Ayla's Raine:
They say curiosity killed the cat, but if you ask me, that cat was probably onto something. Maybe a murder. Maybe a cover-up. Probably both.
Anyway, I'm not a cat.
I'm just a girl with too many questions, a forensic science major with a minor in sneaking where I don't belong. And last week, I transferred to Ravenwell University, a place that, quite frankly, looks like it was designed by someone with a PhD in Gothic Creep Factor.
Why the transfer? Long story short: my older sister, Isla, the genius detective with a mean right hook and zero patience for my habit of "finding things I shouldn't" got reassigned from Eldermire to the sleepy, rain-soaked crime haven of Portwood. Naturally, I followed.
Not because I'm clingy or anything, but because I figured if Portwood was as riddled with corruption and unsolved homicides as the internet suggests, then what better place to study crime than where it thrives?
Also, my sister didn't protest too much when I said I wanted to come. Probably thought she could keep an eye on me.
Cute.
Ravenwell sits just outside the city, where the trees are too tall and the fog clings to the ground like it has a vendetta. The buildings are all towering stone and creeping ivy, the kind of place that makes you feel like you're always being watched even when you're not doing anything suspicious.
Which, of course, I always am.
This morning, I woke up to an email stamped with Ravenwell's sinister-looking crest a raven with a quill in its beak and one dead eye staring into your soul. Romantic. Apparently, they needed me to come in and finalize my transfer paperwork. On a Saturday.
Who processes paperwork on weekends? Serial killers and admin staff, that's who.
I pulled my hood tight against the drizzle and made my way across the main courtyard, boots thudding against slick stone. The campus was unnaturally quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your skin itch.
Doors creaked. Lights flickered. Somewhere in the distance, something metallic clanged. Normal things, I told myself. Atmosphere. Ravenwell ambiance. Nothing to worry about.
I passed under an archway carved with Latin I pretended to understand Scientia Est Potentia, blah blah and found myself in what looked like an abandoned corridor of one of the older buildings. The hallway was lined with tall windows that filtered in watery light, and the air smelled faintly of ozone and dust.
Naturally, I got lost.
Maps are for people who don't have a criminally poor sense of direction and a refusal to ask for help until it's absolutely necessary.
Eventually, I spotted a security guard standing near a vending machine, fiddling with the keypad like he was negotiating a hostage situation.
"Excuse me," I said, brushing damp hair out of my face. "Hi. Sorry. Could you point me toward the principal's office? Or, I don't know, a functioning compass?"
He looked up, startled, as if surprised I wasn't part of the vending machine. Late forties, puffy windbreaker, badge hanging crookedly. He squinted at me. "New student?"
"Guilty."
He gestured vaguely down the hall. "Admin's through the West Wing. Take the stairs past the anatomy lab. Third floor. Look for a sign with a raven on it. You'll smell disinfectant and regret."
"Lovely," I muttered. "Thanks."
I wandered deeper into the bowels of the university, passing doors labeled things like 'Specimen Archives' and 'Historical Forensics: Restricted'. My kind of place.
Eventually, I found the office. The door was sleek, black, and bore the name Dr. Samuel Greaves, Principal in neat silver letters. I knocked once and entered.
Dr. Greaves was pale, pinstriped, and had the cold demeanor of someone who'd rather be dissecting something than talking to people. We exchanged pleasantries if you could call them that and I signed what felt like a small novel's worth of forms.
"You'll receive your ID badge Monday," he said, not looking up from his screen. "Orientation is Wednesday. You'll get an email with your assigned schedule. Until then, stay out of restricted areas."
I smiled. "Of course."
He didn't buy it. Smart man.
Back in the hallway, I checked my phone. No signal. Naturally. Ravenwell seemed to swallow cell reception like a black hole with bad lighting.
As I turned to leave, I heard it.
A muffled grunt. A thud. Something breaking.
Instinct and poor judgment kicked in simultaneously.
I followed the sound, boots silent against the faded linoleum. The corridor curved left, deeper into a part of the building that looked like it hadn't been updated since the Cold War. A flickering light cast long, trembling shadows.
Then I saw them.
Two figures in the distance. One standing, one on the floor.
The guy standing was tall, lean, dressed in black. His sleeves were rolled up, hands slick with blood though not his own, from what I could tell. His face was cold, composed. Detached. The kind of person who doesn't punch in anger but in calculation.
His target, some unfortunate student or staff member hard to tell in the dim light, was gasping, curled against the wall.
I reached slowly into my coat pocket and pulled out my phone, tapping the camera. No flash. No sound.
I hit record.
The man stepped closer to his victim, leaned down, and whispered something I couldn't hear. Whatever it was made the guy on the ground flinch like he'd been electrocuted.
My hand shook. Not from fear, exactly. From adrenaline. Fascination.
Then he turned slightly.
I caught a glimpse of his face.
Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, eyes like polished obsidian. Beautiful, in a terrifying, unapproachable kind of way. The kind of face that doesn't belong in places like this or maybe it does, and that's the problem.
And just as quickly, he looked away, focused on his prey again.
I took a slow step back.
A creak beneath my heel.
His head snapped up.
My stomach dropped.
He saw me.
Or maybe he didn't.
I didn't wait to find out.
I turned.
Darkness. A sharp jolt of pain.
Something slammed into the back of my skull. The phone flew from my hand, skittering across the floor.
I collapsed before I could scream, vision spiraling. The world went sideways.
Footsteps quick, deliberate.
A voice I didn't recognize.
Then
Nothing.
No light.
No sound.
Just the cold, wet kiss of linoleum against my cheek, and the whisper of Ravenwell closing in around me.