Ophelia Moore never knew magic was real until her shadow magic exploded out of her, shattering her life in one terrifying moment.
Now, she's been thrust into the mysterious and gothic Hallowgate Academy, where students master dangerous powers, and...
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Draven doesn't say a word as we leave the headmistress's office. He doesn't even glance at me, just strides ahead like I'm not even worth acknowledging. His boots, which I can only assume aren't school-approved, barely make a sound against the stone floors.
In contrast, I can hear every creak and groan of the old building around us, like the academy itself is waking up. Watching me.
Once we are outside, I trail a few steps behind, dragging my suitcase across the uneven stone, feeling awkward and out of place.
The silence between us feels thick, suffocating. Should I say something? Ask him about the school? The Hall?
"Blackthorn Hall, huh?" I try, my voice sounding more casual than I feel. "Sounds... friendly."
No response. He keeps walking, eyes fixed ahead, his face set in that hard, indifferent expression.
Cool. Fine. Maybe he didn't hear me.
"So... what's the deal with Hallowgate? I mean, I've heard the basics, but..." I press, hoping for any kind of answer.
Still nothing. Not even a twitch of acknowledgment. It's like talking to a damn statue.
Okay, so he's not just quiet—he's straight-up rude. I feel my frustration bubbling up. I get it. I'm new, I'm clueless, I'm a mess, but he could at least pretend to be civil.
"You're not big on small talk, are you?" I mutter under my breath, but loud enough that he can hear.
His steps slow, and for a split second, I think he's going to keep ignoring me. But then he stops. Turns. His eyes lock onto mine, and there's something in his gaze—something sharp, like a blade just waiting for an excuse to cut.
I involuntarily take a step back, putting even more distance between us.
"You really don't belong here, do you?" His voice is cold, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "It's almost... sad."
I blink, taken aback. "What?"
"You heard me," he says, taking a slow, deliberate step toward me. "You don't belong at Hallowgate. You most certainly do not belong in Blackthorn Hall."
My chest tightens. "I—"
"You're a joke," he cuts me off, eyes narrowing. "Everyone's already heard about you. Didn't get your affinity until eighteen. You think you're special because you've got shadow magic? Because you cracked a table in half once? Please. You can't even control your own power. You're dangerous to everyone around you."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I open my mouth to snap back, but nothing comes out. The heat in my chest spreads, and I feel something stirring under my skin.
The shadows.
I try to push them down, to keep them under control, but it's too late. They're already slipping through my fingers.
