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We approached the turret staircase in silence, the white stone steps spiraling higher, steep and suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of decay, or maybe potpourri. My fingers brushed the railing, slick with condensation.

“You should know that Evermore’s curriculum is a little different than you’re used to.

” Verrine climbed easily, keeping her tone carefully neutral.

“We don’t do tests. Assignments aren’t graded like you think.

Here, every action, no matter how small, counts toward one final assessment, The Rift, that determines if you progress into the Upper Sixth. ”

She turned, and for a breath, I was ten again. Onstage, blinking beneath harsh lights, frozen as I searched the crowd for my parents and found only empty chairs.

“Your words,” she went on. “Your allegiances. What you do when no one is watching. All of it is counted, starting the moment you stepped onto Evermore’s grounds.”

“Counted by what?” I asked, quieter now.

“By something we call the Crucible.”

“Is that how we’re graded?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “It’s a marking system?”

“In a sense, but the Crucible doesn’t mark intellect. It doesn’t measure how well you read or solve equations. It simply measures… you .” She kept her head forward, her heels clacking over stone as we climbed.

Me. It measures me. I had no idea what that meant, only that somewhere, somehow, something at this school was watching.

“What are we measured against?” I was short of breath now, from the stairs or the ridiculous prospect of this school I didn’t know.

“The other students, of course.”

Light fractured through a stained-glass window ahead, casting colored shards across the stairwell. I took the last few steps slowly, my legs aching. My lungs were tight from breathing in the dust motes.

Verrine seemed undeterred, her knuckles rapping against the arched door frame. When no one answered, she entered. My sad, single suitcase was waiting for me.

“I’ll give you a moment to settle in, Arabella. Your uniform is on the bed. Welcome to House Seraphim, one of the five houses. It tends to choose those others unfairly overlook. Let’s hope it’s right about you.”

“It’s a generous room,” I said with obvious relief, admiring the massive stained-glass window and clerestory ceiling depicting a series of angelic frescoes. “Three beds seems excessive.” I gestured at the twin beds on either side of mine.

“You’re sharing.” Verrine’s lip curled in a way that told me she’d cast several assumptions about me already, chiefly that I was spoiled. She could not have been more wrong. My mother had been materially generous, but I never took it for granted.

Verrine rummaged in the pockets of her Victorian dress and brandished a timetable stamped on a card. I read through it, the space between my brows growing smaller.

“These lessons are nearly all religious,” I said, my throat thickening. “I’m not planning a traditional career, but there’s zero chance I’m majoring in Theology. I’m not even Christian.”

“ Headmistress Cavendish ,” she replied sternly. “And this school does not have majors, nor does it adhere to one particular religion. This college is for those who are gifted. One vision, one curriculum.”

“I’m not sure I share the vision, Headmistress.” I folded the scheduling card in half, passing it back to her. She didn’t take it.

“You have catching up to do. I appreciate the circumstances that have brought you here, which are most unfortunate, but you must adapt. If you wish to continue with your studies of things like maths and English, we can arrange for you to attend the college in town for additional lessons, but I’m afraid we do not offer those courses here. ”

“I’ve never heard of a college that doesn’t teach math or English.”

“ Maths ,” Verrine corrected. “This is no ordinary college, Arabella. Evermore is a place built to transform its students. No one leaves untouched. You’re a smart girl, and I thought you might have gathered that by now.” Verrine’s dark eyes narrowed, and something in my chest broiled.

Godwin acted like he and Verrine knew my parents. How could someone like this have been their friend? Maybe the years had changed her. Running a school this uptight and religious must have gradually sanded down her personality into the unfortunate character standing before me.

“The learning curve here will be steep,” Verrine said, turning toward the door.

“I sense that Evermore will be your making, or your undoing.” She smiled, but there was nothing kind about it.

“You will meet the students in your house, and the others, soon enough. Settle in and unpack. Supper is always served at seven.”

The rain lashed against the stained glass in a ceaseless rhythm, tapping out a warning only I could hear.

Everything smelled old, like damp stone, forgotten books, and suppressed personalities.

I didn’t want to unpack. I didn’t want to feel like I belonged here.

Two years. Two years of this place until I could graduate and claim my inheritance.

What kind of college banned math and English?

What the did she mean by that thing, the Crucible, measuring me?

This is what my parents wanted, this is where they wanted me.

Had I done something wrong in those final days with them?

Maybe I’d been too shallow, too disinterested in their work.

Dad had said once that I took my freedom for granted, but that was years ago.

I was a good daughter. I tried. But if they chose this place, if they knew what it really was… maybe I didn’t know them at all.

My fingers curled into the pillow. Deep inside me, the Thread stirred. Not just to whisper this time, but to laugh.

Welcome home, Arabella.