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EIGHT

LEVI

W hy can’t I get this right?

I’ve been at it for hours, days, weeks… years .

All my training, all those countless hours spent under the suffocating scrutiny of the best teachers in the country, the moments when everything used to just click—it all feels worthless now. None of that matters when the notes refuse to align. The melody I’m searching for slips through my mind like water through clenched fingers, unreachable no matter how hard I try. It’s as if my own mind has turned against me.

The notes refuse to align; the melody evades me as I search every inch of my rotted brain.

My fingers sit poised over the keys of the piano, and I feel this gnawing void inside of me. The music... it’s there, lurking beneath the surface, but there’s a wall between it and me. An impenetrable barrier that mocks me with every second of this maddening quiet.

The sheet music is scattered around me, crumpled papers, scratched-out notes, all just incoherent fragments of my mind littered around the room. Each discarded sheet is just another example of my inadequacy, a reminder that I’m not good enough. Not yet. Maybe never.

I remove the elastic from my hair and run a hand through it, feeling the strands tangled, and almost unkempt, before placing it back into a bun. My gaze meets itself in the reflection of the piano’s glossy surface. My eyes look haunted, desperate, like they’re searching for something.

But before I can sink deeper into the pit of self loathing, the wooden floor creaks, pulling me out of my own head. She’s standing in the doorway, out of breath like she ran to get here, clutching a large sketchpad and her backpack. Her face is flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she realizes she’s barged into the wrong room.

Of course, it had to be her. Her.

“I... I’m sorry,” she stammers, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I was looking for the art studio. I must have?—”

“You have the wrong room,” I cut her off, my voice sharper than I intended. I don’t have time for this, for her. I turn back to the paper in front of me, scribbling something meaningless just to occupy my hands. “Obviously,” I mutter, half to myself, but loud enough for her to hear.

But I can feel her eyes lingering.

Watching me.

Piercing into my soul.

Her silence is suffocating, worse than the quiet before she walked in. I can’t work with her just standing there, breathing in my space, distracting me with her presence. Something about her stare tugs at me in ways I don’t want to acknowledge, ways I don’t have time to explore. I look up again, meeting her gaze.

Her eyes... there’s something that shouldn’t be there, especially not directed at me. Silas told us to avoid her, to keep our distance, but still keep an eye on her. That’s all I need to know. She’s trouble. A distraction. Nothing more. It’s my senior year and I cannot afford to become distracted by some tight pussy.

“Leave. Now,” I say, my tone cold, final. “I can’t work when someone is breathing in my space.”

Her face falls, the disappointment clear in her wide, expressive eyes. For a second, she hesitates, like she’s about to say something else. I can see the flash of embarrassment mixed with... something else. Curiosity? Frustration?

Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” she mumbles, her voice softer this time. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

As soon as she leaves, the silence rushes back in, but it’s not the same. Her presence lingers, the smell of jasmine and patchouli lingers past my nose. I shake my head, trying to clear my mind, but the perfect piece of music feels further out of reach now.

I’ve known her for years. Dayton and I have been stepbrothers for the better part of a decade. His friendship with Silas began in middle school. As much as I typically kept my distance growing up, I was still very much aware of the group. Sable didn’t join Silas and Dayton often, only a few times. Dayton almost ignored her existence entirely every time.

But I never did.

She was an eager little thing growing up, always wanting to be anywhere that Silas was, determined to outmatch him in just about anything. It was annoying of him to always have a shadow.

I slump back onto the piano bench, staring down at the keys as if they might suddenly offer the answers I’m searching for. But all I hear is silence.

Why did it have to be her?

The girl has caused more upheaval in the last few weeks than anyone else has in years. Silas is obsessed. Dayton’s already got his hands on her, and even Kai’s been caught up in the drama. It’s ridiculous, really. She’s just another girl, another complication in the never-ending web of drama that surrounds us. And yet... something about her intrigues me.

I hate that it does.

She’s pure trouble. It’s obvious. I can see it in the way she carries herself—like she doesn’t care who she disrupts or what kind of chaos she leaves in her wake. She’s one of those girls who attracts attention without even trying, who draws people in, like moths to a flame.

I know I should forget her. Push her out of my thoughts and go back to my music. But something tells me it’s not going to be that simple. There’s something about Sable that I can’t shake, something lurking beneath the surface that makes me curious. And I hate being curious about people. I keep my circle small for a reason. I don’t need distractions. I don’t need complications.

But damn it, she’s already complicating things. And I’ve barely spoken a word to her.

With a frustrated sigh, I crumple up the sheet of music in front of me and toss it aside, adding to the pile of discarded failures. The music isn’t going to come today. Not with her still lingering in my thoughts.

Kai said that she had some sort of psychotic break at her last school, forcing her here thanks to her mother. It wouldn’t have surprised me if her mother planned something like this all along. Sable’s family are alumni like Dayton and I. We were forced to attend here; it would only be fair that Sable is brought here to serve her time as well.

