NEXT DAYI woke to the sensation of something being thrown at me—soft, yes, but with the precise weight and velocity that suggested malicious intent. The object—a pillow, as it turned out—bounced off my shoulder and hit the floor with a muffled thud. I groaned, burrowing deeper into my blankets, hoping, foolishly, that if I ignored the chaos stirring on Ingrid’s side of the room, it would eventually burn itself out like one of her short-lived obsessions.No such luck.“Aubrey Sinclair, get up,” Ingrid declared, her voice bright and entirely too enthusiastic for this hour—whatever this hour even was. I cracked open one eye to find her already dressed, hair braided over one shoulder in that effortless way that somehow still looked like it belonged on the cover of a glossy society magazine. She stood before our shared wardrobe, holding up a series of garments to herself like she was preparing for battle. “Today’s the day.”I blinked at her, my mind still sluggish with sleep. “The day for
“I’m adaptable.” Ingrid’s grin was all sharp teeth and misplaced optimism, but before I could muster a retort, she tugged me forward—through the arched doorway of the Common Hall and into the marble corridors beyond.I let myself be pulled along, more out of resignation than compliance, feet scuffing against the stone like a prisoner being marched to the gallows. The halls, gilded and cold, echoed with the faint hum of laughter and footsteps, each sound a reminder that I was a foreigner in a kingdom of bloodlines and inherited grace.We reached the east wing—quieter, older, the air tinged with the scent of earth and green things. The greenhouse loomed ahead, its iron-framed dome glinting in the pale afternoon light. Inside, condensation streaked down the glass panes, softening the sharp angles of the world beyond, turning Ashwood’s manicured grounds into something dreamlike and distant.Ingrid pushed the door open with a flourish. The greenhouse wasn’t as crowded as the Common Hall, b
A WEEK LATERI was sitting in the library all by myself. The library always held a certain quiet magic to it — not the kind woven from spells or enchantments, but something older, weightier. As if the very air had absorbed centuries of whispered secrets, bound and pressed between the spines of books that lined every wall. The hush wasn’t peaceful — not exactly — but it offered a kind of sanctuary, especially on days when the world beyond its walls felt too sharp, too loud, too suffocating.I sat nestled in the alcove between two arched windows, the afternoon light slanting in dusty beams across the parchment on my lap. Ink smudged at the corner of my notes, the quill in my hand idle for longer than it should’ve been. Concentration was a slippery thing today, evading my grasp no matter how tightly I tried to cling to it. My eyes scanned the same line of text for what had to be the fifth time, but the words refused to settle. Instead, my attention drifted to the low murmur of voices jus
The moment Ingrid closed the door behind her, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, I knew I had made a mistake.“I’m not going,” I said immediately, crossing my arms over my chest as if that could shield me from whatever ridiculous scheme she was about to propose.Ingrid, unfazed, tilted her head in mock consideration, then shrugged. “Yes, you are.”“No, I’m not.”“Yes, you are.”I sighed, exasperated, and turned my attention back to the book I had been attempting to read before she so rudely barged in. My gaze flicked across the words, but the meaning slipped away, lost beneath the weight of my own mounting frustration. “You can’t force me, Ingrid. I don’t care about the Moonlit Ball, and I definitely don’t need a tailor for something I’m not attending.”“Oh, but you see, Sinclair, I can force you.” Ingrid waltzed deeper into my dorm, her fingers trailing idly over my desk as she surveyed the mess of papers and ink-stained notes. “Because if you refuse, I’ll simply tell
For a long, breathless moment, I couldn’t quite process what I was seeing.Atlas Blackwood moved with the kind of unhurried confidence that suggested he belonged anywhere he chose to stand. The heavy wooden door of the bar groaned open before him, spilling a sliver of dim candlelight onto the deserted cobblestone street. He barely hesitated before stepping inside, disappearing into the shadows beyond.I stiffened, my pulse skipping in sharp surprise. Atlas Blackwood, here at this hour.The realization slithered through me, cold and unwelcome. Whatever business he had in town—especially in a place like this—was none of mine. And yet, as the door swung shut behind him, sealing him away from my view, unease coiled tight in my chest, leaving behind a distinct, inexplicable wrongness.“Did you see that?” Ingrid’s voice was hushed but urgent, her fingers still wrapped tightly around my wrist.I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Obviously.”She turned to me, her features illuminated by the
Atlas Blackwood sat just beyond this wooden divide, his voice a quiet, edged thing in the silence.“I don’t want to go,” he muttered, frustration simmering beneath the words. “And I sure as hell don’t see why I should have to.”“You know why,” The other voice said, as he had said this a hundred times before and had long since grown tired of repeating it. “It’s not just a ball. It’s about presence.”Atlas scoffed. “Presence,” he echoed, the word dripping with disdain. “As if dressing in silk and standing around sipping wine will prove anything.”The other boy huffed a quiet laugh. “You don’t have to like it. But you do have to be there.”Atlas exhaled sharply, the sound edged with irritation. “It’s a distraction. The Academy wastes its time with these events while the Council focuses on decorum and tradition, instead of what actually matters.” A pause. A deeper breath. “Instead of the trial. Instead of training.”My pulse stuttered. “The Trial. There it was again. What trial are they t
