Page 15

FOURTEEN

FREYA

I realized my mistake a little too late. I had not just one but three classes with Professor Lucius Lockwood. And I wanted to die.

That man already hated me enough. I might as well start packing now. Hell, I hadn’t even unpacked. I hadn’t even seen my dorm.

Fuck. My. Life.

And fuck you, Lucius Lockwood.

I moved toward the square where the old ash tree stood, waiting for Stella and Blue to meet me so we could head to the Great Hall together. But they were nowhere to be seen.

The crowd around me was alive; new faces, laughter, the taps of hurried footsteps, the glow of phone screens. Yet I felt frozen in place. Trapped. Invisible.

A vibration in my blazer pocket snapped me out of my thoughts. I pulled out my phone, and it was UNKNOWN NUMBER.

My stomach clenched.

Not now.

I hesitated before opening the message.

“Far from home, Little Star?”

A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. My fingers trembled as I shut off the screen and shoved the phone back into my pocket.

It buzzed again.

I swallowed hard. My stalker was back.

I forced myself to look at the screen.

“Don’t you get it? You can run, you can hide, but I will always find you.”

Another message popped up before I could even process the first.

“Scared?”

I clenched my jaw, my heart hammering against my ribs as I typed back.

“Leave me alone.”

A response came instantly.

“See you tonight, Little Star.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Maybe he didn’t know where I was. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Maybe he was just pissed that I left.

“Good luck finding me.”

I hit send and powered off my phone, stuffing it back into my pocket.

But he was still there. Haunting me. His shadow lurked in the corners of my mind, slipping into my thoughts, my dreams. No matter how far I ran, I couldn’t shake him. And worst of all, I was terrified that one day I’d give in. That he’d win.

The moment Stella and Blue approached the tree, I knew something was going to be wrong. Stella looked pale—like she’d seen a ghost. Meanwhile, Blue was practically bouncing with excitement about the Great Hall.

“You okay?” I asked Stella, eyeing her closely.

She waved me off. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll talk later.”

We walked in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts, our own demons. We carried them so well, hid them even better.

The Great Hall stretched ahead, its long ceilings and majestic walls lit by golden chandeliers hanging from exposed wooden beams. Rows of long tables stretched across the room, their polished surfaces shimmering under the soft candlelight.

At the far end, four center tables stood beneath massive, flowing banners—each bearing the crest of a different house. In front of them, on the top of the tables, stood transparent boxes with gold edges; their presence attracted attention.

Heavy air washed over me as I stepped inside.

And somehow I knew — this night was only the beginning.

Not a single table was free, but when we saw Ava and Oscar sitting alone at one, Stella didn’t hesitate - she headed straight for them, practically dragging us along. Without waiting for the call, she pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing her legs as if she was meant to be there.

Ava stared at her, her expression twisted in disbelief.

“What the fuck?” She shot Stella an incredulous look. “This was our table.”

Stella shrugged. “I don’t see your name on it.”

Ava narrowed her eyes. “Fine,” she said coolly, but there was an edge to her voice. “You’ll regret it.”

Blue and I stayed quiet.

Before anything else could escalate, the lights dimmed, and the room fell into silence. The professors entered from the other end of the hall, their dark silhouettes breaking through the flickering glow of the chandeliers. And among them—Lucius Lockwood.

I felt my stomach drop.

“That’s the Dean of Blackthorn, my uncle,” Stella whispered as a tall man stepped up to the golden lectern at the front of the hall.

He unfolded a piece of paper and began to speak. His deep voice carried through the room, carried around.

“Dear students, welcome to Blackthorn Academy of Verity and Vision —your new home.”

Silence settled over us as he continued.

“Now that you have chosen your classes, we have chosen a house for you, as well as a dorm that you will share with your fellow students and friends.”

“This year, five of you have been awarded a golden ticket to Blackthorn. I hope you will not disappoint us. Once where you sit now, your fathers sat, their fathers before them. They built this academy from stone and hard work, shaping it into what it is today. Blackthorn.”

Professor Aracelis stepped forward. “Please, everyone stand.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as students rose, including us.

“Form a line,” she instructed, “and when it is your turn, you will receive an envelope containing your house assignment, your house head, and your dorm number.”

The room broke into movement, students jostling and shoving to be first in line. So she raised her voice, trying to tame the chaos.

“Once you receive your envelope, you will place your signed class papers into the transparent box behind us.”

Dean of Blackthorn stepped up again. “Tomorrow morning, you will have the opportunity to explore Blackthorn and the surrounding Highlands. By the end of the day, your class schedules will be posted.”

The crowd rushed forward. Stella, Blue, and I stayed behind, letting the chaos unfold before us. Unsurprisingly, Ava was the last to move - watching with a not-so-distant gaze as the others struggled to make their way forward.

Classy.

