Page 1

T he man at the door looked like death himself. Through the fogged glass, I took in the black mourning suit, the polished shoes, the steady tap of his foot. Strange.

I hadn’t answered the door in three days. The executor of the will would be the first face I’d seen since the accident. The thought was not a comfort, but I’d run out of ways to practice avoidance. The knock still echoed in my ears as I turned the handle.

“Hello, Arabella Davenant,” the executor said, his voice practiced. He stepped inside.

“Let’s get this over with.” I didn’t want to do this, but avoiding it wouldn’t bring them back.

The executor’s eyes scanned over the marble statues that stood guard in the foyer. He reached toward one of St. Michael, fingers almost brushing against it, then pulled back.

I guided him to the dining room. My heart twisted as he settled into my father’s chair, snapping open his leather briefcase.

A strange pressure rolled across the room, the kind that makes your ears pop on a plane.

It vanished in a blink, leaving no trace.

I wondered for a moment if I was losing my mind .

“You are currently nineteen, correct?” he asked, not looking at me as he arranged his papers across the polished table. No small talk. Good. I preferred that.

“For a few more months,” I managed. Nineteen was legal. Nineteen was old enough to inherit without question.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said curtly. I bristled at his detached demeanor, the audacity of delivering tragedy as if it were paperwork to file away. “I just need verbal confirmation.”

“Yes. Almost twenty.” I nodded. I didn’t know why I felt the need to justify myself, as if a matter of months changed whether I could handle inheriting everything my parents left behind. I knew I could. I’d been responsible for myself for years.

I willed him silently to get on with it, to read the will and testament and confirm what I stood to inherit.

Instead, he pressed on with the formalities. “You are the sole child of Dr. Evangeline Davenant and Dr. Fredrick Davenant?”

The grief of hearing their names was so raw it ached to breathe. I nodded once. Surely there wouldn’t be many more questions.

He clicked the papers against the table, and looked up. “That’s a lovely necklace,” he said abruptly.

So much for no small talk. My hand stilled against the pendant. I hadn’t realized I was touching it. It still smelled faintly of my mother, of pepper and rose. She’d given it to me the day before she died. I clung to it like it could anchor me here, in the before.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“Would you like me to hold it for safekeeping?” He glanced pointedly at his paperwork. “It’s listed here as quite valuable.”

“ No,” I said through gritted teeth. Then, with as much politeness as I could manage I added, “Can we continue, please?”

“It would be for your own protection,” he said finally. I stared him down. “Alright then. I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news.”

“I’ve just received the most unfortunate news of my life. My parents are dead. I doubt anything you say could possibly make it worse.”

The executor gave a sad smile. “Your parents placed a condition in their will. One that directly concerns you.”

My heart stalled. “Condition?”

“They’ve stipulated that to inherit your estate in full you must complete your education at a school called Evermore College. Graduation is required.”

“What?” No . My parents knew I’d just been accepted to LADA, the Los Angeles School of Dramatic Arts. It was supposed to be the beginning of my acting career. “That can’t be right. Show me.”

He tapped the tabbed section of the contract. There it was, in black and white. I’d get no inheritance until I turned twenty-one, unless I graduated from Evermore College. The language was clear.

I slammed my phone down hard enough to splinter the screen. Something sparked in my chest. After years of absence disguised as affection, this was what they left behind? A pitiful attempt at control, at parenting. All too late.

He shook his head slowly, pity etched into the corners of his mouth. “It is unusual. But unless you complete your degree at Evermore, your assets— every cent, this property —all remains in trust. Frozen.”

“And if I refuse?” The words tasted like copper.

“You’re free to refuse,” he said. “That is your right. But if you do, you walk away with nothing.”

He slid a brochure across the table. My fingers trembled as I picked it up. A school blanketed in mist and ivy loomed above a set of iron gates. Two Latin words were printed at the bottom of the front page. Ante-Post . “Evermore is located in Devon. A rural county in the South West of England.”

