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A drenaline unbound me as I tore through the labyrinth of tables, the world smearing into a blur of candlelight and stone and shadow.

The only thing I could see, the only thing that still existed, were Dante’s eyes, gleaming like molten metal in the dark.

A scream coiled in my throat, something within me itching to be released, but fear had already turned my blood to wildfire.

It burned through me as I staggered into the corridor.

The rest of the Lower Sixth quickly followed, undeterred, their chatter blending into the night air, except for Dante Darkblood.

He had to be on something. Some kind of drug.

No one paid me any attention, which was a small mercy.

I let the breeze cut through the heat on my face as I rested against a stone pillar.

I let Ruby go on ahead, claiming I needed fresh air. “Don’t stay to long,” she warned, but nodded knowingly. Hang back after dinner if you want to find out what this place truly is.

I didn’t have a choice. I had no explanation from my parents, no fair reason I needed to attend Evermore. I needed answers. I planned to wait and find out exactly what the older students were hiding from us.

I pressed deeper into the shadowed arch, letting the ivy- draped pillar shield me from view, closing my eyes and letting my pulse steady. It took a moment, longer than I’d expected.

Then, a cluster of footsteps sounded. Another group approached the hall, their movements rhythmic. I rubbed my temples, blinking away the jet-lagged heaviness from my eyelids.

They moved in eerie synchrony, their robes shifting like liquid shadow.

The air around them bent , as though even the world recognized their difference, their postures impossibly poised and their movements too fluid.

They reminded me of Russian ballet dancers in the final act of a performance only they understood.

But that wasn’t the strangest part. The strangest part was the wings.

They rose behind them like veils of silk and shadow, some vast and feathered, others sleek as polished glass.

A few shimmered like mirages, flickering between seen and unseen, as though they weren’t meant to exist in this realm at all.

Some were white, others black, but most had the burnished, iridescent sheen of oil slicks under moonlight streaked with otherwordly color. They looked real. Too real.

I blinked hard, trying to rationalize what I was seeing. Costume, or some kind of ceremonial dress code. But Verrine had explicitly stated that this place did not have a drama department.

My swallow was loud in my ears as I tugged my necklace along the chain. This didn’t answer any of my questions. In fact, I had about a million more. One thing was clear. Whatever happened between this year and the next changed you in a way so significant it had to be hidden.

I needed more. More context, more information. I strained my ears, peeling away from the pillar to get a closer look.

“Can’t wait to watch the lowers take the Rift.”

“Do you think she’ll make it? ”

“Nah. She doesn’t have a chance.”

Laughter, featherlight, spun like sand forging into glass through the cold air. My throat tightened, my body ahead of something my mind could not understand.

I knew better than to ignore my fear. The yoga classes I took had taught me that, to listen to my body more. It was often wiser.

And so was the Thread, the voice in the back of my mind that had always tried to guide me. It had warned me not to come here, and it was right. If I stayed, this place would change me forever, mould me into one of them. My inheritance wasn’t worth losing myself. I had to get out of here.

“Quiet now.” In the crowd of Upper Sixth students, I spotted the Cavendish’s son. Dorian. “Reserve your chatter for inside the dining hall please. Some of the Lower Sixth may have their windows open.”

I jumped, fingers like iron clamping down on my shoulder.

“Rules at Evermore are an obligation, not a suggestion, Miss Davenant.” As if summoned Verrine stood over me, her lips pursed. “Not the best first impression, is it? Lower Sixth supper is held from seven to eight. You should be in your common room by now, not lurking where you don’t belong.”

“I am not lurking ,” I folded my arms. I tried to remind myself that I had done nothing wrong.

This was my first night, and I had questions.

“I fled from the dining hall, actually. One of your students is crazy, Verrine. I think he’s dangerous.

He attacked another student.” I refused to be the first to look away, though her yellowish eyes were uncomfortable to meet.

Her expression didn’t waver. “Headmistress Cavendish,” she corrected smoothly. “Follow me. What a shame to get detention on your first night.”

Detention? I clenched my jaw. She made it sound like I’d gotten a poor grade, not watched a boy nearly strangle someone with his bare hands.

“I want to speak to my lawyer.” My voice pitched, heat surging beneath my skin. “This place isn’t a good fit. I’ve changed my mind.”

