The road curved through endless miles of forest, pine needles glinting with dew beneath the morning light. My mother's car hummed quietly along the wet asphalt, the wipers keeping time with the silence that had settled between us. I watched raindrops race each other down the window, blurring the trees into streaks of green and gray.
We'd been driving for hours, and Westlake was still just a name on a road sign to me. My mother said it was peaceful—"a good place to start over." She said that about every new town we'd moved to, but this time felt different. Maybe because the air seemed heavier here, like even the sky knew something I didn't.
"Almost there," Mom said softly, her voice trying to sound cheerful. "You'll like it, Yvonne. Ridgeview Academy's supposed to be one of the best schools in the state."
I smiled because it was easier than telling her how the name already made my chest tighten. "Yeah," I said. "Can't wait."
She didn't notice the sarcasm. She was too busy glancing at the GPS, her hands gripping the wheel a little too tight. She wanted this to work—wanted me to be okay. And maybe I wanted that too. But the truth was, no matter how far we drove, the past didn't stay behind. It just followed at a different speed.
When the trees finally broke, I caught my first glimpse of Westlake.
It wasn't what I expected. The town sat nestled in a valley surrounded by dark, misty woods. The streets were clean, the houses neat and perfect like something from a magazine. But there was an emptiness behind it all, like the town was holding its breath.
And above it, perched on a hill like a secret too big to hide, was Ridgeview Academy.
The school looked ancient—tall brick towers, arching windows, and ivy that crawled up every inch of its walls. A wrought-iron gate framed the entrance, its black metal polished enough to catch the reflection of passing cars.
When we pulled up the long drive, students were already spilling out of sleek black cars and buses, laughing and calling out to each other. The girls wore tailored uniforms, their blazers sharp and spotless. The boys looked like they belonged in glossy magazines, confidence dripping from every careless grin.
I swallowed. I didn't fit here. I could already feel it.
Mom parked in front of the main building and turned to me with a hopeful smile. "You've got this, honey. Fresh start, remember?"
Fresh start. The words were supposed to sound clean, like a promise. But to me, they just sounded tired.
"I'll call you tonight," I said, forcing a small smile.
She reached over and squeezed my hand. "Be kind to yourself, Yvonne."
I nodded, then stepped out of the car and into the cold air. The rain had stopped, but everything still glistened with water. My reflection rippled faintly on the slick pavement as I watched her car disappear down the drive.
The second she was gone, the world seemed quieter—and heavier.
⸻
Inside the main office, the air smelled like old books and lemon polish. A woman behind the desk handed me a clipboard and smiled mechanically.
"Name?"
"Yvonne Harper," I said.
She scanned her computer, typing something quickly. "You're in Dorm B, room 217. Your roommate is Hailey Rivers. Here's your key and schedule. Welcome to Ridgeview, dear."
Her voice was kind enough, but I caught the faint flicker of curiosity in her eyes. She knew I was new. Maybe she knew more than that.
I was turning to leave when the door slammed open behind me.
The sound cracked through the quiet office, followed by the low murmur of voices—deep, confident, unbothered.
I didn't need to look to know everyone in the room had turned toward the sound.
Three boys stepped through the doorway like they owned the ground they walked on.
The first one through was tall, his dark hair damp from the rain, a black jacket clinging to his shoulders. He didn't glance around like everyone else did when entering a room; the room seemed to adjust around him. His eyes swept over the space, sharp and unreadable, and stopped on me for the briefest moment.
Logan Mercer.
I didn't know him yet—but the way everyone else reacted told me I would.
Behind him came Cameron Vale, with golden hair and that lazy smile that looked rehearsed but worked anyway. The third boy—Asher—followed silently, his expression blank but his gaze sharp.
They walked like a storm, silent and dangerous, their presence sucking the air out of the room.
I turned away quickly, trying not to stare as I signed the last paper on the clipboard.
But fate—or bad timing—had other plans.
When I pivoted toward the door, one of them brushed past me. Hard. My papers flew from my hand, scattering across the floor like leaves in the wind.
A laugh—soft, amused—came from behind me.
I froze for a second, heat crawling up my neck, then crouched to grab my papers. But before I could reach them, a black boot stepped on one.
I looked up.
Logan was standing over me, his expression unreadable. Up close, his eyes were gray—cold, but alive, like thunderclouds before a storm.
"You should watch where you're going," he said, voice low and controlled.
I swallowed, my pulse hammering in my throat. "You should try saying 'sorry.'"
That caught him off guard. His brows lifted slightly, like he wasn't used to being talked back to. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not quite.
"Noted," he said. His voice was soft but carried weight, the kind that made you want to step back even though you didn't know why.
Cameron chuckled quietly. "Careful, Logan. You might've just met your match."
Logan ignored him, his eyes still locked on me. For a heartbeat, it felt like the rest of the world had gone silent. Just me, him, and the echo of rain against the windows.
Then he stepped aside, letting me collect the last of my papers. Without another word, he and the other two walked out, the air shifting behind them.
I stood there, heart pounding, papers shaking in my hand.
The woman at the desk didn't say anything. No one did. They just watched as I left.
⸻
By the time I made it to the dorms, the afternoon sun was breaking through the clouds, streaking gold across the campus. Ridgeview's dorm building looked more like a hotel—arched windows, stone steps, and tall oak doors that creaked when I pushed them open.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender and rain.
Room 217 was at the end of the hall. I hesitated before unlocking it, nerves prickling in my stomach.
When I stepped inside, sunlight poured through a wide window overlooking the woods. Two beds. Two desks. Two very different sides of the room.
The one near the window was already decorated—photos clipped along string lights, stacks of makeup palettes, a pile of folded clothes on the bedspread.
The other side—mine—was empty, waiting.
And sitting on the edge of the decorated bed, scrolling through her phone, was a girl with perfectly straight blonde hair and sharp, assessing eyes.
She looked up as I set my suitcase down.
"You're Yvonne?" she asked, voice flat.
"Yeah." I smiled, trying to sound friendly. "You must be Hailey."
She nodded once, gaze flicking to my suitcase. "You're late. I almost thought they weren't giving me a roommate this semester."
"Traffic," I said simply, even though that wasn't really true.
She hummed, not looking convinced. "Well, I like my space organized. Don't touch my side, and we'll be fine."
"Noted," I said, trying to keep my tone light even though it came out a little sharp.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying me the way a cat studies something it's not sure it likes. Then she shrugged and went back to her phone.
I took that as permission to breathe again.
Unpacking took longer than I expected. Every item I placed—my books, my clothes, a photo of Mom and me—felt like staking a small claim in enemy territory.
As the hours passed, the sounds of laughter drifted in from the courtyard. Music. Shouts. The buzz of a life that didn't include me yet.
I sat on my bed, staring at the glow of the setting sun on the walls.
New school. New town. New everything.
And yet, the look in Logan's eyes still haunted me—the way he'd stared like he was trying to place me, or maybe trying to figure out if I was worth the trouble.
Something about this place felt strange. The whispers. The stares. The tension under the surface.
Ridgeview wasn't just another school.
It was a cage made of gold.
And for reasons I didn't understand yet, Logan Mercer held the key.