The Golden Hall gleamed for days.
Students gave it wide berth, skirting the edges as though the walls themselves might reach out and claim them. Some swore they heard faint snaps echoing when the torches guttered. Others whispered the books whispered back.
"No one should even look at it too long," Eugene muttered at lunch, hands fluttering nervously near his bee pin. "It's cursed. My uncle said cursed gold sticks to your blood."
Ajax shuddered. "Yeah, and it's his gold. That's worse." One of his snakes hissed, and he swatted it gently. "Shh, I didn't mean it like that."
Enid rolled her eyes, stabbing her fork into neon macaroni. "He's not cursed. He's—" She hesitated, her chest tightening. "He's Justin."
The table went quiet at that. Everyone knew his name now. Everyone whispered it like it was a spell.
Even Bianca was silent these days. She hadn't been seen in the quad since it happened, her pride bleeding behind locked doors.
But Thornhill… Thornhill lingered. She smiled too brightly in class, her voice a little too careful. She handed Justin shears in Botany with hands that shook almost imperceptibly. She couldn't stop staring when he turned away.
Her obsession had teeth now.
—
Justin was summoned to Principal Weems' office the following afternoon.
The room smelled of polished wood and lilacs, her tall frame framed against the arched window. She didn't ask him to sit.
"You caused quite a scene," she said crisply. "The entire corridor—walls, beams, furniture, even books—turned into cursed gold. Do you understand the liability that places on this school?"
Justin adjusted his glasses, gaze steady. "No one was harmed."
"No one was harmed this time," Weems snapped, her calm veneer cracking. "That gold is dangerous. Students might—"
"Might steal it?" His voice cut like a blade, low and merciless. "Then they deserve what happens."
Her lips thinned. "This isn't your personal kingdom, Mr. Nightwalker. This is Nevermore. My school."
Justin's abyssal eyes flickered faint fire. He stepped closer, voice quiet but sharp enough to cut glass. "Stop with the theatrics, Weems. What do you really want from me?"
Weems blinked, thrown off balance.
Justin tilted his head, smirking faintly. "Funding. That's what this is about. You've been chasing it since you took over—new programs, renovations, endowments. You want money to keep your crown shiny."
Her jaw tightened.
"Well," Justin said, straightening his tie. "Congratulations. You've just been sponsored."
Weems stiffened. "What?"
"I give every golden object in that hall that isn't part of the stone itself to Nevermore Academy." His voice was calm, final, like he was closing a contract. "Sell it. Melt it. Fund your precious programs. Call it a donation."
Weems stared at him, speechless. She knew exactly what that meant. An astronomical sum. More money than the school had seen in decades. Enough to bankroll Nevermore's survival for a generation.
Justin adjusted his glasses, abyssal eyes glinting faint white fire. "We're done here."
He turned, his footsteps echoing across the polished floor, leaving her frozen behind her desk.
For once, Principal Weems had no words.
—
By nightfall, the whispers had shifted.
Not only was Justin Nightwalker untouchable… he had just bought Nevermore Academy.
The Golden Hall had become more than a warning. It was a monument.
And its prince was no longer a student. He was a patron.