I turned to Blue. “I hope I get Corvus House,” I muttered. “It’s the only house with animals I actually like.”

She grinned. “I’m hoping for Arachnis. I like spiders.”

I shuddered. “Ugh.” Stella chuckled behind me.

The line inched forward, endless.

Finally, it was Blue’s turn. She was greeted by a tall man with shoulder-length dirty blond hair pulled back into a loose tie. His smile was light, almost charming, as he handed her an emerald green envelope.

“Welcome to the House of Serpents.”

Blue accepted it, stepping aside to drop her signed papers into the transparent box.

Then it was my turn.

And because the universe clearly hated me, standing in front of me was none other than Professor Lockwood.

His jaw tightened the second he saw me. His dark brows furrowed together, his lips pressing into a firm, displeased line.

“Miss Sinclaire,” he said, his raspy voice barely above a growl. “Welcome to the House of Scorpion.”

He held out a black envelope. But when I reached for it, his grip didn’t loosen.

I tugged. He held on.

Our eyes locked.

His fingers tightened just enough to make me pull harder, forcing me to lean in slightly. The second I did, he let go, stepping back abruptly. I stumbled forward but caught myself before I could fall flat on my face.

I clenched my jaw, snatching the envelope.

I didn’t need to look at him to know he was smirking.

Asshole.

I hated this man.

Brushing past him without a second glance, I shoved my class papers into the transparent box and hurried toward Blue, who was waiting near the wall. My pulse was still hammering in my ears.

Behind me, Stella came over to receive her envelope. A tall, broad-shouldered guy with a shaved head handed it to her, his sharp eyes staring at her so intently that she blushed.

“Welcome to the House of Corvus,” he said with a deep, thick Russian accent.

Stella practically sprinted away, her hands cupping her cheeks, her eyes still lingering on him.

Meanwhile, Oscar stepped forward to accept his envelope from Luna, the head of House Arachnis. He nodded and moved to the other side of the room.

The last person was Ava.

Lucius Lockwood approached her, extending a black envelope, the same one I had received. House of Scorpion.

As she passed me on her way back, she rolled her eyes. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Like this day couldn’t get any worse.

Dean of Blackthorn stepped up to the golden lectern once more, his lips curling into a small smile.

“Now… let’s eat!” He let out a soft laugh before turning away, disappearing with the other professors.

By eight o’clock, the halls of Blackthorn already felt haunted. Or maybe I was.

The students followed their leaders toward the dormitories, the chatter of excited voices echoing through the halls. When we reached our assigned quarters, all that was left was to find our own room.

I pulled the envelope from my pocket and opened it. Dormitory 11. Along with the number, it contained the name of the person in charge of the house— Lucius Lockwood.

His name haunted me.

I rolled my suitcase behind me, making my way through the halls, scanning the room numbers. When I saw the number 11, I hurried in that direction, wondering who I would be sharing with.

The door creaked as I pushed it open.

Empty. I was the first to arrive.

The dormitory had a very small common area, surrounded by a low wooden coffee table. Beside it stood two sturdy but worn, elegant black leather armchairs. Two tall, rectangular stained-glass windows framed a bookcase that ran halfway up the wall in the far corner of the room. Stained glass windows cast muted red, blue, and gold stripes across the floor.

High above the bookshelf, a crimson banner was laid out proudly with a black scorpion stamped in the center, the flag of the House of Scorpio.

I turned, quietly closing the door behind me with a soft click.

Welcome home, I guess.

I left my suitcase by the door and wandered deeper inside.

The common room had two open wooden doors on opposite sides, leading into what I assumed were the bedrooms. I peeked into each one, quickly realizing they were identical, each with a single bed in the center flanked by nightstands.

I stepped into the room on the left first.

The bed was already made, covered in black silk sheets. Two neatly folded black towels lay at the foot of the bed, embroidered in gold letters that said Blackthorn. On the right side of the stone wall, a tall window looked out over a part of the lake and the distant mountains. To the left, a closet with mirrored doors reflected the dim light from the common area.

I didn’t even bother checking the other room. This one was mine.

As I turned back toward the door, I noticed another room just beside it. It was the bathroom.

The white marble tiles shimmered in the soft glow of the gold sconces that lined the walls, their Gothic design intricate and regal. At the far end, a spacious glass shower stood against the wall, its dark brass fittings gleaming.

I grabbed my suitcase, carried it into my chosen room, and closed the door behind me.

I was so ready to say goodbye to this day.

FREYA- 10 YEARS OLD

Mom and Grandma had another fight. This time, Grandma told Mom she never wanted to see her again.

I loved Grandma. I knew she loved me, too. But sometimes, I couldn’t help wondering—if she really did, why would she let me leave?

