Chapter 2 Warnings and Welcome Packets

Ayla didn’t look at her phone.

She couldn’t. The weight of it in her pocket was enough. The word she knew would be on the screen—Run—felt like a ghostly hand pressing against her throat.

Instead, she stared at the boy in front of her.

Kade.

He was still watching her with that strange mixture of recognition and regret, as if her very existence had just confirmed his worst suspicion.

“You’re scaring me,” she managed, her voice softer than she meant it to be.

His jaw tightened. “Good,” he said. “Maybe you’ll listen.”

There was no cruelty in the words. If anything, there was something like desperation. The kind of tone she heard in social workers who were already too tired at twenty-five.

A group of students walked past them, laughing loudly. One of them bumped Kade’s shoulder and muttered, “Thorn,” under his breath like it was both a name and an insult.

Kade ignored him.

Ayla swallowed. “Listen to what?”

“That you should leave,” he said bluntly. “Before the sun goes down.”

Her gaze flicked to the sky. The late-afternoon light had already begun to soften, turning the mist around the towers into a pale, glowing haze. Shadows were starting to stretch.

“I can’t just leave,” she said. “I got a scholarship. I don’t exactly have another option.”

His eyes searched her face, as if trying to find a way to change her mind that wouldn’t crush her. Whatever he found there made his shoulders drop.

“You’re from where?” he asked roughly. “What town?”

“Ravenhill,” she said. “Small place. You’ve probably never—”

“I know it,” he cut in.

She blinked. “You do?”

He hesitated. “There was a… fire there. Years ago.”

Her breath snagged. “Yes.”

“How old were you?” he asked.

“Seven,” she said slowly. “Why?”

Something flickered in his gaze. “Of course,” he murmured under his breath. “Of course it was you.”

“Could you stop saying things like that,” she snapped, tension finally spilling. “What does that even mean? Who are you? And who was that guy—Damian?”

“The wrong question,” Kade said, eyes lifting toward the tallest tower, where a black flag with an unfamiliar crest fluttered. “Is what he is.”

“Fine,” she said, pulse racing. “What is he?”

“Bad news.”

She almost laughed. “You’ll have to be more specific. This whole place feels like bad news.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten that scholarship,” he said instead. “Blackridge doesn’t give full rides to randoms from nowhere.”

Her cheeks heated. “Thank you for that.”

“I mean it,” he said. “Scholarships come with contracts. Fine print you never see. And here, everything has a price.”

She thought of the letter she kept folded in the pocket of her duffel, already frayed at the edges from how many times she’d touched it. The neat font, the crest with a black ridge and crescent moon.

You belong here.

“What am I paying?” she whispered.

Kade’s eyes darkened. “That’s the thing,” he said. “You don’t know yet.”

A bell rang somewhere deep within the campus. Low and slow, echoing off stone.

Kade flinched almost imperceptibly.

“That’s orientation,” he said. “You’re late already.”

“Then I should go,” she said, forcing her hands to steady on the handle of her suitcase. “Because if I don’t show up, I lose the only thing I have.”

He exhaled. It sounded like surrender.

“You don’t understand what you’re walking into,” he said.

“No,” she agreed. “But I’m walking anyway.”

For a moment they just stood there—her at the threshold, him just within it—like there was an invisible line drawn between them. One step, and she would cross it. Into what, she still wasn’t sure.

Kade finally stepped back, leaving the path clear.

“If you’re staying,” he said, “then listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Don’t go out after dark alone,” he said. “Ever. Not on the grounds, not in the courtyard, especially not near the east woods.”

“The east woods,” she repeated.

“And if you see him again,” Kade added, something dangerous slipping into his tone, “Damian Vesper—don’t let him get close.”

She remembered Damian’s eyes. The way he’d looked at her like a puzzle and a prize.

“Why?” she asked.

Kade’s mouth twisted. “Because you’ll think it’s a choice at first,” he said. “And it won’t be.”

A chill slid down her spine.

Before she could respond, another voice called across the courtyard.

“Kade! We’re late!”

A girl was jogging toward them, curly dark hair bouncing, a messenger bag slung across her torso. She had rich brown skin, sharp eyes, and the kind of energy that filled space before she arrived.

She skidded to a stop, eyeing Ayla curiously.

“Newbie?” she asked Kade.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just got here.”

