I didn't sleep that night.
The mark on my skin hummed like it had its own pulse—soft, steady, maddening. I kept rubbing at it, like I could erase Lucien's touch, but it was no use.
Whatever he did… it stuck.
By morning, my uniform hung perfectly pressed on a hook near my bed. Navy. Silver trim. The insignia of Arcanis burned into the collar.
The moment I stepped into the hall, eyes turned.
Some were curious.
Others? Not so much.
No one said it, but I wasn't like them. They could feel it. I could feel it.
At breakfast, I barely touched my food. The dining hall was grand, but cold—like a ballroom pretending to be friendly. Floating candelabras lit the space, casting golden light on long tables lined with students I didn't know and didn't want to.
Lucien sat at the far table, surrounded by a tight circle. People clung to him—laughing, leaning close—but he didn't look at any of them.
He looked at me.
Just once.
Then he looked away.
"Don't stare too long," a voice whispered beside me.
I turned.
A girl—dark curls, ink-stained fingers, eyes too old for her age—slid into the seat next to mine. "He'll start to think you care."
"I don't," I said.
She smirked. "Sure."
"Who are you?"
"Nyra. Class B. House of Veil. I read fast, lie well, and don't trust anyone before breakfast." She offered her hand. I didn't shake it.
"Smart," she said, not offended. "You're marked, right? His?"
I hesitated. "I don't know."
"Well, you better figure it out. Because Headmistress Hale doesn't like loose ends. And an unclaimed power source walking around her school?" Nyra leaned in. "That's a threat."
Before I could respond, the bell rang.
Not with sound, but with a ripple through the air—like magic folding in on itself.
"Time for class," Nyra said. "Try not to die."
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