I had loved living with her. Loved her chamomile teas, the way she wrapped her white silk scarf around my neck when I was cold, and the books she handed me that held secret stories every time I visited. A part of me wished I could stay. But this time, she was different. She was angry—at Mom, at me, at the house itself. Everything seemed to bother her, yet she never said why.

If only adults talked to kids more, maybe we could help them heal. But I guess it was easier to push us away. Maybe that’s why I was pushed away, too.

Our new destination was London. Mom wanted to meet her friend Marco. She’d probably ask him if we could stay with him because she never worked. And this time, Grandma refused to help her with money.

It’s day three, and I hate it here. Really, really hate it.

Mom doesn’t believe me when I tell her Marco is creepy—that he comes into my room at night, pretending to check on me, but really just looking at what pajamas I’m wearing. I started locking my door so he couldn’t get in.

Mom and Marco don’t like that. But I can’t sleep knowing he could walk in whenever he wants.

So I lock the door.

And then I listen.

I hear him try the knob. I hear the click when he realizes it’s locked. Then he cursed under his breath. Then the voices—him and Mom.

It’s day three. Three nights of crying into my pillow. Three nights of curling up in the closet with my foxy fox plush teddy, the door cracked just enough so I could breathe.

Just in case he got in. Just in case he looked for me. Just in case.

PRESENT DAY

I couldn’t sleep. The cold wrapped around me, seeping into my bones. With every exhale, I watched my breath drift into the room. The moonlight stretched across my bed, its silver glow pooling on the silk sheets as if sensing I needed a little extra light tonight.

When I was younger, the dark used to terrify me. I was convinced something evil was always waiting, watching.

But then I met evil—face to face. And I learned that darkness has nothing to do with it. Evil doesn’t wait for nightfall. It strikes when it wants, when it decides. And it did. And I chose to forget.

To the world, I might seem like a shy girl. The one with freckles, clumsy hands, and a quiet voice, the one who flinches too easily, who blends into the background, the one that doesn’t exist. They don’t know I wasn’t always this way. I used to be different. So different.

But when you grow up alone, with no one to listen, no control over the chaos around you, you find another way to be heard.

I learned how to scream.

Adults look back on their past, whispering regrets, murmuring apologies. As if saying sorry changes anything. As if it can rewrite the things they did. It doesn’t. Apologies only press the weight of expectation onto me—like I have to accept it, like that’s the only choice I have.

I stood up, my bare feet pressing against the wooden floor, and walked over to the suitcase. Opening it, I knelt. Foxy Fox was lying on top, her fur matted from years of being held too tightly. I picked it up, turned it over, and reached into the hidden pocket at the back.

The razor blade glinted in the light.

Why am I doing this?

But then I remember—the way pain makes everything else disappear, how it drowns out the noise in my head. This, at least, is something I can control.

Slipping the razor from its plastic cover, I pressed it against my skin. A sharp inhale. A pause. Then a slow pull. My eyes shut as the sting burned, and I let out a silent scream.

My phone rang.

I ignored it.

It kept ringing.

Pain.

It pulled me under, dragged me deeper. Pain reminded me I was still here.

The ringing wouldn’t stop.

I lifted the blade, breath uneven, and stood. The razor rested between my fingers as I walked to the nightstand. The screen glowed, the words UNKNOWN NUMBER, flashing against the screen.

My stomach twisted.

And just like that, I shattered all over again.

I couldn’t answer. Not now.

But the call persisted. Over and over.

Losing control, I collapsed onto the bed, my voice breaking as I shouted at the screen, “Leave me alone!”

The call connected. Silence.

Then—breathing. Steady. Heavy.

Finally, his voice. “Why?” The word was sharp, demanding. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Can he see me?

My eyes darted around the small room, searching corners, shadows—anywhere he could be hiding. But then another thought took hold.

Maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe he wasn’t real.

Maybe he was just a voice, my own conscience clawing its way through the darkness. A desperate illusion of someone who might actually save me.

“Talk to me, Little Star,” he murmured, his voice shifting, deeper now.

I clenched my fists. “There’s nothing to say.” The razor slipped from my hand, landing soundlessly on the sheets.

“Talk. To. Me,” he demanded.

I said nothing, but his breathing grew louder on the line, filling the silence between us.

“I do this thing...” My voice cracked. A tear slid down my cheek. “When I have no control.”

A beat of silence. Then—“What do you mean?”

“I...” My throat closed. I swallowed hard. “I...”

“Tell me.” His voice sharpened, edged with frustration.

I gasped for air, my hands shaking as I wiped away the flood of tears. “I can’t talk right now.”

I ended the call.

The phone rang again.

He could see me. Somehow, he knew. He knew where I was. What I was doing.

And I couldn’t escape.

I was losing again.

Curling up, I buried my face in the pillow and screamed.

He knows.

And now, this secret belonged to him too.

Even now, with someone to talk to, I had nothing left to say.

Because sometimes, a scream is the only thing louder than words.