The girl’s gaze ran over Ayla’s simple jeans, worn boots, cheap duffel with one broken zipper. Something like recognition flickered. Not of her, but of being new, out of place, raw.

“I’m Lila,” she said, sticking her hand out before Ayla could brace for it. “Resident assistant, Thorn Hall. We’re doing the ‘welcome to your new academic prison’ tour in, like, three minutes. You’re Ayla Rowan, right?”

Ayla stared. “How do you know my name?”

Lila grinned. “We get lists. Names, rooms, dietary restrictions, probable emotional meltdowns. Yours had a star next to it.”

Her stomach twisted. “A star?”

“For ‘special case,’” Lila said cheerfully. “Which usually means either ‘VIP legacy’ or ‘trouble.’ You don’t look rich, so I’m going with trouble. No offense.”

“We should go,” Kade said shortly.

Lila glanced at him, reading something in his expression. Her smile dimmed a little.

She nodded once. “Orientation hall,” she told Ayla. “Follow the herd. Don’t wander. The building likes to shift on new students.”

“The… building,” Ayla repeated carefully, “likes to shift.”

“You’ll see,” Lila said, like it was no more concerning than saying the vending machines liked to eat change. “Come on.”

She started walking, already talking a mile a minute about dorm policies and curfew that “no one really enforces unless you die, and even then it’s more paperwork than punishment.”

Ayla hesitated, looking back at Kade.

He was still in the same place, eyes on her shadow instead of her face.

“Are you coming?” she asked.

“I’m on duty inside,” he said. “Security.”

“Security?” she echoed. Somehow that fit. The scar, the wildness tamped down under responsibility. “So you’re, what, campus police?”

“Something like that,” he said.

Her phone buzzed again. The sensation crawled over her skin.

“Will I… see you again?” she asked, not sure why she wanted the answer to be yes.

Kade’s gaze finally lifted from the ground to her eyes. Whatever he was feeling, he hid most of it, but not enough. There was a softness there that hadn’t been there minutes ago.

“You will,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid that’s the problem.”

Then he turned and walked toward one of the side entrances, disappearing behind a column.

Ayla let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

Lila’s voice floated back from the path. “You coming, Rowan? Or are you planning to get eaten by the first-year nerves ghost?”

Ayla forced her feet to move.

As she passed under the iron archway, she felt something.

Not just a threshold. Not just cold stone.

A hum, low and deep, thrummed through her bones—as if the gate recognized her. As if it had been asleep and her presence brushed its consciousness.

The lantern that had gone out earlier flickered back to life.

Her shadow lengthened ahead of her, stretching long and thin across the cobblestones. For a heartbeat, she could have sworn it stepped forward a fraction before she did.

She didn’t look back.

The main quad opened up like a courtyard from a dream—wide stone paths, patches of dark grass, the occasional twisted tree whose branches looked like fingers reaching for the cloudy sky. Students flowed toward a vast building with arched windows and stained glass that formed strange symbols instead of saints.

“Main Hall,” Lila said, walking backward as easily as others walked forward. “Administrative offices, some classrooms, orientation, and the occasional secret meeting about how best to ruin our lives.”

Ayla tried to pay attention, but her senses were overloaded. A cold breeze lifted the hair at the nape of her neck despite the lack of visible wind. The air tasted faintly metallic, like the moment before a storm.

Not just old. This place felt charged.

“Question,” Ayla said, voice low. “Why are there so many… I don’t know… weird eyes?”

Lila snorted. “You’ll have to be more specific. We run on weird here.”

“I mean…” Ayla glanced around.

A boy leaning against a pillar was laughing at something his friend said. When he flicked his gaze over the quad, his irises gleamed a molten gold, pupils narrowing to slits for half a second before normalizing.

Two girls sitting on the fountain edge had their heads bent together. One’s eyes were such a pale blue they were almost white, ringed in silver.

“There are contact lenses,” Lila said casually. “And then there are people who don’t need contact lenses.”

“So it’s… like a costume thing?” Ayla tried.

Lila studied her for a long breath.

“You really don’t know,” she murmured.

“Know what?”

But they were already stepping into the Main Hall, and the question dissolved under the weight of the place.

It was enormous. The ceiling vaulted high above, painted in a night sky that didn’t match the one outside—darker, with unfamiliar constellations. Chandeliers hung low, made of black crystal and dripping with dim light instead of glittering with it.

Tables were set up along the sides, each with a banner hanging behind it.

