The note under my door had only three words, but they hit me like a punch: You don’t belong here.

Too bad. I wasn’t going anywhere. I muttered under my breath, “Not a chance.”

The dim light from the wrought-iron chandelier above cast twitching shadows across the room, making every corner seem closer, every wall pressing in. I hugged my arms to my chest, shivering as if the cold stone itself were judging me.

The bed against the left wall beckoned, narrow and rigid, its headboard carved with twisting vines and creatures that seemed alive in the candlelight. I pressed my palm against the dark crimson bedding, feeling its firmness beneath my fingers. Gold embroidery shimmered faintly, the Academy crest staring at me like a silent accusation. I whispered to myself, “I’m here now. Deal with it.”

My eyes drifted to the desk beneath the narrow window. The glass was uneven, warping the moonlight into wavering, unreal shapes. I leaned over it, resting my hands on the scratched surface, and exhaled slowly. “I have nowhere else to go,” I muttered, though my throat felt tight with unease. The lone candle flickered, dripping wax like frozen tears across the blank parchment.

The wardrobe loomed in the far corner. I pulled the door open with a soft creak, peering inside. Indigo robes folded neatly, polished boots resting below. I ran a hand across the smooth fabric, fingers brushing the leather.

I crouched on the fur-lined rug in the center, brushing my fingertips across its rough edges. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped me. “At least something’s warm.” The chill of the stone floor beneath my boots made me straighten quickly, pressing a hand to the wall for steadiness, shoulders stiff, chest tight.

This was home now. For however long I could survive. I drew in a shaky breath, letting my gaze sweep the room. “I’ll be okay here,” I told myself, voice barely audible, teeth clenched, jaw tight.

I moved toward the thin mirror nailed to the wardrobe, knees protesting, candlelight flickering across my reflection. I tilted my head, squinting at my own eyes, whispering, “Everything’s gonna be alright.” My hands hovered over the glass, fingertips brushing the surface. Josefina had always said I looked like my mother. She said it with such certainty, and with a sadness so deep it had never occurred to me to doubt her.

The same dark, wavy hair, with faint violet strands that caught the light when I moved. The same deep-set eyes, dark as night, yet flecked with violet that shimmered like distant stars when the light struck just right. The same sharp cheekbones. The same delicate bone structure.

But that was where the resemblance ended.

She had been taller. Stronger. Striking in a way that demanded attention. Josefina told me stories about her. My mother was a force of nature. Someone who did not need to speak to command a room.

I was none of those things.

I stood barely over five feet four, petite and unremarkable, with no commanding presence or overwhelming aura. No legendary power humming beneath my skin. Just me. A girl raised in isolation, sheltered and unprepared, now standing in a place where I did not belong, where I had no right to be.

My fingers tugged at the edges of my black hooded cloak before I let it slide from my shoulders. The fabric pooled onto the bed behind me in a soft heap. Beneath it, I wore the same practical clothing I had always known. A light gray linen tunic, long-sleeved and laced at the front with worn leather cord. A dark gray wool bodice cinched tightly at my waist, softened from years of use. My skirt was sturdy, split at the center for movement, made for movement rather than elegance. My boots were scuffed and slightly too big, once Josefina’s, chosen for survival rather than beauty.

I looked nothing like the other students.

I had seen them earlier in the halls. Immaculate uniforms tailored perfectly to their bodies. Deep indigo fabric threaded with silver embroidery that shimmered faintly with magic. Cloaks draped with purpose, crests and colors proudly displayed. Polished boots. Ornate belts. Even their posture spoke of confidence, backs straight, chins lifted, eyes unafraid.

I looked like a mistake that had wandered into a royal gathering.

A shadow among stars.

My chest tightened, and I turned away from the mirror before the thought could sink deeper. I did not trust what I might see if I kept staring.

As I moved toward the bed, seeking something solid beneath me, a memory slipped through my thoughts without warning.

Josefina’s voice. Soft. Tired.

“Your mother chose to have you, Meira. Even knowing the price. Even knowing what it would cost her.”

I had been so young then, curled into the tower’s narrow bed, staring up at her through flickering candlelight.

“But how did you know she would die?” I had asked once, my voice small and unsure.

She had gone still. Her hands had paused in my hair, her fingers trembling slightly.

“Because your father is a dangerous man.”

That was all she ever said.

When I begged for more, when I asked where he was, why my mother would love someone dangerous, Josefina had only shaken her head.

“I don’t know who he is,” she had said quietly. “Or what became of him. Maybe he left when things grew difficult. Maybe something worse happened.”

Those words had never left me. They had festered, unanswered, unresolved.

“Does our clan know I exist?” I had whispered once.

“No one knows except me.”

Her certainty had been absolute.

Another memory followed, her hands weaving my hair, her breath uneven. “Your mother lost her memories to protect you. The pregnancy was delicate. Dangerous. Their relationship was forbidden.”

Forbidden.

The word had lingered like a curse.

I pressed my palms together now, nails biting into my skin as I inhaled slowly through my nose. Everyone would know now. Liora Mauve had a daughter. The truth would no longer stay buried.

I was walking the same halls she had walked. Breathing the same air. Standing in the academy where she had become legendary.

Maybe this place held answers Josefina never could. Maybe it held the truth about my mother. About my father.

The thought sent a chill sliding down my spine. I shook my head sharply, forcing my focus back to the present. Survival first. Questions later.

One day here, and I had already made an enemy. Aria’s gray eyes had held nothing but hostility. A quiet threat woven into every look. And Cedric… I could not read him at all.

Tomorrow, I would have to be careful. Invisible. Because if I failed here, I had nowhere else to go.

I reached for the candle and pinched the flame out between my fingers. Darkness swallowed the room.

The bed was hard beneath me when I lay down, unfamiliar and unyielding. My body ached with exhaustion, fear, and grief tangled together.

Just as sleep began to claim me, I heard it.

A low howl carried through the stone walls, distant yet unmistakable. One long, mournful sound that did not feel natural.

My eyes flew open in the darkness. My heart slammed violently against my ribs.

Because deep down, I knew exactly who it was. Aria.