*DING–DING!*

The sharp chime of the second lunch bell echoed through the air like a ripple of cold steel, slicing through the enchanted calm of the mini forest. The birds fluttered away with startled flaps, and leaves trembled overhead.

Angel jolted upright.

Her breath caught in her throat, eyes wide and unfocused as her heart thudded loudly in her chest. For a split second, she didn’t know where she was, her mind blank with the disorientation of waking from a sleep far too deep.

Then it came back.

The tree. The canopy. The quiet.

The sanctuary.

She groaned softly, scrubbing both hands over her face. Her skin felt damp with leftover dreams, but the fog in her head had cleared, just slightly. Enough to breathe. Enough to think. The grief was still there, folded like a heavy note tucked deep in her ribs, but it wasn’t strangling her now.

She exhaled.

And that’s when she noticed it.

Something heavy.

Draped over her shoulders.

Angel blinked, then looked down slowly.

A jacket.

Dark. Thick. Slightly too big for her small frame. Its sleeves sagged, the fabric bunched warmly around her elbows. She hadn’t worn this before, she would have remembered. It smelled faintly of pine needles and woodsmoke, with an undercurrent of something wilder. Earth. Wind. Fur. A scent that felt more like instinct than memory.

Her brow furrowed. She sat straighter, clutching the lapel of the jacket between her fingers.

“What the...?” she muttered. “Who...?”

Her gaze darted around the forest, scanning the shadows between trees, the space beneath the branches.

But she was alone.

Still.

The wind rustled leaves gently, but no one came out of the woods. No footsteps. No voices. Just the quiet again.

Angel folded the jacket awkwardly and clutched it to her chest as she got to her feet. Her legs ached slightly from the position she’d slept in, and she dusted dried leaves from her cloak, brushing off moss and twigs. Her fingers trembled faintly, though she wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or the chill.

Who had found her? And why would they leave a jacket?

She shook her head.

“I’ll figure it out later,” she told herself, trying to dismiss the unease curling in her stomach. “Probably just someone who didn’t want me freezing to death. Still... weird.”

With one last glance at the forest, still unmoving. Angel turned and made her way back toward the Academy.

---

As she crossed through the eastern courtyard and rejoined the student pathways, the world returned to its usual chaos. Voices floated in the air, laughter rang through the halls, magical sparks flew from wands and fingertips as groups of supernatural teens showed off or sparred.

But no one looked at her.

Not twice.

Not even once.

She passed through them like a shadow, not invisible, not forgotten, but unremarkable. Blended.

Even the werewolf from before, him, with the golden eyes and tousled ash-brown hair, walked just ahead of her now, flanked by two others from his pack. They were deep in conversation, snorting and jostling each other like brothers in a game.

He didn’t glance back.

Didn’t sniff the air.

Didn’t so much as flinch.

The spell was working.

Completely.

She was just another witch now.

Angel clutched the stranger’s jacket tighter and said nothing.

---

By the time she reached the dining hall, the building was alive with the midday bustle of magic. Floating trays soared above heads, tables groaned under platters that refilled themselves with enchanted food, and students of every species, bloodline, and magic type filled the room with the sound of life.

No one noticed the quiet girl who slipped into the back of the room with tired eyes and a borrowed scent on her skin.

The dining hall of Arcanis Academy was alive with chaos and clamor.

Floating platters zipped through the air like eager spirits, dishing out steaming plates of food that ranged from the intriguing to the outright disturbing. A long table of upperclassmen cheered as a roasted phoenix marrow dish crackled with golden flames. Just beside them, a group of bloodline vampires clinked black crystal goblets filled with thick, pulsing red, blood pudding that moved like it was still alive.

Angel did her best not to gag.

'Yeah. No thanks', she thought dryly. 'I’d rather not develop a taste for something that twitches.'

She skirted the edge of the bustling room, eyes down, avoiding eye contact. Her presence barely registered in the magical fray. Perfect.

Her steps led her to a quiet corner tucked beneath one of the hovering lantern clusters, where the shadows fell a little heavier and the noise softened into background blur. She slid into a bench seat, her back to the wall, her face half-obscured by flickering lantern light.

Safe.

Unseen.

She set the borrowed jacket beside her, folded neatly. Then she opened her lunch box.

A sandwich. Some cut fruit. A simple flask of water.

Plain. Human. Unremarkable.

Angel took a bite.

It wasn’t gourmet. It wasn’t conjured or imbued or harvested under a blood moon. But it tasted like home. Like something no enchantment could replicate, familiar, grounded, warm. A tether.

She chewed slowly, watching the rest of the room through lowered lashes.

Witches stirred cauldrons of levitating soup above their tables with lazy wand flicks. Vampires tilted back their glasses, some licking the rims with faintly glowing tongues. Werewolves, always in packs, devoured slabs of meat with sharp grins and louder laughs, some already halfway to feral despite the daylight.

And there she was.

With her plastic lunch box.

Alone.

The sting of isolation pressed gently on her ribs, not sharp, just… there. Quiet. A dull reminder of the truth she’d buried beneath layers of charm spells and disguise runes.

She wasn’t one of them.

Not truly.

But at least for now, no one was sniffing her out. No one was staring like she didn’t belong. The illusion was holding. Her scent masked. Her aura cloaked.

And the jacket?

Still beside her.

She glanced at it again, her brows furrowing faintly. Her fingers hovered over the collar, brushing the worn material thoughtfully.

'Why would a someone leave this? Did they know? Did they see through me? Or… did they just think I was some stray witch unraveling under pressure?'

Before the thought could settle, a shadow passed behind her.

Angel froze.

Lioren.

He moved with that unbothered, graceful confidence unique to fae royalty, his silver-sparkly hair catching the light like moonlit frost. A tray floated beside him, laden with translucent fruit, glowing nectar, and something that might’ve been spun starlight.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t speak.

But his eyes flicked once, deliberately, to the jacket beside her.

Then to her.

Their gazes met for just a second.

And then, the corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. Not quite. A knowing smirk. A quiet acknowledgment.

Like he’d seen something.

Filed it away.

And decided not to say a word.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he walked on, disappearing into the gleaming chaos of the fae-dominated tables.

Angel exhaled, slow and shaky.

She picked up another bite of sandwich. But it no longer tasted like home.

—To be Continued—