England. My parents had studied there, once.

But I had spent my entire life vowing never to trace their steps, never to follow the breadcrumb trail of obsession they left behind.

People admired them, their brilliance, their devotion.

But I knew the truth hidden beneath all that reverence.

Passion takes. It hollows. I needed to understand what I was walking into.

“I won’t go.” The words snapped out of me, but they tasted like a lie. My parents knew me all too well. I needed that inheritance. This wasn’t a choice, not really. “They can’t do this.”

He offered a faint shrug. “Their will is ironclad, amended only weeks ago. This is what they wanted.” Weeks ago?

“Is there an explanation?” I stared down at the pamphlet. Evermore’s students looked strange. Too polished. Too perfect. Edited. Why this place? Why now? “A letter? Anything?”

“No,” the executor shook his head. “But that’s not unusual. Their accident was quick, people don’t often have time to update their paperwork.”

“I see,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “And you don’t find it unusual the will was updated right before they died?”

“Weeks before,” the executor corrected. “No, not really.”

I blew air through my nose and sunk back into the dining chair, flipping through my phone contacts. I needed help, I needed advice. I didn’t want to leave here.

“You should consider yourself lucky,” the executor said after clearing his throat. “Evermore is selective. Only the exceptional are allowed to enroll.”

“Exceptional,” I echoed, the word bitter on my tongue. I was anything but.

I typed the name Evermore into my phone. Nothing.

He muttered quickly, stringing words together as I scrolled. I barely caught most of them. “…placement testing… tailored classes… Headmistress Cavendish…”

“I have no other options?” I set my phone down.

“It’s Evermore, or the trust is sealed.” He leaned closer. “Between you and me, I’ve seen stuff like this play out before. This is a chance for your parents to guide you after they’ve passed on, and that’s pretty special.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed. But there was something soft behind the black of the executor’s eyes.

Something scraped down my spine in warning.

I’d felt it a few times before, then again the night of the accident.

That psychic tug I’d felt since childhood.

The Thread. It had always been there, a whisper beneath my ribs, a presence in my bones.

It had told me not to follow my parents the night they died.

Now I felt that same pulling, clawing insistence. “ Run.”

The executor shuffled his papers, unfazed, but I felt it.

The air shifted, thick and pressing. The walls felt closer.

He slid the contract forward, asking for the signature that would steal nearly four of the most valuable years of my life, followed by a photo.

“This is the family that runs Evermore. They will become your legal proxies. Until graduation, they control the trust.”

I snatched the photograph. It was of the Cavendish family, the back said. Verrine, Godwin and their son, Dorian . The glossy paper was ice cold, the ink printed too sharp. Their smiles had too many teeth.

The executor pushed the contract forward again, impatient, the line for my signature stark and waiting. I wanted to tear it up, but I couldn’t lose everything, as well as my parents. The scratch of ink was too loud as I signed, each letter carved with a fury I didn’t know where to put.

“Be ready at eight,” the executor said, standing. “I’ve forwarded you the details. I will arrive to escort you. ”

“Is that usual?” My brows rose. The executor didn’t answer the question, simply turned and started toward the entrance hall.

I felt a chill crawl up my neck again, the Thread. “You’ve made a grave mistake,” it whispered. I bit into my cheek until the taste turned metallic.

“Excuse me, um…” I called after him in a voice too small. His arrival had drawn attention to the gaping solitude, and I wasn’t sure I could be alone again. “ Sir . Is there any chance this is some kind of mistake? My parents, they promised to support me at LADA as I said and?—”

I tried to steady my bottom lip, though I knew it was shaking.

“You’ll be well taken care of,” he said with a curt nod, folding his hands over the briefcase. Then, so softly I almost didn’t catch it, “As long as you don’t break the rules. Do not leave this house until I come to fetch you. Is that clear?”

“So I’m not allowed goodbyes, either?”

He didn’t respond, and I trailed him to the door in agonizing silence.

