Page 31 of Blackwood

Zeke hated the idea of me going to school. He wanted me locked away in Gotham Tower, safe behind firewalls and bulletproof glass, learning how to dismantle pedo rings in between spelling tests. He gritted his teeth so hard I thought he’d crack a molar.

But eventually, I wore him down. He gave in. Made me swear that I’d keep training if he sent me to school.

I agreed and he enrolled me at St. Lyra’s Prep. A school so elite it probably has its own Black Amex. Legacy last names roamed the marble halls like royalty. Every girl had a signature blowout, a curated trauma, and an Instagram following bigger than most European nations.

That’s where I met Ellie Whitmore. Back row of our freshman philosophy elective, quietly trying to exist. New notebook. Fresh pens. Chipped pink nail polish I’d redone three times the night before, like if I could just get the edges perfect maybe I wouldn’t feel like I was about to unravel.

Then she appeared. Blonde curls. Gucci sweater dress. An energy so unapologetically bright it made the air around her feel warmer. She slid into the seat beside like we’d been doing this forever.

“Sooo,” she said, eyeing me like I was a limited-edition bag she already decided to buy, “you’ve got that whole mysterious loner thing going. Deadpan stare, silence, excellent boots. I’m intrigued.”

“I bite. Occasionally.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ugh, finally someone with bite and cheekbones.”

I glanced at her, more amused than I wanted to be. “You always sit next to girls who look like they might fake a seizure to get out of a group discussion?”

“Only the ones with potential,” she said with a wink.

Then she held out her hand like she was offering me a Chanel contract. “Ellie Whitmore. Soon to be the next Vixens dance team captain. Trust fund certified. Your new bestie, unless you’ve got two left feet, in which case, this won’t work.”

“I used to dance,” I said. “Haven’t in a while.”

She arched a perfectly groomed brow. “Tragic. We’re fixing that. Tryouts are next week. Show up, shake your ass, and blow them away.”

I didn’t say yes, but I showed up. We both made the team. Danced our asses off. Became co-captains and somewhere along the way became best friends.

She doesn’t know what I really do when I skip sleepovers or sneak out after parties. She thinks I’m dancing, or dating, or justbeing chaotic. And that’s okay. Because she sees the version of me that I sometimes forget is real. The one who’s just… Bella.

Tex is at the stove, flipping pancakes and humming under his breath. Mr. Acronym’s by the window, reading something on his tablet with the same expression he’d probably use to dismantle a government.

I’m halfway through my second pancake when Zeke tosses a black velvet box through the air. I catch it without flinching.

“Happy sixteen, Bells. Let’s keep the body count low till at least noon.”

Inside is a blade. Matte black. Slim. Balanced. My initials carved into the hilt. Not a gift. A beginning.

“You said when I turned sixteen—”

“You shadow tonight,” Zeke cuts in, voice dropping low so Ellie can’t hear. “That’s it. No contact. No freelancing. You stay close and you follow my word like it’s the fucking gospel, you hear me?”

“I won’t screw it up.”

“You’d better not,” Tex calls over. “I just polished your gear.”

Ellie walks over and claps like it’s a movie ending. “Hate to break up whatever intense brooding vibe this is, but we need to get ready for your party.”

“El, the party doesn’t start for like… twelve hours.”

She gasps. “Exactly. Hair. Nails. Outfit changes. Emotional prep. Do you think perfection happens on accident?”

♥♥♥

The last of the laughter fades around eleven. There’s cupcake crumbs on the counter, a trail of black glitter on the floor, and two girls from St. Lyra’s still giggling by the elevator and takingselfies like it’s some exclusive club. One of them waves. I fake a smile.

Ellie is doing her rounds like a proper hostess—hugging, air-kissing, whispering secrets no one will remember in the morning. Her heels clicking on the marble.

Zeke’s in the corner looking like he’s regretting every decision that led to this moment, including letting Ellie convince him to host the party here.