VESPER.

THORN.

EVERSHADE.

ARCLIGHT.

“They’re… houses?” Ayla guessed.

“Factions, families, dorms, cults—depends who you ask,” Lila said. “You’ll be assigned one after assessment.”

“Assessment?”

“Standard stuff,” Lila said. “Blood, magic, trauma, potential for world domination.”

Ayla stopped walking. “Blood?”

“I’m kidding,” Lila said quickly, then grimaced. “Mostly.”

A sharp, authoritative voice rose from the front of the hall.

“First-years, gather center. Returning students, to your houses.”

People shifted around them like water. Lila waved and began to back away.

“Duty calls. I’ll catch you after you survive the Dean’s speech.”

“The Dean?” Ayla asked.

Lila pointed with her chin. “That’s her.”

At the far end of the hall, a woman stood on a raised dais.

She was tall, dressed in a fitted black suit that managed to look both severe and elegant. Her hair was sleek and silver, though her face was too youthful for the color. Her eyes were the color of dark wine, sharp and assessing.

“Dean Vale,” Lila said. “Try not to make direct eye contact for more than three seconds. She can smell fear.”

“You’re joking,” Ayla said faintly.

Lila smiled sympathetically. “I’ll let you decide.”

Then she vanished into a knot of students beneath the THORN banner, where Kade stood at the edges, arms folded, gaze scanning the room with professional distance. He didn’t look at her, but she felt him there like a line of heat across her skin.

Ayla moved with the other new students to the center of the hall. She adjusted the strap of her bag, feeling small and exposed among the expensive clothes and effortless confidence of people who clearly belonged here.

Dean Vale raised a hand, and the murmurs quieted as if someone had pressed mute.

“Welcome,” she said, her voice carrying easily. “To Blackridge University.”

The room seemed to exhale as one.

“Some of you,” she continued, “are here because your families have walked these halls for generations. Some of you are here because you fought harder than anyone else for the privilege. And some of you…”

Her gaze drifted over the crowd.

Then it stopped.

On Ayla.

“…are here because the university chose you,” Dean Vale finished softly.

The hairs on the back of Ayla’s neck rose.

“As you will learn,” the Dean went on, looking away, “Blackridge is not like other institutions. We hold our students to a higher standard. Intellectually. Physically. Spiritually.”

A faint smile touched her lips.

“And more.”

There was a ripple through the room that Ayla couldn’t interpret—anticipation, dread, excitement—all layered atop one another.

“Over the next few days,” Dean Vale said, “you will be evaluated and placed where you belong. In classes that fit your… aptitudes.” She paused, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “And in houses that reflect your nature.”

Her gaze flicked past the banners—Vesper, Thorn, Evershade, Arclight.

“And some of you,” she added, almost idly, “will find that you belong somewhere that has been… closed, for a very long time.”

A hush fell.

Something thrummed under Ayla’s feet. A single beat, like a distant heart.

“You will receive your welcome packets after this orientation,” Dean Vale said briskly. “Curfew is at midnight. All first-years are required to remain in dormitories after dark this week, for your own safety.”

A few people laughed, assuming it was a joke.

The Dean didn’t.

“Blackridge is old,” she said. “The grounds are older. There are places you are not meant to go. Doors you are not meant to open. If you are wise, you won’t ask why.”

Her eyes brushed Ayla’s again. Just a flicker. But it felt like a hand prying at her ribs.

“And if you are something else,” Dean Vale said softly, “you already know the answer.”

The word pulsed again in her pocket.

Run.

Ayla curled her fingers into her palms.

She wasn’t running.

Not this time.

She lifted her chin and met the Dean’s gaze fully.

For three seconds.

One.

Something shifted high above—one of the painted constellations seemed to tilt, a cluster of stars rearranging into a new, unfamiliar shape.

Two.

The lights in the nearest chandelier dimmed, then brightened, as if adjusting to her presence.

Three.

A thin crack appeared in the marble beneath her feet, so small no one else seemed to notice.

Dean Vale’s lips parted, surprise flickering in her eyes for the first time.

Interesting, that look said.

Ayla’s shadow stretched long behind her, then curved the wrong way, curling like a question mark.

Dean Vale’s smile returned, thinner now.

“Welcome to Blackridge,” she said. “May you become exactly what you were meant to be.”

For the first time since she stepped through the gate, Ayla wondered if that was a blessing—

—or a curse.