He turned back once, genuine emotion, or perhaps a practiced effort at it, crossed his face.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.” He cleared his throat again, drawing his arms across his chest. “It’s oddly cold for Malibu in March, don’t you think? ”

As quickly as he had arrived, he was gone. I sat there for a moment after the door slammed shut, the sound ringing in my ears.

But I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts again for too long. Lily was at the top of my call log. It rang three times before she picked up, the wait an eternity.

“Come over.” My voice was thick, throat aching. “Use the window.”

The phone beeped to let me know the call had dropped, but a moment later, she was in my room.

The heavy vanilla perfume she’d generously sprayed over herself was familiar in a nauseating kind of way.

She took her usual spot, cross-legged on my bed, and twirled the end of her braid while I explained.

“Check this out.” I tossed the file the executor left behind toward her, and my mouth cracked a smile despite myself. It was ridiculous. The picture of the Cavendish family fluttered out, followed by the brochure.

“My god,” she recoiled, flipping through the pages. “It’s really giving control-freak from beyond the grave . They really couldn’t just leave you money and let you be?”

“Right?” I said hollowly, fingers racing across my laptop keyboard as I searched up Evermore Preparatory College again.

There were no results. Just a blurry crest and a vague location tag somewhere in Devon.

The surrounding area looked pretty, but in a disgustingly gray kind of way.

I turned the screen toward Lily. “What do people even do there?”

“My friend did a Round Square transfer to a school there for a year. You remember Sammy?” I nodded. “She said the international students called it Vampire Syndrome. You get pale and all malnourished because the food sucks. And she had these dark circles under her eyes from never sleeping.”

“This isn’t helping,” I groaned, smacking her knee. Still, a laugh escaped me.

Lily grinned. “Oh and she got her heart broken, too, ‘cause obviously it was never going to work long term. Truly the gift that keeps on giving.”

“Or a villain origin story,” I muttered, slamming the laptop shut and stuffing it into the sleeve of my suitcase. “I won’t get sucked into all of that. I’m serving my two and a half years and that’s it.”

“You’re stronger than me,” Lily sighed dramatically. “Fine. If you don’t fall in love, maybe you’ll read. Or write poetry or something. Isn’t that what sad people do in rainy countries? ”

“My parents both studied in England,” I said, the words catching slightly on something in my chest. I gave her a small, crooked smile. “So yes. Basically.”

“You could follow in their footsteps then,” Lily smiled. “Live out their legacy or whatever.”

I flinched. Something deep inside me recoiled at the idea. Following in their footsteps would mean losing myself completely. My parents had been consumed by whatever they were chasing. I refused to vanish the same way.

“So you’re not allowed to leave the house tonight?” Lily jutted out her bottom lip. “How much trouble can you really get in if your fate is already sealed?”

“You have a point,” I grinned. “One last night. A true send-off.”

“A true send-off,” Lily echoed, mirroring my grin. “There’s a party at Astoria Manor, that members club on a private beach near the Pacific Coast Highway.”

“You’re forgetting one thing. We aren’t members, and we aren’t twenty-one.”

“You’re forgetting that I know…everyone,” Lily laughed breezily. “Remember Arden? Trust fund, dead eyes, got sent away to boarding school last year?”

“What, he owns the club?”

“His father does,” Lily nodded. “And there’s a huge end-of-summer party there tonight. Come on, babe, please do this for me. One last crazy night before you’re gone for good.”

I couldn’t say no. This might be our last night together.

“Fine,” I nodded. If I stayed home the Thread would keep screaming. The noise of the party would hopefully drown it out. If I couldn’t stop any of this, I could at least choose how I left. This one last thing would be mine.

“It’s settled then.” Lily grinned. I wanted to believe home hadn’t already become a memory yet, but part of me knew it had. We were already ghosts of ourselves, and I no longer belonged to this world.

The zipper hissed shut. I felt the darkness again, clouding my vision and simmering in my veins.

“Last chance,” the Thread murmured. I snapped the suitcase handle into place.