Chapter 2 - The Blackridge Elite

By the time lunch rolls around, I already know two things about Blackridge Academy.

One: the food here looks like it belongs in a five-star restaurant, not a school cafeteria.

Two: everyone knows exactly where they stand—and more importantly, where everyone else does.

The cafeteria is less a room and more a stage. Glossy floors, round tables, walls of glass overlooking manicured lawns that make the whole place feel like a resort. And the students? They’re the actors, walking into their parts without needing scripts.

I pause just inside the doors, tray balanced in my hands, and let my eyes sweep across the room. The seating chart isn’t written down anywhere, but it might as well be engraved in stone.

In the center sits the crown jewel: a long table where the most polished students laugh too loudly, toss their hair too perfectly, and check their phones with the kind of careless entitlement that comes from knowing your last name could buy someone else’s future.

The Blackridge Elite.

That’s what they’re called, though no one dares say it to their faces. You don’t need to. The way everyone else orbits around them says enough.

At the head of the table is a girl with hair so glossy it reflects the overhead lights like spun gold. She doesn’t eat so much as toy with her salad, her manicured fingers slicing leaves into smaller pieces she never bothers putting in her mouth. Every time she laughs, the sound makes the room tilt a little toward her, like gravity itself bends to her will.

She’s not just beautiful. She’s terrifying.

And I know without being told—this is the queen bee.

Her name, whispered in the halls this morning, was Victoria Hale. Daughter of some real estate mogul, old Blackridge money. Her family has enough property in this town to own the ground we’re standing on.

Around her are the satellites. Two girls who look so alike they could be sisters—one brunette, one redhead, both with sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes. A boy with an easy grin who leans against the table like it’s his stage, flipping his hair just so every time he speaks. Another boy, quieter, who watches more than he talks, but the way the others glance at him tells me his silence carries weight.

Every move, every word, every flick of the wrist feels deliberate.

This is power, packaged neatly in plaid skirts and blazers.

And like moths to a flame, the rest of the cafeteria orbits them. Not too close, not too far. Everyone knows their place.

I grip my tray tighter.

Places like this are predictable. There’s always a hierarchy. The trick is figuring out where to stand so no one sees you coming.

“Hey,” a voice says at my elbow.

I glance sideways and nearly stumble when I see a boy smiling at me like I haven’t been standing here for three full minutes, paralyzed.

He’s tall, but not intimidatingly so, with messy brown hair that refuses to lie flat and a uniform that looks like he wrestled it on five minutes after waking up. There’s ink smudged on his fingers, and a notebook tucked under his arm. His grin is wide, easy.

“You’re the new girl, right?”

The way he says it makes it sound like an invitation, not a challenge.

I nod once, careful. “Eva Sinclair.”

He sticks his hand out like we’re sealing a deal. “Liam Parker. And don’t worry—I know this looks like something out of a wildlife documentary, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

I blink. “Wildlife documentary?”

He gestures toward the queen bee’s table. “You know, predators, prey, survival of the fittest. All that. I’d draw you a diagram, but I think Victoria might kill me for comparing her to a lioness.”

His tone is light, but there’s an edge underneath. A truth no one else would dare say out loud.

“Thanks for the warning,” I say carefully.

He grins again. “Anytime. You should probably avoid sitting too close to them unless you’re ready for blood sport. Here, come sit with me.”

I follow him across the room to a table tucked in the corner. A few other students are already there—two girls hunched over sketchbooks, another guy who’s so lost in a laptop screen he barely notices us. This must be the outsiders’ table.

Safe. Invisible. Exactly where I need to be.

Liam plops down and starts unwrapping a sandwich that looks like it came from home, not the gourmet buffet line. “So, where’d you transfer from?”

I give the practiced answer. A vague town far enough away that no one here will know anyone from it. Enough details to sound real, not enough to be checked.

He accepts it easily, nodding along. “Makes sense. People usually don’t come here unless their parents are billionaires or their families want to buy their way into that world.” He lowers his voice. “Which one are you?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m just here for the great education.”

He snorts. “Sure. That’s what we all tell ourselves.”

I smile faintly, but my eyes flick back to the queen bee’s table. To Victoria, who’s leaning close to whisper something in the ear of the boy with the sharp grin. Whatever she says makes him throw his head back and laugh, loud enough for the whole room to hear.

The performance is flawless. They all know they’re being watched.

And then, like clockwork, the performance shifts.

Because he walks in.

Jace Langston.

The air seems to thin the moment he steps through the door. Conversations stutter, laughter softens. Even Victoria straightens in her seat, smoothing her hair like she’s been caught off guard.

Jace doesn’t acknowledge any of it. He doesn’t need to.

His strides are confident but not rushed, like the cafeteria itself rearranges around him. He doesn’t look at anyone too long, doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave. He doesn’t have to.

He belongs at the center table. At the throne beside Victoria.

And of course, that’s exactly where he heads.

The boy with the sharp grin makes space for him, sliding over without protest. Victoria tilts her chin, her lips curling into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

And Jace?

He sits, silent, composed. But the tension in his jaw tells me he’s not here to laugh or play along. He’s here because this is his table. His kingdom.

From across the room, his eyes flick once, briefly, toward the corner where I sit with Liam.

The glance lasts less than a second.

But it’s enough.

Because in that moment, with the queen bee watching him and the entire room trying to breathe in sync with him, Jace Langston looks past all of them—straight at me.

And the corner of his mouth tilts, just slightly, like he knows something I don’t.

The tray in front of me rattles against the table as my fingers tighten around it.

Does he recognize me? Or is this just another game to him, another way to keep everyone guessing?

Either way, one thing is clear.

I might have walked into Blackridge ready to study my enemies. But Jace Langston is already studying me.