Ashen Grove may not be Ivy League, but every elite offspring either attends or has their name tied to it. If you’re somebody, this place is a requirement—a stepping stone to maintain relevance in circles where connections matter more than character. Parents pay the exorbitant fees with pride, ensuring their place in the legacy. And here I am, drowning in the shadows of tradition, unable to compose even a simple melody.

Hours later and no closer to creating the perfect composition, I shove my scattered sheet music into my worn messenger bag; the frustration clinging to me like a second skin. The log sheet sits on the small table by the door, and I scrawl my name before leaving. The sky outside is a deep blue, the sun long past the horizon, though the night hasn’t fully settled in. A gray dusk. Fitting.

Ahead looms the Victorian monstrosity we call home. The black spires pierce through the darkening sky like thorns, its gothic architecture a constant reminder of the past—tradition, prestige, legacy. It stands as a beacon of the elite, of everything I’m supposed to uphold but resent deeply.

I wasn’t even elected to be an officer for the frat this year. That honor goes to the people who care about titles and the politics of leadership. Yet, thanks to my parents, the decision wasn’t left to the members. Our family paid off any alumni outrage, and now I live in this house with two of my closest friends—and my stepbrother.

Dayton is the opposite of me. He’s the blinding ray of sunshine that drags me from the darkest corners of my mind, even when I don’t want to be saved. He’s nauseatingly optimistic, but it’s that light that keeps me tethered. It’s easier to let him handle the social bullshit while I keep my circle small.

As I approach the house, the chaos inside reaches my ears before I even open the door. A racket echoes down the narrow hallway as I step inside. The sound grates on my nerves immediately—raised voices, furniture being shoved. Great.

I drop my bag at the entrance and stalk toward the kitchen; the noise pulling me in like a magnet. As I step through the threshold, I see Dayton shoved hard against the wall; the impact rattling the entire room. A framed photo crashes to the floor, shattering on impact.

“You did what—” I hear Silas roar, his voice demanding.

Kai stands off to the side, backed up against the kitchen counter, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks more entertained than anything, like this is just another show.

“Dude, I’m sorry.” My brother holds his hands up defensively.

Silas stands on the opposite end, fists clenched, his whole body flushed red with rage. It’s rare to see him like this—worked up to the point of losing control—but there he is, glaring at Dayton like he wants to rip him apart.

“What the hell is this?” I ask, my voice nonchalant as I stride toward the fridge. I grab a bottle of water, twist the cap, and take a long sip, making no effort to hide my disinterest in their squabble. I prop myself up on the counter and Kai gravitates toward me as he normally does. His body grazes my knee softly, but I don’t show him the affection he craves from me.

Silas lunges at Dayton again, but he misses when Dayton dodges and moves a few feet over.

“This asshole—” Silas spat, “touched what’s mine.”

The two continue to argue in gibberish as Silas continues to try to get another hook onto Dayton’s face. I say another because I can see one blooming a reddish hue across his cheek already.

Kai shifts beside me as he leans in, his voice low. “Sable. Dayton finger fucked her in the catacombs. Then last night during the movie.”

My eyebrow raises, “And Silas has declared her off limits? It’s clear she doesn’t want anything to do with him. So why is she Silas’ girl?” I pose the question.

Silas’ head snaps toward me, his eyes wild, his fists still clenched. His face is flushed, veins popping from his neck as if he’s on the verge of snapping completely. “Excuse me?”

I take another sip of water, watching him carefully. “I said... Why do you get to claim her? You all but made her cry the other night. Or did you forget that?”

“I didn’t make her cry,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. “And you weren’t even there.”

I nod my head toward Kai. “You forget nothing is ever a secret in his.” I lift my body from the counter and meet Silas toe to toe. “So, tell me, Si. Why. Do. You. Get. To. Claim. Her?”

Silas doesn’t respond right away, his fists still clenched, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. For a moment, it’s almost like he’s... unsure. But just as quickly, his mask slips back into place.

“I don’t claim her.”

Dayton coughs behind him, rubbing his jaw. “You literally just said she’s yours.”

Silas’ gaze never leaves mine. He knows I’m calling him out. We’ve always had this back-and-forth, this silent battle of wills. And just like every other time, Silas is the first to break.

He exhales slowly, a wide grin spreading across his face, though there’s no warmth in it. “It’s always unfair when the three of you gang up on me,” he says, creating a gap between us as he reaches for Dayton, offering a truce in the form of a handshake.

“You’re still fucking dead,” he warns.

The tension dissipates as quickly as it arose. I roll my eyes, stepping out of the kitchen as the others settle into whatever twisted version of peace they’ve managed to find. There’s no need to mention my own encounter with Sable. They’ve all had their moments with her. But I can’t shake the image of her from earlier—the way she looked at me. Her lips parted in surprise, her cheeks flushed.

