on the pavement. "You forget your place, Valeria. You’re a debt to be collected, nothing more."

I felt the familiar spark of cold fury in my chest, the one I usually kept buried under layers of encryption and logic. "Your father keeps me around because I can hack the codes your 'Circle' can't even read. I’m an asset. You’re just a line item in the marketing budget."

Seraphina’s composure cracked. She lunged forward, her voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "You’re a parasite! Once you turn eighteen and fail the security clearance, my father is tossing you into the streets. You're a 'Nero' identity—zero rank, zero power."

"Is that what Isabella told you over brunch?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm. "Or did Vincent mention it between ordering hits?"

"Don't you dare speak their names!" she shrieked.

"I manage their offshore accounts, Seraphina. I know their names better than you know your own GPA." I stepped into her personal space, forcing her to take a half-step back against her precious car. "You want gratitude? For what? The privilege of being your punching bag while I keep your family from going to federal prison?"

Seraphina’s eyes darted around, looking for her enforcers, Viktor and Mikhail, who were lounging near the fountain. "You’re a useless, unranked girl. If you don't secure a partnership by next month, you’re out. No one wants a partner who brings nothing to the table."

"Then I guess I’ll enjoy the fresh air," I said, walking away without looking back. "Any Empire is better than the Voss Syndicate. Even the Moretti Empire looks appealing compared to this stagnant pond."

"How dare you!" she screamed at my back. "Mention the Morettis again and I’ll have them lock you in the Undercellar for a week!"

I raised a hand over my shoulder, waving dismissively. "Tell them to bring better handcuffs this time. The last pair was remarkably easy to pick."