RULE ONE: Don't Trust Anyone.
They say Avard High is a school—but that's a lie. A first lie. It was a deranged Reform school for troubled kids. Like her.
It looks like one. Tall buildings with pale walls, black-tinted windows, and these crisp school banners that say things like Academic Excellence and Behavioral Growth like anyone actually believes it. But step inside and it feels wrong. Too quiet. Too clean. Like someone pressed mute on a crime scene.
The air smells like industrial bleach and stale floor polish, with this faint sourness that never goes away. The kind of place where janitors work overtime, not to keep things tidy—but to erase evidence.
No students roam the halls. No sounds of lockers slamming or teachers yelling late passes. Just your own footsteps echoing behind you and the low hum of fluorescent lights that flicker a little too much, like the school's constantly glitching.
There are cameras in every corner. Black little eyes that blink red sometimes. Watching. Recording. Not for safety—for control.
My old school back in Philly had noise. Drama. Actual life. Here? This place feels like it's holding its breath. Like it's waiting for something ugly to happen.
They call it a reform school for troubled teens, but I know what this is.
Avard is a system.
A cage wrapped in shiny rules.
And whatever's really going on here—I'm in it now.
---
I barely had time to process anything before a stiff-looking secretary with a clipboard motioned toward a wooden door and said, without even glancing at me, "Principal Sullivan will see you now."
Great. Time to meet the man who announced my brother's death like it was just another memo on his desk. Hippey!
The second I stepped into Principal Sullivan's office, it smelled like peppermint breath mints, cheap paper, and something oddly like burnt coffee. The whole place had that forced, official kind of cleanliness—dust barely hidden behind framed photos and a potted plant that looked like it gave up years ago.
Principal Sullivan didn't even look up when I walked in. Just scribbled something on a piece of standard, creased paper like I wasn't worth a glance. His fingers moved in quick, lazy strokes across the page, then he finally slid it across his desk with a forced smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"That letter contains your room number, your class schedule, and a map of the campus," he said, adjusting his glasses. "All you need to know about Avard High is right in there."
I stared at the folded sheet like it was a warning note. "Just in here?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. This couldn't be it. No orientation, no welcome speech? Just a piece of paper and a weird smile?
"Yes, Miss Jones," he replied smoothly, "and I expect you to be on your best behavior. I've seen your court file—burning down your former school's cafeteria, is that right?" He tilted his head slightly, like I was an interesting case study. "Let's make sure there's no repeat of that… unfortunate incident."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from scoffing. "No promises," I said flatly. "Isn't that what I'm here for?"
His jaw twitched, and I knew I'd poked the bear.
"Pick up your uniform and map from the secretary," he said coldly. "And… be safe."
Sure. I'll try not to set this place on fire—yet.
As I stepped out of his office, I held my breath passing the secretary's desk. The woman sitting there looked like she chewed lemon peels for fun. Short, round, and wearing the kind of glasses that made her eyes look cartoonishly small. She passed me the black-and-white uniform like it was covered in disease, then slid over a laminated map with one disgusted glance.
I didn't even say thank you. Just walked off.
The halls of Avard High were quiet. Too quiet. For a Monday morning, it felt… off. No lockers slamming. No students rushing late to class. No chatter. It was like walking into a school built inside a vacuum. The kind of silence that presses against your skin and makes your steps sound way too loud.
The buildings were surprisingly clean and tall, with cream-colored walls and black-tinted windows that gave it this weird mix of prison and prep school. But something about the way the lights flickered and how long the hallways stretched made the whole place feel hollow—like it had secrets tucked behind every door.
Dragging my luggage across the tiled floor, I followed the signs on the map until I finally reached Willow Hall—girls' dormitory. The air smelled like old mop water and synthetic vanilla deodorizer. I climbed the creaky stairs, passed door after door, until I landed in front of Room 35.
I let out a breath and opened the door.
The hinges groaned like something out of a horror movie, and the room inside was dimly lit by a single yellow bulb. The walls were painted a weird shade of brown that made the space feel smaller than it already was. Two twin beds, two desks, and zero warmth.
One bed was already taken.
A girl sat cross-legged on the far mattress, completely absorbed in her phone, the glow of the screen lighting up her face. She didn't notice me until I cleared my throat.
Her eyes flicked up.
"Who are you?" she asked, head tilting slightly.
We both looked each other over. She was brown-skinned with waist-length locs woven with little golden beads that clinked softly when she moved. Her eyebrows were arched perfectly, and she had this bored-but-pretty aesthetic—like she didn't care what you thought but would still post a selfie anyway.
"Camille," I said, dropping my bag onto the empty bed with a thud. "Your new roommate."
Her eyes narrowed. "Roommate? Since when?" She stood and walked over like she didn't quite believe me. "I haven't had a roomie in forever."
"Well, you do now," I muttered, flipping open my duffel. "Better get used to it."
There was a beat of silence, then she laughed softly. "Alright. This pretty face's name is Penelope. But everyone calls me Penn."
I glanced at her outfit—layered jewelry, a vintage tee, ripped jeans, combat boots. She looked like someone who lived in a Tumblr moodboard.
She plopped herself down casually on my bed and watched as I unpacked. "So what's your story, new girl? What got you sentenced to this hellhole?"
"Nothing worth talking about."
"C'mon," she grinned. "Nobody ends up in Avard for nothing. You punch someone? Steal a car? Or... ooh—please tell me you tried to poison a teacher."
I sighed. "I may or may not have burned down my school's cafeteria. By mistake."
She gasped, then broke into full-blown laughter, leaning back. "Oh, you're fun. I did a few pills and maybe made out with a judge's niece. Boom—here I am."
I raised a brow. "That doesn't seem fair."
"Nothing in Avard is," Penn said, suddenly more serious. She twirled a loc around her finger. "You'll see soon enough."
I sat down slowly. "What's it really like?"
She looked at me for a long second before answering.
"Avard…" she said carefully, "is like a fun prison. The fun part depends on who you are. And there are rules here. Not school rules. Our rules. The kind you learn fast or you don't survive."
My eyes followed her gaze—she was staring at my bare neck.
"What?" I asked.
"You don't have a chain," she said.
I blinked. "What chain?"
She held up her wrist, showing off a thin gold bracelet with a number etched into the charm: #20.
"Every real student here has one," she said. "It's… a ranking system. You get a number, you gain protection. No number? You're a nobody. That makes you a target."
"Target?"
"Bullies here don't play. And neither do the numbers. The top ranks? They're like gods in this place. Untouchable. Principal has zero say in it."
I stared at her chain, heart picking up. "So… how do I get one?"
She smiled slowly and stood, placing a hand on my shoulder. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"You either fight for it, earn it… or kill for it."
My stomach dropped."Kill?"
She nodded, eyes dark. "Yeah. I mean, not always. But if the other options fail… it's been done before. Some people disappear and never come back."
Then she just walked back to her bed like she hadn't just said something completely insane.
My throat felt dry. Was this what Cirrius got caught up in? Fights? Chains? Death? How deep had he gotten before he… before someone took him out?
I looked at Penn, now lounging with her phone like none of this was a big deal.
Maybe it wasn't—to her.
But to me?
This was the beginning of something dangerous.
And I had just stepped straight into it.