A perfect face to fuck my pierced cock with.

The thought slithers through my mind before I can stop it. She’s beautiful, no doubt about it. So innocent-looking, with those wide eyes and soft lips. It makes me wonder what she’d look like down on her knees, begging for more.

I’m a switch, but I lean toward dominance. Always have. The only person I bottom for is Kai, and that’s only when he needs something tight to fuck. It keeps him from sticking his dick in something vile, and I don’t mind indulging him once in a while. But for the most part? I’m the one in control.

My piercings are not for me—it’s for them. The girls I fuck love it. Kai loves it, too. Their screams are enough to keep me going, to remind me why I do what I do. The power, the control... it’s intoxicating.

And with Sable?

She’d scream for me, too.

I head upstairs to my room. The familiar darkness greeting me as I push the door open. The room was decorated with my likeness when we took over the house. A black four-poster bed with dark sconces on either side that are placed on the dimmest possible setting.

My cluttered desk is how I left it, sheets of music and pencils scattered everywhere, just like my brain; fucked. It all seems normal. I stare at the mess for a second, but something feels... off. My eyes are drawn to the grand piano standing at the center of the room, its lid propped up as usual. Except... the keys aren’t as I left them.

One key, in particular, is pressed down, stuck, the note long gone. A single, silent scream frozen in place.

I walk over, my brow furrowing as I stare at it. My fingers hover over the stuck key, but I don’t touch it. It feels wrong. It feels like someone’s been here.

“Silas has just about lost his mind,” Kai says, entering my room. He meets me by the piano and stops to look at the pressed down key.

My brow knits, and I look over at him. “Were you in my room earlier today?”

Kai shakes his head. “No. Why would I be?”

Someone else was in here then. Silas and Dayton wouldn’t dare come into my room, not even when I’m home, much less when I’m gone. The privacy I keep is sacred, impenetrable. So who the hell was in here?

I glance around the room, searching for something else out of place, any clue as to who might’ve invaded my space. That’s when Kai’s gaze lands on something—a piece of paper lying delicately on top of my black sheets, almost too deliberately placed. He steps forward and picks it up.

His eyes scan the note quickly before handing it to me, his face hardening. I take the paper from him, my pulse quickening as I read the hastily scrawled message:

Ashes, Ashes, Ashen Grove University will all fall down.

An upside-down cross marks the end of the note.

“What the fuck is that?” Kai asks, then runs and throws his head out of the doorway and yells “Day. Si. NOW!”

I sit on the edge of my bed, the note dangling loosely between my fingers. My mind races, the absurdity of the message battling, the growing unease settling deep in my chest. Within moments, Silas and Dayton rush into my room, their faces a mix of confusion and annoyance.

“If this is some attempt to get me to see my brother’s asshole—” Dayton starts, but he stops mid-sentence when he notices the look on my face. His playful grin fades instantly. “What the fuck is this?” he asks, his tone now serious.

Silas strides forward, snatching the note from my hand. His eyes flick over the words, and a scoff escapes his lips. “Ashes, ashes? You will all fall down? What kind of prank is this supposed to be?”

Kai, who’s now standing with his arms crossed, chuckles bitterly. “Maybe it’s some stupid pledge prank from another frat. Could be some hazing ritual.”

But Dayton doesn’t laugh. His expression hardens as he looks at the upside-down cross on the note. “This isn’t a pledge prank,” he says quietly. “This is something else.”

Silas narrows his eyes at Dayton, suspicion creeping into his voice. “What do you mean, something else?”

Dayton glances at me, then back at Silas, before deciding to break his silence. “There’s a rumor, okay? About Toby’s death.”

“It was ruled an accidental death. Dude was so hopped up on uppers. He had a heart attack,” Silas says.

Kai butts in, “No, dude. He’s been sober since last spring.”

“The coroner ruled it a homicide.” Dayton’s words tumble out faster than he can think. “I cornered Darcy Hilton, and she told me. His parents covered it up for media purposes.”

“Was it Tessa?” I ask. Apparently she gives such a good head it’s worth dying over.

Dayton shakes his head. “No. He was injected with a shit ton of ketamine. Probably minutes before Tessa, the succubus, dragged him into the woods.”

Silas snorts. “You can’t be serious.”

But Dayton doesn’t waver. “I’m serious. His parents covered it up to keep the media away. And that symbol,” he points to the upside-down cross on the note, “was drawn on our mailbox the night he died.”

“It’s a threat,” I murmur.

Dayton nods grimly, his eyes darkening. “It’s more than that. It’s war. Someone’s targeting us. The elites.”

Silas leans back against the wall. “A war on the elites? What the fuck for? We didn’t do anything.”

“That’s exactly the point,” Dayton mutters. “We didn’t do anything, and that’s why they hate us. Whoever this is... they’ve been watching us. Toby was just the first.”