Chapter 2
Shelves of Blackthorn Academy’s library stretched up toward the vaulted ceiling, holding thousands of books that promised knowledge—and an escape. For Andrea, it was a welcome refuge from the chaos of her first week. She ran her fingers along the spines of old volumes, their leather bindings soft and worn, before settling on a heavy textbook.
She adjusted her grip on the book, its weight comforting in her hands, and turned toward the reading tables. That’s when it happened—she collided with someone solid, sending both her book and theirs tumbling to the ground.
“I’m so sorry!” Andrea blurted, crouching down immediately to gather the fallen books.
“No, it’s entirely my fault,” a soft voice replied. “I was lost in thought.”
Andrea glanced up and met the warm brown eyes of a tall boy with a calm, almost melancholic presence. He knelt to help her, his movements slow and deliberate. His dark hair fell slightly into his eyes, and his white shirt was neatly pressed and the red tie was slightly crooked, giving him an endearingly disheveled appearance that contrasted sharply with his family’s notorious reputation.
She froze. Even without the whispers that immediately began circling them, she knew who he was. Andrea blinked, her hands faltering over the stack of books.
Gabriel Sinclair.
One of the infamous Sinclair brothers. She’d heard of them even before arriving at Blackthorn—heirs to an empire steeped in mystery, money and, if rumors were true, danger.
“You’re Andrea Riley, right?” he said, surprising her. “The scholarship student from this morning’s… incident.”
Well, news traveled extremely fast at The Blackthorn Academy.
“Yeah, it’s me. And you’re Gabriel Sinclair,” she replied, noting how nearby students had stopped pretending to read, their attention fixed on their interaction.
He hesitated, as though he wanted to say more, but instead just nodded and continued to help her up. His touch was gentle, at odds with the whispers she’d caught about the Sinclair empire’s darker dealings.
Andrea watched him as the whispers grew louder. Students leaned into each other, their voices filled with awe and unease.
“Did you see that? He didn’t even glare at her.”
“She’s lucky. Gabriel never talks to anyone unless he has to.”
Gabriel held out one of her books, his expression soft and unreadable. “Here,” he said simply.
“Thanks,” Andrea managed, taking it from him.
Before she could say more, a commotion erupted from the courtyard below. They moved to the window just in time to see another scholarship student sprawled on the ground, surrounded by three red-tied boys.
“Say it louder,” the red-tied bully demanded, his voice dripping with cruelty. “You’re sorry? For what? Existing?”
As Andrea watched in horror, a figure in a leather jacket over his uniform burst into the circle. He moved like a force of nature, fists connected with surgical precision, dropping two of the bullies before they could react. The third tried to run, but Aiden caught him by his red tie, yanking him back.
“Touch him again,” he said, loud enough to carry through the open window, “I dare you.”
The red-tied bully turned, his bravado faltering. “Aiden, it’s not what it—”
But he didn’t wait for an explanation. He grabbed the boy by his collar and shoved him backward.
“Pick on someone your own size,” he growled. “Or better yet, don’t pick on anyone at all.”
The scholarship student scrambled away, his whispered thanks barely audible over the buzz of the courtyard. Aiden Sinclair didn’t even glance at him. His jaw clenched, his fists still curled tightly at his sides, and he turned sharply, stalking off through the crowd. It wasn’t just his height or his loose crimson tie that commanded attention—it was the storm rolling off him, an untamed energy that seemed to ripple through the air.
The courtyard parted for him like the Red Sea, students stepping back instinctively to avoid his path. The tension he left in his wake was thick, oppressive, and unmistakable.
Andrea exhaled slowly, her heart still pounding from the raw violence she’d just witnessed. “He’s going to be expelled for that,” she murmured.
Gabriel Sinclair appeared at her side, quiet and steady, though there was a tightness to his voice when he replied.
