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Chapter 11: Bleachers and Black LipstickThe vampire blood in the syringe hadn’t come from some anonymous donor bank or a sterile lab vial.It had come straight from Elara Voss’s own arm.Nurse Marisol had drawn it herself in the queen’s private quarters the morning after Nico’s arrival—five full vials, dark and thick, pulsing faintly with that unnatural garnet glow. Elara had rolled up her plaid sleeve without hesitation, watched the needle slide in, felt the brief sting like an old friend. She’d sat there in the dim light of her West Tower suite, spurs kicked off beside the chair, Stetson resting on her knee, staring at the crimson filling the glass.She didn’t know why this boy pulled at her like that.Not really.There were prettier humans on campus. Richer ones. Stronger ones. Darius Voss—number one, marble-carved perfection—was literally engineered for queens like her. Lineage. Power. Compatibility ratings off the charts.Yet none of them had looked at her the way Nico did: flat

Chapter 13: Shadows on SkinThe dorm bathroom light flickered once when Nico flipped the switch, then steadied into a harsh white glow. He locked the door—habit, not paranoia—and stripped out of the uniform. The blazer hit the hook, the tie landed in a loose coil on the counter, trousers pooled at his feet. He stepped under the showerhead and cranked the hot water until steam filled the stall like smoke.The cast was gone. No more plastic prison, no more itch that felt like ants crawling under his skin. He scrubbed hard—soap lathering over the new scar on his shin, then up his thighs, across the lattice of old ones that mapped every mistake, every fist, every belt buckle. The water ran pink for a second, then clear. He let it pound his shoulders, neck, back. Let the heat sink into muscles that hadn’t relaxed in years.His mind wandered while the steam clouded the glass.The queens.Elara’s slow, bourbon drawl and that unblinking stare from the balcony. Liora’s shadows curling like the

Chapter 15: Cold Breakfast, Hot GlancesNico woke before the first alarm buzzed through the dorm speakers—5:47 a.m., body clock still tuned to foster-home survival. The room was dark except for the faint crimson glow seeping under the door from the hallway sconces. Jax snored like a chainsaw in the top bunk. Theo’s laptop fan whirred softly on the desk. Kai had rolled onto his stomach, one arm dangling off the side.Nico lay still for a long minute, staring at the underside of the mattress slats.Last night hadn’t been a dream.He hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t felt footsteps on the floor. No creak of bedsprings, no whisper of fabric. But the touches had been real—warm hands gliding over scars, breath in his ear, a body pressed flush against his back. Gentle. Teasing. Invasive.He’d never been touched like that before.Not once.Not even close.He sat up slowly, swung his legs over the side of the bunk, and padded to the bathroom without waking anyone. Locked the door. Stripped. C

Chapter 17: Compulsion’s FailureThe bell cut through the room like a knife—clean, final. Chairs scraped back in a wave. Laptops snapped shut. Students filed out in a low murmur of conversation, some stealing glances at the front row where Seraphina still sat motionless, tablet dark now, stylus resting beside it like a discarded scalpel.Nico stood, slung his bag over one shoulder, and turned toward the aisle.Seraphina’s voice stopped him before he took two steps.“Mr. Black.”Quiet. Measured. The same tone she’d used during the case analysis, but something underneath it had sharpened.He paused. Turned halfway. Poker face intact.She rose smoothly—suit jacket falling perfectly into place—and closed the distance in three unhurried strides. The classroom was nearly empty now; only Professor Hale remained at the podium, pretending to organize slides while clearly listening.Seraphina stopped just inside Nico’s personal space—close enough that he caught that faint ozone-leather scent ag

Chapter 19: Top 15 and Still InvisibleThe afternoon classes blurred into each other like background noise Nico couldn’t turn off.First was Supernatural Ethics—dry lectures on Accords compliance, moral obligations of immortality, the ethics of blood sourcing post-war. He sat in the back, notebook open but pen mostly idle, staring at the page while the professor droned. Whispers followed him in, whispers followed him out. No one spoke to him directly. They didn’t have to. The Daily Fang notifications kept pinging on every phone in the room.Second was Combat Fundamentals—light sparring drills on padded mats, no full contact for humans on regen day. Nico sat out again (nurse’s orders still lingering like a technicality), perched on the bleachers while Kai and Jax traded blows with other students. He watched. Didn’t cheer. Didn’t comment. Just observed the way bodies moved, the way power flexed without apology. A few vampires glanced his way mid-round, smirking like they were sizing up