Chapter 2 ~ The Academy

Zara’s POV

The first time I saw Blackwood Academy, it didn't look like a school.

It looks like a warning.

The car crests a hill, and there it is, rising from the mist like something that shouldn’t exist. Dark stone walls streaked with rain. Spiked towers that almost reached the low-hanging clouds. Windows glinting like cold, watching eyes. The forest presses in tight around it, ancient trees leaning so close it’s like they’re trying to smother the place. Or maybe they’re trying to keep it locked away.

My breath fogs the glass as I stare, heart thudding hard enough to hurt. For a second, just a second, I want to tell the driver to stop. To turn around. To take me anywhere else. But he keeps driving, his eyes fixed on the road like he doesn’t see the nightmare rising in front of us. Or maybe he does, and he knows there’s no turning back now.

The gates creak open on their own. I swear they do.

As we pass through, I feel it, like the academy isn’t just a building. Like it’s alive, and it’s watching me.

The gravel crunches under the tires as we pull up to the front steps. The rain has stopped, but the air is heavy, cold enough to bite through my jacket. I step out, my boots sinking slightly into the soft ground at the edge of the drive. For a heartbeat, I just stood there, staring up at Blackwood. It was beautiful, eerily beautiful.

Then the door swings open, and a woman steps out.

She’s tall, thin, with a face carved from ice. Her hair is white as bone, twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her eyes pale, sharp, and assessing.

“Miss Blackwood,” she says. Her voice is smooth, but cold as the stone under my feet. “Welcome to Blackwood Academy. I’m Mrs. Thorn.”

I nod, because my throat is too tight to speak.

“Follow me,” she says, already turning toward the door.

Inside, it’s darker than I expected. The high ceilings and stone arches seem to swallow the candlelight, casting long shadows that stretch and flicker with every step. The air smells of polished wood, old books, and something faintly metallic, like rain on iron.

Portraits line the walls, faces half-lost in shadow. Eyes that seem to follow me as I pass.

Mrs. Thorn’s heels click against the floor as she leads me deeper into the academy.

“Classes begin tomorrow. Your schedule will be delivered to your room. You’re in the East Wing. Girls’ floor. Room thirteen.”

I nodded.

We stop before a heavy wooden door. The key she pulls from her pocket is old, iron, and when it turns in the lock, it lets out a squeaky sound.

“This is your room.”

I step inside.

It’s small, stone walls, a narrow bed, a wardrobe, a desk beneath a tall window. A thick gray rug muffles my footsteps. The room is cold, but not unkind. Just… empty. Like no one really lives here. Like no one’s supposed to.

Mrs. Thorn lingers in the doorway. “Blackwood Academy demands discipline, Miss Blackwood. Do not test our patience.”

“Yes ma’am,” I whisper.

She studies me for a moment longer, then leaves, the door closing softly behind her.

For a moment, I just stood there, listening to the wind outside. The forest groans as the trees sway, like they’re whispering something to each other.

I don’t unpack. I don’t move. I just sit on the edge of the bed, staring out at the darkening sky.

And for the first time since this began, I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake.

Minutes passed. The wind picks up, rattling the windowpane like it’s trying to get in. I hug myself, trying to chase away the chill that’s settled into my bones. The room smells faintly of dust, like no one’s stayed here in a long, long time.

I should unpack. Make this place feel less like a cell. But I can’t seem to move.

A knock at the door jerks me upright.

The knock came in soft. Like whoever’s knocking isn’t sure they want me to answer.

I cross the room and open it slowly.

The girl standing there is about my age, maybe a little older. Her hair is dark and curly, escaping the messy braid draped over one shoulder. Her skin is warm brown, her eyes big and watchful, like she’s expecting something to jump out of the shadows.

“Hey,” she says, her voice low. She glances over her shoulder down the dim hall before looking back at me. “I’m Talia. Room fifteen.”

She holds out a folded piece of paper. My schedule.

“Thanks,” I say. My voice sounds strange in the stillness.

She hesitates. “First days suck. But… if you need anything, I’m just down the hall.”

There’s something in the way she says it. Like she means it, but also like she’s warning me.

“Okay,” I say, trying for a smile. It feels forced.

Talia’s eyes flick to the window behind me, as if she’s seen something. Then she backs away. “Don’t open the window at night,” she says, almost too quiet to hear.

Before I can ask what she means, she’s gone, her door clicking shut a second later.

I close mine and lean against it, heart thudding again.

Don’t open the window at night.

I unfold the schedule, but the words blur together. Combat training. Pack history. Supernatural law. Herbal studies. The classes don’t matter right now.

Because right now I’m listening to the wind outside the window. Then I heard a howl. Not loud, didn’t sound near, but real. I shiver and back away from the window.

The forest looks black now, a sea of shadows swaying in the wind. I crawl into bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin. I take my eyes off the window. And not long after, sleep finally drags me under.