“No one expels Sinclairs.” His tone carried a trace of something Andrea couldn’t quite place—bitterness, perhaps, or resignation. “Come on,” he said after a moment, gesturing toward the building. “You should get to lunch. The library isn’t always as peaceful as it seems.”
The cafeteria was a whirlwind of sound and motion, a cacophony of chatter, clinking cutlery, and laughter. But underneath the noise lay a rigid structure, the unspoken but undeniable rules of Blackthorn Academy. Andrea’s gaze swept the room, noticing once again the stark division of red and white ties. The red-tied elites dominated the best tables near the windows, their voices loud and carefree. The scholarship students, marked by their white ties, clustered on the fringes, their conversations quieter, their smiles more subdued.
Andrea had just settled into a seat at one of the far tables when she felt it: something cold and wet splashing down her back.
The icy shock made her gasp, her body jerking involuntarily as the liquid soaked through her shirt. She turned sharply to see Victoria Sterling standing behind her, holding an empty cup, her expression the picture of mock concern.
“Oh dear,” Victoria said, her lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oops. I guess iced coffee is harder to manage than I thought.”
Andrea felt her hands clench under the table, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her composure.
“You really should be more careful, Riley,” Victoria continued, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of nearby tables. “Wouldn’t want people thinking you can’t handle a little… pressure.”
“Here.” A crisp, expensive-looking handkerchief appeared in front of her, held by a hand that was long-fingered and elegant. Andrea looked closer to the pristinely folded handkerchief, monogrammed with the Sinclair crest.
He didn’t say anything else. His dark, calculating eyes flicked briefly over Andrea, then settled on Victoria. His expression betrayed no emotion, but the weight of his stare was enough to make Victoria’s smirk falter.
“Damien,” she said, her tone suddenly cautious. “I didn’t—”
“Do be more careful with your beverages, Sterling. Accidents have a way of… returning themselves threefold.”
Victoria’s face went white. She retreated without another word, leaving Andrea holding the impossibly soft handkerchief. Damien had already moved on, his rigid posture and precise movements marking him as clearly as his red tie.
“Don’t mind my brother’s intensity,” a playful voice said behind her. “Damien was born with a silver stick up his… well, you get the idea.”
Andrea blinked at him, caught off guard by his breezy tone.
“You look lost, beautiful,” Liam Sinclair said, his grin widening. “Need help finding your next class?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Andrea replied, but Liam was already plucking her schedule from her hand.
“Advanced Literature with Matthews? Perfect, I’m headed that way myself.” His smile could have lit up the dark side of the moon. “Though I should warn you, the route is treacherous. Dragons, quicksand, the occasional troll… you’ll definitely need an experienced guide.”
Andrea found herself laughing despite her resolve to keep her distance from the Sinclairs. Liam’s flirtation was like sunlight after rain, warm and surprisingly welcome.
But as he led her through Blackthorn’s labyrinthine halls, she felt it – a gaze heavy as lead. At the end of a cross corridor stood the eldest Sinclair brother. Nathaniel watched their progress with eyes like black ice, his expression unreadable. Unlike his brothers’ brief encounters, his silent observation felt deliberate, assessing. A spider watching a fly enter its web.
Liam’s cheerful chatter carried them past, but Andrea’s skin prickled until they turned the corner. She arrived at her literature class unsettled, her mind spinning with the day’s encounters.
The empty card deck box sitting on the teacher’s desk almost escaped her notice. A simple thing, worn at the edges, unremarkable except for the way Sophie’s face drained of color when she saw it.
“Sophie? What’s wrong?”
Her roommate grabbed her arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
“It’s starting,” Sophie whispered, her voice shaking. “God help us all.”
“What’s starting? Sophie?”
But Sophie just shook her head, her eyes fixed on the empty box as if it were a lit stick of dynamite. Around them, other students were noticing it too. The atmosphere in the classroom shifted, tension crackling like static before a storm.
The bell rang, sharp and final as a closing trap.
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