Page 5

S ecrets rotted here, I could feel them seeping through the walls. Outside, a relentless peal of thunder cracked, needling against the migraine blooming behind my eyes.

The nature of my parents’ work was always secretive, and questions were neither encouraged nor permitted.

Dad’s work was historical and philosophical.

Mom’s world was further still, locked in a lab somewhere in Pasadena.

She came home late, exhausted, the scent of chemicals clinging to her clothes and dark circles under her eyes like bruises.

I’d never thought of it as religious. And yet, here I was, in a college where religion, or something close to it, seemed to bleed into everything.

I’d always assumed the Bibles scattered throughout our house were just part of Dad’s research. A curiosity, in the same way someone might collect rare books or paintings. That’s how he’d described them. But what if they weren’t, and I never really knew my parents at all?

Time bled away. I sat stiffly on the bed, knees drawn to my chest, watching as the candlelight twisted shadows against the stone walls.

I didn’t know what to do. I hated it here already.

But if this place was supposed to reveal something to me, or something inside of me that my parents believed—what if they were wrong?

And why didn’t they leave me any explanation?

Footsteps sounded in the hall. The door swung open before I could wipe the dampness from beneath my eyes.

“Oh! Who are you?” The girl standing in the doorframe was striking, tall, and poised. Her features were severe, as though carved from glass. Her dark hair fell in perfect ribbons that framed her face.

She didn’t wait for an answer, stepping inside gracefully, her pleated skirt barely shifting with the movement. The uniform might have been charming in another life, like something you’d find in a vintage thrift shop bobbled with wear.

The maroon crest on her chest matched the strange symbol on the gates, those words below it. Ante Post. I could see it more clearly now, gleaming beneath the low light, pinned neatly over her heart. Latin, I guessed.

“Arabella,” I said, careful to keep my voice even. “And you?”

“Ruby.” Her lips parted into a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her gentle eyes. “You might want to get off Rosaline’s bed. The free one is over there.” She gestured toward the darkened corner of the room. The smallest bed. The sheets looked thin and scratchy.

I hesitated. “The bed by the window’s already taken?”

“Rosaline is fiercely territorial about her space. She smashed my ex’s slate when she tried to claim it last term.” Ruby shuddered. “But you’ll have to forgive her. Rosaline fought harder than anyone to be here.”

“Right. Whatever that means.”

Ruby smirked as though I’d said something amusing. Like she knew something I didn’t. I grabbed my suitcase and wheeled it toward the cramped space, dropping it with a thud against the wooden floor .

“You’re new, then?” she mused, studying me. “Strange to start mid-term.”

I unzipped my suitcase and shrugged. “It wasn’t my choice.”

“Where are you from?”

“California.”

Her eyes lit up. “Los Angeles?”

“The City of Angels.” I didn’t mean for it to sound bitter, but it did.

“Weird,” she said, her voice dipping into a hushed whisper. “That’s two recruits from there in a week. We don’t get many applicants this late into term, with the disadvantage and all.”

I exhaled slowly, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Really, it wasn’t my choice.”

A brief silence stretched between us as I started unpacking, pulling out a bundle of herbal tinctures and crystal bottles Lily had packed for me. Ruby’s eyes flickered over them with veiled amusement.

I wasn’t ashamed. The routine reminded me of home and kept my thoughts in line. Without it, everything frayed at the edges, sound, light, emotion.

“What’s your talent?” I asked lamely, an attempt at conversation.

“Talent?”

I frowned. “I was told this is a school for the exceptional. So, what’s your, like…

thing?” Exceptional. The word felt heavy, even ironic.

I’d never been exceptional at anything, nothing like my parents.

If they hoped this place would draw something out of me I didn’t already see, I was certain they were wrong.

Ruby stared at me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she let out a quiet laugh. “Oh, you don’t know?”

A chill brushed over my skin. “Know what?”

“Evermore isn’t a typical college,” she murmured, watching me like she was waiting for something .

“I gathered that much.” Ruby cast a look over my unpacked things, lifting her eyebrows as I asked, “Is this some kind of religious school? I’ve never heard of a ‘preparatory college’ before.”

Ruby tilted her head. “Intrinsically,” she continued airily. “Don’t worry, you’ll catch on soon enough. The Rift is in a month for the Lower Sixth.”