The forest was alive with whispers. A hush that wasn’t quite silence, as though the trees themselves were breathing, watching. Shadows slithered between the gnarled branches, twisting and stretching beneath the silver glow of the moon. My bare feet pounded against the earth, my breath ragged, sharp, burning.I was running. From what, I couldn’t say. But I knew, with every frantic beat of my heart, that if I stopped, if I stumbled, I would die.The growls came first, rolling through the night like a warning. Then, the snap of jaws, the thudding of heavy paws against the ground. They were close…too close.I pushed harder, and the cold air sliced through my lungs. My legs ached, my skin stung where brambles tore at me, but I didn’t stop, I couldn’t. But then my ankle twisted and I fell, and the ground was suddenly gone, a sheer drop beneath me. My scream caught in my throat as I tumbled, crashing through tangled vines and dead leaves before landing on my back, the impact knocking the bre
The halls of Ashwood Academy loomed around me, all dark wood and ancient stone, their sheer grandeur designed to remind people like me that we didn’t belong. The students moved through the corridors with effortless grace, their voices ringing with easy confidence, their laughter carrying the sharpness of knives. I felt their stares not direct, but sideways glances filled with thinly veiled amusement or outright dismissal. “Omegas weren’t meant to be here,” I thought.I tightened my grip on my bag and pressed forward, scanning the corridors for a sign, anything to point me toward the Student Affairs office. I had no intention of drawing attention to myself, but wandering around like a lost child wasn’t helping my case. I approached a girl near the staircase, and her sleek blonde hair cascading down the back of a fur-lined coat that probably cost more than everything I owned.“Hey, sorry to bother you—do you know where the Student Affairs office is?”She barely spared me a glance befor
Atlas Blackwood sat just beyond this wooden divide, his voice a quiet, edged thing in the silence.“I don’t want to go,” he muttered, frustration simmering beneath the words. “And I sure as hell don’t see why I should have to.”“You know why,” The other voice said, as he had said this a hundred times before and had long since grown tired of repeating it. “It’s not just a ball. It’s about presence.”Atlas scoffed. “Presence,” he echoed, the word dripping with disdain. “As if dressing in silk and standing around sipping wine will prove anything.”The other boy huffed a quiet laugh. “You don’t have to like it. But you do have to be there.”Atlas exhaled sharply, the sound edged with irritation. “It’s a distraction. The Academy wastes its time with these events while the Council focuses on decorum and tradition, instead of what actually matters.” A pause. A deeper breath. “Instead of the trial. Instead of training.”My pulse stuttered. “The Trial. There it was again. What trial are they t
For a long, breathless moment, I couldn’t quite process what I was seeing.Atlas Blackwood moved with the kind of unhurried confidence that suggested he belonged anywhere he chose to stand. The heavy wooden door of the bar groaned open before him, spilling a sliver of dim candlelight onto the deserted cobblestone street. He barely hesitated before stepping inside, disappearing into the shadows beyond.I stiffened, my pulse skipping in sharp surprise. Atlas Blackwood, here at this hour.The realization slithered through me, cold and unwelcome. Whatever business he had in town—especially in a place like this—was none of mine. And yet, as the door swung shut behind him, sealing him away from my view, unease coiled tight in my chest, leaving behind a distinct, inexplicable wrongness.“Did you see that?” Ingrid’s voice was hushed but urgent, her fingers still wrapped tightly around my wrist.I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Obviously.”She turned to me, her features illuminated by the
The moment Ingrid closed the door behind her, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, I knew I had made a mistake.“I’m not going,” I said immediately, crossing my arms over my chest as if that could shield me from whatever ridiculous scheme she was about to propose.Ingrid, unfazed, tilted her head in mock consideration, then shrugged. “Yes, you are.”“No, I’m not.”“Yes, you are.”I sighed, exasperated, and turned my attention back to the book I had been attempting to read before she so rudely barged in. My gaze flicked across the words, but the meaning slipped away, lost beneath the weight of my own mounting frustration. “You can’t force me, Ingrid. I don’t care about the Moonlit Ball, and I definitely don’t need a tailor for something I’m not attending.”“Oh, but you see, Sinclair, I can force you.” Ingrid waltzed deeper into my dorm, her fingers trailing idly over my desk as she surveyed the mess of papers and ink-stained notes. “Because if you refuse, I’ll simply tell