Verrine didn’t stop walking. Her ridiculous, sweeping skirts barely shifted with each step. I followed.

“Why are the students wearing wings?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my pulse still thrumming.

Verrine didn’t break stride, nor did she glance at me. “Observant. Good. You’ll need that.”

“That's not an answer.” I clenched my fists. “To either question.”

A quiet, amused exhale. “No, it isn’t.” We turned a corner, the candlelight stretching long shadows across the walls. Verrine’s voice came softer this time. “The Upper Sixth have taken the Rift. Their souls are bound to Evermore now, tethered to something far greater than themselves.”

My skin prickled. Good to confirm this was a cult, then. “Okay. And the wings?”

She finally looked at me, her eyes gleaming. “Simply a reflection of what awaits them.”

I swallowed. “So, they’re symbolic. Of what awaits them… where, exactly?”

She hummed, as if weighing how much to tell me. “Up or down. Light or dark.”

“Doesn’t sound like a place.” A shiver traced my spine. My mind scrambled for logic. “But they don’t always wear them? Just for dinner?”

Verrine tilted her head slightly as though I were an amusing puzzle she was piecing together. “For supper , yes. It’s a formality, a reminder. The wings are like finery, formal wear, just not yet fully theirs .”

“So, it’s part of the uniform.”

Her lips curved slightly. “I suppose.”

“And what do you mean, they haven’t earned them?”

“Well,” Verrine smiled knowingly, then. “That is what graduation is for.”

“Hm.” I responded, folding my arms again. I didn’t like the sound of that. We wound through the gothic corridors, and I admired the vaulted ceilings, wondering what on earth this place was. I called ahead to Verrine a few times to ask, but my words were met with a deafening silence.

She paused outside of two massive iron doors, and her attention moved to my collarbone. “Jewelry is not permitted with the standard uniform. Refer to the code of conduct.”

I reached for the pendant. “It’s all I have left of my mother.”

“Rules are an obligation?—”

“Not a suggestion. I know,” I ground out.

Verrine smiled thinly. “ Good . Then do stop wasting my time, Miss Davenant.”

The door groaned open, spilling dim candlelight across a room that felt lost in time. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and something more acrid, a metallic tang that sat heavy on the tongue like the ghost of alchemy itself. This wasn’t a typical chemistry classroom.

Shelves lined the walls, heavy with vials of strange, shimmering liquids, some still clotted with residue from failed experiments.

Glass alembics and copper distillers hummed faintly, their contents swirling like captured storm clouds, while open flames licked beneath bubbling cauldrons, casting flickering shadows against the vaulted ceiling.

I pulled out a stool at the back of the room, the wooden legs scraping against stone. My palms were damp against my skirt, my fingers trembling despite the warmth of the room.

A woman emerged from the storeroom, her presence kinder and warmer than anyone I had encountered here. Her hair, long and starlight-silver, cascaded in waves past her shoulders. She carried bottles with the careful reverence of someone handling something very fragile—or something very dangerous.

She smiled, warm and knowing. “Welcome.”

“You’re hosting detention, Esmerelda,” Verrine snapped. “Use her in any way you wish. I’ll be giving Mr. Darkblood detention as well, thank you for that tip off Arabella.” Her eyes narrowed cruelly. “Expect his arrival soon. Ante post .”

Shit. Verrine pulled a thin device from her pocket, her hands flying quickly over the keyboard as she turned to leave.

Esmerelda’s fingers curled and uncurled in the fabric of her skirts, betraying a tension that her composed expression couldn’t quite mask.

The prospect of hosting detention unsettled her, but clearly not as much as the name that lingered between us.

Mr. Darkblood . It was a name that seemed to stain everything it touched.

Dante . The vile creature from the dining hall. The one whose silver-eyed presence I still felt in my mind like an awful echo.

“Headmistress,” Esmerelda said timidly. “Just a moment, please. I heard something about the Archangels.”

I bit my lip, somewhat satisfied. I was right. This was a place for religious fanatics. Verrine stilled.

Esmerelda swallowed hard, darting a glance at me before pressing forward. “They’re missing. Gone. I heard—” She hesitated, like she was afraid to say the words aloud. “What does this mean?”

Verrine tilted her head, her expression vague. Then, with even more sharpness than usual, she said, “It means nothing. ”

Esmerelda blinked. “But if they’re?—”