“Sorry?” The words tumbled out before my mind could catch up. The jet-lag combined with all of this strangeness was starting to feel like I’d taken a sedative. Verrine had mentioned it, but I had no idea what the Rift was.

“The Rift,” she repeated, amused by my reaction. “It’s when we prove we belong here. When Evermore decides if we’re strong enough to stay and, if we make it, determines what path we will take next year in Upper Sixth.”

“Which path? You mean our classes?”

I added a few more tinctures to the pile forming on my wooden nightstand.

A month. I had a month to prove I belonged in a place I didn’t ask to be.

I could still feel the flight turbulence in my stomach, and I was already being given an exam date?

That wasn’t enough time to learn the rules, let alone pass some cryptic end-of-year test. I’d never been particularly good at studying and that wouldn’t change now. Here.

“Ascend or Fall,” she said with a shrug, but something in her eyes gleamed. “Some don’t make it,” Ruby added. “You have to be strong to survive here.”

I scoffed. Ascend or Fall. It sounded like a roundabout way of saying pass or fail. I thought it would be simple, attend and graduate. This girl, Ruby, was making it seem far more complicated.

“The Rift,” a chill crawled up my spine. “I have to participate to graduate ? ” The word barely made it past my lips. My throat felt tight, my pulse hammering against my ribs. Ruby just watched me, her expression stark .

“Of course.” Ruby gave a delicate shrug. “How else would you—” A sudden knock sounded from the hallway, and she turned, her smirk vanishing. “Hurry. We need to get to supper. We cannot be late.”

I hesitated. “I’m fine with skipping.”

She laughed bitterly. “That’s not how this place works.”

I sighed, dragging my fingers through my travel-grimed hair, then tied it back in a high ponytail, starting toward the door.

“ Arabella .” Ruby’s voice was gentle, but there was an edge to it. I turned. She gestured toward the folded gray uniform at the foot of my child-sized bed. “We aren’t allowed out of uniform during term time.”

“What, even on weekends?” I lifted the skirt to my body, sizing it up. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s the rules.” She leaned against the doorframe, watching me with a smirk. “Now hurry. We must clock in with the prefects before seven. If we’re late, the Crucible will mark us down.”

Right. The Crucible. This was feeling far less like a college and more like a prison that tracked our every move. This was a level of surveillance I hadn’t signed up for.

I stood before the dusty, antique mirror, adjusting the uniform. Something about it dulled me, like the second I put it on, I was losing a piece of myself. I barely had time to process the feeling before Ruby pulled me toward the corridor.

We passed through the fog-drenched courtyard, and I tried to pretend it wasn’t beautiful, that I didn’t feel something stirring in my chest as I looked up at the towering turrets. They spiralled high, vines climbing like veins, stone crumbling like this place had existed forever .

The dining hall hummed with low voices, forks clinking against porcelain. The eerie stillness of my thoughts shattered with Ruby’s sudden, gleeful squeal.

“Marcus!” Ruby called, spotting a burly student with auburn hair and thick, muscular arms. She raced over to him, abandoning me in the line.

I stepped forward, tray in hand, pretending not to notice the gelatinous ladle of beef gravy drowning everything on my plate. A presence loomed behind me, close enough that I felt the heat of him before I heard his voice.

“Watch it.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it had weight, dragging my breath to a halt. I turned, and for a moment, the world seemed to pull taut, the air around me thinned of oxygen. He stood there, broad-shouldered and composed, his storm-gray eyes glinting.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was ruinous, and his face was cut in all the ways that made even looking at him feel dangerous. But that didn’t unsettle me. It was the way he watched me, like he already thought he knew who I was.

“Sorry,” I muttered, gripping my tray tighter. I mentally cursed myself for bothering to utter an apology.

He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. “You’re new.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” The line moved forward, and I was grateful when he turned around, space growing between us.

“I didn’t think we were taking new students this late into the term.” He only half-turned to face me, as though I wasn’t worth the effort.

“The circumstances called for it.” I kept my eyes fixed ahead, helping myself to a bread roll. This place was as obsessed with carbs as it was with religion, it seemed.

“Ah,” he followed closely, our hands nearly touching. The corner of his mouth lifted. “How unfortunate. ”

I let out a quick breath, nodding. It was nice that someone else seemed to despise this place, too.