FIRST DAY

KAI'S POV

The last thing I needed on my last day of this shithole school was MARCUS THORNE and his jackass friends waiting for me in the parking lot.

But there they were. Marcus front and center, looking like someone had shoved a stick so far up his ass it poked out his mouth. TYLER and BRAD flanking him like discount bodyguards who'd learned everything they knew about intimidation from straight-to-streaming action movies.

I kept walking, pretending I didn't see them. Maybe if I ignored them hard enough, they'd disappear. The universe owed me one miracle, right?

Wrong.

"Morrison." Marcus's voice. "We need to talk."

"No we don't." I adjusted my backpack—everything I owned from my locker shoved into a bag that was barely holding together. "Move."

Tyler stepped in front of me. Six-foot-two of pure mediocre genetics and protein shakes. "You got us detention for three weeks. THREE WEEKS. My dad is pissed."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have shoved that freshman into a locker hard enough to give him a concussion." I tried to step around him. Brad blocked me from the other side.

Marcus moved closer. "You think you're better than us because you got some scholarship to that fancy boarding school? You think you're special?"

"I think I'm late." I looked at my phone. The bus left in ten minutes. If I missed it, I'd have to walk three miles to the station and I'd miss my train to Silvercrest. "So if we could speed up whatever dick-measuring contest this is—"

Marcus shoved me hard and I stumbled back, caught myself.

Don't hit him. Don't hit him. You're leaving in ten minutes. Don't screw this up.

"You know what's funny?" Marcus was smiling now. The kind of smile that made my fists itch. "You acting all high and mighty when everyone knows what your mom does for money. My dad told me that she used to work the corner by his office downtown before she—what was it? Oh right. Started dealing too. Multi-talented."

The thing about anger is it doesn't build. Not for me. It just switches on like a light. One second I'm fine. Next second I'm seeing red.

"Shut your mouth," I said quietly.

"Why? It's true, isn't it? Your mom's a wh*re and a junkie and you—" He looked me up and down. "You're just the bastard she couldn't get rid of. Bet she tried though. Bet she—"

I punched him. My fist connected with his face and I heard something crack, his nose, probably. He went down like a sack of sh*t.

Tyler grabbed me from behind. I elbowed him in the gut. He wheezed. Brad came at me from the side. I was shorter than all of them—five-eight on a good day—but I'd been fighting since I was six. Foster care teaches you two things: how to take a hit and how to give one back twice as hard.

Brad swung, I ducked and his fist hit Tyler instead. Tyler let go. I swept Brad's legs. He went down. I was on top of him, fist raised, when someone yelled "SECURITY!"

F*ck.

I scrambled up. Marcus was on the ground, blood pouring from his nose, groaning. Tyler was bent over, still trying to breathe. Brad was flat on his back looking dazed.

I ran, stopping when I made it to the bus stop with my chest heaving and my knuckles split.

The bus pulled up. I got on and collapsed into a seat, pressed my forehead against the window and thought: Great job, Kai. Last day and you still couldn't keep your shit together.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from my caseworker: I heard what happened. Police are looking for you. Call me.

Cool. Cool cool cool. So I'd just committed assault and battery the day before I was supposed to start at the most prestigious school in the country. Perfect, exactly how I wanted this to go.

"You'll be fine."

I looked up. There was a guy standing in the aisle that I hadn't noticed him get on. Eyes that were too light—gray or maybe silver, hard to tell in the bus's fluorescent lighting. Dressed too well for public transportation.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"The fight. You'll be fine. His parents won't press charges." He sat down across from me without asking. "They'll be too busy explaining to the school board why their son was harassing a scholarship student. Bad optics."

I stared at him. "Who the f*ck are you?"

"Nobody important." He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Just someone who wanted to see if the rumors were true."

"What rumors?"

"That you're going to Silvercrest." He tilted his head. "You are, aren't you? Starting next week."

Every instinct I had was screaming danger. "How do you know where I'm going?"

"Lucky guess." He stood. The bus was slowing for the next stop. "Word of advice, Kai Morrison. When you get there—don't dye your hair anymore. Gold suits you and it helps people recognize what you are."

"What I—" I started, but he was already walking toward the exit.

The bus stopped and he got off. I watched him through the window, walking away like he hadn't just said the weirdest sh*t I'd heard all week.

And I'd heard a lot of weird sh*t.

The gold in my hair. I'd been dyeing it brown since I was twelve because the gold streaks made me stand out, made me a target. Kids asked questions, teachers asked questions and I didn't have answers that made sense.

I pulled out my phone, opened the camera, and looked at my reflection. I dyed it three days ago but the gold was already coming back.

“Helps people recognize what you are.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

The bus lurched forward. I shoved my phone in my pocket and tried to forget about the weird guy with the unsettling eyes and the cryptic advice.

Forty minutes later I was at the foster house. Mrs. Chen—current guardian, number seven in the past five years—was in the kitchen. She looked up when I walked in. "The police called, said there was an incident."

"I'm leaving tomorrow anyway," I said. "Does it matter?"

"It matters if they arrest you before you get on that train." But her voice was tired, not angry. She'd fostered enough kids to know we all came with baggage. "What happened?"

"They talked about my mom so I hit one of them."

She sighed. "Your hands?"

I looked down. My knuckles split and bruising was already forming. "I'm fine."

"Clean them, bandage them and Kai—" She waited until I looked at her. "Whatever you're going to that school for, whatever opportunities you're getting—don't blow it by being angry. Anger is easy, survival is hard. Pick the hard thing."

I nodded and went upstairs. The room I shared with two other foster kids was empty—they were still at school, probably. I packed what little I had. Two duffel bags, some clothes, my laptop and the acceptance letter to Silvercrest Academy that I'd read so many times I'd memorized it.

Full scholarship. Room and board included. Stipend for expenses. We believe you'll be an asset to our community.

I didn't know what community they were talking about or why they'd picked me out of thousands of applicants. I didn't know why the interview had been so weird—the Headmaster asking questions about my family history I didn't have answers to, about allergies I'd never been tested for, about whether I'd ever experienced "unusual symptoms."

I'd said no to everything. He'd smiled like I'd said yes.

Tomorrow I'll get on a train, go to a school I didn't understand and start a life I hadn't asked for.

“The gold suits you.”

I touched my hair. The streaks were definitely getting worse and more obvious. Maybe I should dye again, you know the first impression does matter but on a second thought I didn't.

My instincts were never wrong and tomorrow I was going to find out why.