BludHeaven Academy
“Your stuff’s in the closet. Uniforms, towels, bedding. They measured you from the hospital records. Everything should fit.”
I opened the closet door.
Rows of black blazers, white shirts, red ties, dark trousers—all in my exact size. The emblem on every breast pocket: the shield, the bat, the single blood-drop tear. Like the school was crying for something it already killed.
Fresh towels stacked on the shelf. A pair of black boots on the floor. Even socks. Black, of course.
I turned back to the box on the bed, flipped the lid.
Inside: a sleek black phone, the BludHeaven logo etched into the back. No brand name, no model number—just the bat and the tear. A charger. A folded note on top.
Bab Populer