**ELARA**
The Sterling Academy Ten-Year Life Map felt slick in my hands, its worn leather cover a familiar comfort against the biting salt spray. Most people bring a book to read on a long journey; I brought my future. Tucked inside the planner were color-coded timetables, financial projections, and a detailed flowchart leading to one ultimate goal: saving my family.
"Your attention, please. We will be docking at Sterling Island in approximately fifteen minutes," a crisp, disembodied voice announced over the ferry's intercom.
A collective murmur rippled through the other students scattered across the deck. They were a sea of pristine navy blazers and excited, anxious faces. For them, this was the start of an adventure. For me, it was the start of a mission.
My fingers traced the embossed Sterling crest on my planner. Four years here—scholarship, room, and board fully covered. Six years after—a guaranteed career at a top-tier corporation with a salary that could finally tear up the foreclosure notice sitting on our kitchen table. The notice was the reason I was here. That, and my father's invention.
He called it the Chrono-Filter, a device that could purify water with sound waves. It was supposed to be our miracle. He poured everything into it, and for a while, it seemed like it would work. Then the CEO of Aethel Corp, a man with a handshake like a velvet-lined vise, swooped in, promised a partnership, and stole the patent. Just like that, our future was gone, replaced by a mountain of debt.
Sterling Academy was my only way to climb back up. The rules were extreme—no internet, no phones, one censored letter home per month—but I would follow every single one. I would be their perfect student, because failure wasn't an option.
The fog began to part, and the island appeared, rising from the mist like something out of a myth. Jagged gray cliffs gave way to impossibly green forests of pine, and nestled in the center were the academy buildings, gleaming white and perfect under the morning sun. It looked less like a school and more like a sanctuary. As the ferry drew closer, the details sharpened into an unnerving perfection. The lawns weren't just cut; they were manicured as if a god had trimmed the grass with scissors. The pathways were swept clean of any stray leaf or pebble.
It was beautiful, but it was the sterile, untouched beauty of a photograph, not a place where people actually lived.
I clutched my planner tighter.
We were herded off the ferry and onto a stone dock where a handful of staff members in identical grey uniforms waited. They directed us into orderly lines with silent, efficient gestures. One woman, tall and severe with her hair pulled into a tight bun, moved down the line, checking our ID cards.
She stopped in front of the boy just ahead of me. I had noticed him on the boat. While the rest of us wore the academy-issued blazers, he wore an old, cracked leather jacket over his. His dark, messy hair fell over his forehead, and his boots were scuffed at the toes. He was an ink stain on a pristine white page.
"ID card," the woman said, her voice brittle.
The boy shoved a hand into his pocket and slowly pulled out his card. Instead of handing it to her, he seemed to fumble, and the plastic card clattered onto the pristine stone dock. He didn't bend to pick it up.
"Apologies," he said in a low drawl, his voice laced with an amusement that made my skin prickle. "Lost in thought. All this pristine white, it's a bit blinding."
The woman's lips formed a thin, bloodless line. She didn't scold him. Instead, she lifted a small silver device from her belt and pressed a button. A soft chime echoed in the quiet air. "Kaelen Sterling. One demerit for insubordination. A poor start to your final year."
My stomach twisted. A demerit? On the first day? The Sterling Protocol handbook stated that five demerits in one semester meant immediate expulsion, no appeals. Did he have any idea what he was risking? What this place was offering him?
The boy—Kaelen—finally bent down, retrieving his card with theatrical slowness. He offered it to her with a mock bow. "My sincerest apologies, Ms. Vance. I'll try to be less dazzled from now on."
Her only reply was a cold stare before she moved to me. "ID card."
My hand trembled as I handed her mine. Her eyes scanned it, then looked me up and down as if I were a line item on an inventory list. She nodded once and moved on without another word. I risked a glance at the boy beside me. He was watching me, a strange, calculating glint in his piercing green eyes. It felt less like he was looking at a person and more like he was studying a problem he intended to solve.
I quickly turned away, my heart thumping an uneasy rhythm against my ribs. This perfect sanctuary already had a serpent in its garden, and I wanted nothing to do with him.
The ferry's foghorn blew one last, long note behind us, a final goodbye to the world we were leaving behind. The massive iron gates of Sterling Academy swung open, and we were instructed to walk through.
He wasn't a student; he was a storm cloud on a perfectly sunny day.
And I was walking right into his forecast.