A WEEK LATERI was sitting in the library all by myself. The library always held a certain quiet magic to it — not the kind woven from spells or enchantments, but something older, weightier. As if the very air had absorbed centuries of whispered secrets, bound and pressed between the spines of books that lined every wall. The hush wasn’t peaceful — not exactly — but it offered a kind of sanctuary, especially on days when the world beyond its walls felt too sharp, too loud, too suffocating.I sat nestled in the alcove between two arched windows, the afternoon light slanting in dusty beams across the parchment on my lap. Ink smudged at the corner of my notes, the quill in my hand idle for longer than it should’ve been. Concentration was a slippery thing today, evading my grasp no matter how tightly I tried to cling to it. My eyes scanned the same line of text for what had to be the fifth time, but the words refused to settle. Instead, my attention drifted to the low murmur of voices jus
“I’m adaptable.” Ingrid’s grin was all sharp teeth and misplaced optimism, but before I could muster a retort, she tugged me forward—through the arched doorway of the Common Hall and into the marble corridors beyond.I let myself be pulled along, more out of resignation than compliance, feet scuffing against the stone like a prisoner being marched to the gallows. The halls, gilded and cold, echoed with the faint hum of laughter and footsteps, each sound a reminder that I was a foreigner in a kingdom of bloodlines and inherited grace.We reached the east wing—quieter, older, the air tinged with the scent of earth and green things. The greenhouse loomed ahead, its iron-framed dome glinting in the pale afternoon light. Inside, condensation streaked down the glass panes, softening the sharp angles of the world beyond, turning Ashwood’s manicured grounds into something dreamlike and distant.Ingrid pushed the door open with a flourish. The greenhouse wasn’t as crowded as the Common Hall, b
NEXT DAYI woke to the sensation of something being thrown at me—soft, yes, but with the precise weight and velocity that suggested malicious intent. The object—a pillow, as it turned out—bounced off my shoulder and hit the floor with a muffled thud. I groaned, burrowing deeper into my blankets, hoping, foolishly, that if I ignored the chaos stirring on Ingrid’s side of the room, it would eventually burn itself out like one of her short-lived obsessions.No such luck.“Aubrey Sinclair, get up,” Ingrid declared, her voice bright and entirely too enthusiastic for this hour—whatever this hour even was. I cracked open one eye to find her already dressed, hair braided over one shoulder in that effortless way that somehow still looked like it belonged on the cover of a glossy society magazine. She stood before our shared wardrobe, holding up a series of garments to herself like she was preparing for battle. “Today’s the day.”I blinked at her, my mind still sluggish with sleep. “The day for
The envelope gleamed like it had no right to, resting in the hollow between Ingrid’s bed and mine—as if it had been dropped there by some unseen hand that knew exactly where to place a dagger when your guard was down.I stared at it, unmoving. The world outside our dormitory window was a blur of gray clouds and skeletal branches, but inside, everything seemed too quiet. The envelope, its gold filigree catching the dim light with a shimmer that felt almost smug.“Ingrid,” I said, my voice hoarse from disuse and the exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin. “Look.”She didn’t move at first. She was busy unlacing her boots with exaggerated effort, and muttering about her aching feet and the tyranny of staircase-heavy architecture. But the moment her gaze landed on the envelope, her entire demeanor shifted.“Oh my god,” she breathed, lunging for it with a grace that belied her fatigue. “Is that—”“It has our names,” I murmured, fingers brushing the front of the envelope as she held
A high-pitched voice weaving through the hum of the dining hall like birdsong. My gaze flicked toward the sound, landing on a table not far from ours. A cluster of girls, all dressed in perfectly pressed uniforms with blazers that looked tailored and shoes that gleamed unnaturally bright, sat perched like a flock of swans, graceful and poised. Their hair was glossy, cascading in carefully curated waves or tied back with silk ribbons. Every move they made seemed deliberate—effortless, yet studied.The beta pack.Even if Ingrid hadn’t pointed them out to me on our first day, I would’ve known. There was a kind of quiet authority to them, the way they sat without needing to assert their presence—the room bent around them naturally. They didn’t speak loudly, but their chirping voices seemed to carry all the same.“I have already told my seamstress—silver, with a slit, nothing less.”“Do you think they’ll announce the names at the end? Or only those who matter?”Their words slipped over one
NEXT MORNINGThe sheets were yanked off my body with a suddenness that jolted me out of a dreamless, restless sleep and the cold air spilled over my skin like a slap.“Get up, Aubrey,” Ingrid’s voice broke through the fog of half-sleep, sharp and impatient. “We’re already late.”I groaned, dragging a pillow over my head. “Late for what?” My voice was hoarse, disoriented. For a fleeting second, I thought I was home—the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards beneath Ingrid’s steps felt like a sound I’d heard a thousand times before in another life. But the ceiling above me was too high, the air too cold, and the walls too silent. Then it hit me, the way a dream slips away and reality digs its claws in.I wasn’t home.Ashwood’s dormitory pressed in around me—strange, cold, and faintly smelling of lavender soap. The events of yesterday returned in fragments, heavy as stones. The assembly. The eyes. Atlas Blackwood.“Breakfast,” Ingrid said, emphasizing each syllable as if speaking to a