Cassian
"Welcome to BlackMoor Academy."
The words were carved into an ancient stone above the entrance.
My hand tightened around the strap of my backpack as I stepped into the hallway beyond, half-expecting the doors to slam shut behind me. The air smelled like old money and power that had soaked into the walls over centuries and never left. The scent was welcoming.
My eyes darted everywhere, greedy and overwhelmed, skimming banners embroidered with pack crests I'd only ever seen in stolen books. Symbols I'd traced with my fingers in candlelight, memorizing their histories while pretending I wasn't listening for footsteps outside my door.
BlackMoor Academy.
The name echoed in my head like a promise and a threat.
A grin tugged at my mouth as I walked deeper into the endless corridor. The shining stone floors, scrubbed and polished within an inch of their lives, reflected my small frame as I passed, reminding me just how small I was in a place like this. The ceilings stretched impossibly high, supported by arches that looked like they could crush me if they decided to give way.
Everything here was too big and tall.
And I was really here. Finally.
My pulse thudded hard in my ears. Part exhilaration, part dread. The kind of feeling that came when something precious could still be ripped away if I wasn't careful enough.
Don't think about them, I told myself.
Don't picture familiar hands closing around my arm. Don't imagine being dragged back behind locked doors. I forced my shoulders to relax, even as my spine stayed stiff with the habit of fear.
I was safe. For now.
This place is going to be my future.
Footsteps echoed around me, other students passing in clusters. They were discussing, laughing, and arguing. They all looked like they belonged here. But me, I felt like an intruder.
I lifted my hand and brushed my knuckles beneath my nose, inhaling softly. Nothing.
Good.
I'd made sure of that.
Whatever I was or whatever people might decide I was, my real identity wouldn't be obvious.
I dropped my hand, jaw tightening. I'd rather be nothing than be—
The thought shattered as shouting exploded down the hall. Loud and excited voices.
A surge of students rushed past me, shoulders slamming into mine. Someone clipped my arm hard enough to send a sharp jolt up my elbow. I stumbled but stayed upright, biting my lip to keep from swearing aloud.
Attention was dangerous. Enemies were worse and I couldn't afford either.
I hesitated only a second before curiosity betrayed me. My legs moved and I followed the crowd, my heart already racing as the noise grew louder, uglier.
The hallway opened into a wide courtyard, stone walls rising around an open sky. Students packed the space shoulder to shoulder, shouting, cheering, screaming.
I couldn't see anything.
I was five-three. It was something I'd learned never to complain about. Still, my size had advantages. I slipped through gaps larger students couldn't, ducking under elbows and twisting sideways until suddenly the crowd spat me forward.
I froze. My body went rigid as horror and disbelief rooted me to the spot.
Two boys were fighting in the center of the courtyard.
No, they were mauling each other.
Blood streaked across bare knuckles and split lips. Dust billowed beneath their feet. Every movement was precise, practiced, brutal. There was no wild flailing, only intent.
I'd read about sanctioned duels, power displays and dominance rituals but this was something else.
My stomach twisted as one of them went down hard, only to be yanked back up and slammed again. The sound of impact made my teeth ache.
This was why fighting had never been allowed back home. And it wasn't because my fathers didn't like us fighting, it was the bruising that came with it that was unacceptable. Not that they never hit us themselves.
Students screamed encouragement. Some laughed.
My skin crawled.
"The Dravenmoor twins made them fight."
I tore my gaze from the fighters and looked up. My breath caught in my throat at the sight before me.
They stood together at the edge of the courtyard, identical silhouettes framed by sunlight. Same height. Same broad shoulders. Same cruel lines on their faces.
Twins.
Their dark eyes tracked the fight with detached interest, mouths curved in matching smirks as if this were entertainment put on just for them.
Something in my chest burned.
Heat licked through my veins, sudden and disorienting. My breath stuttered, lungs refusing to work properly. I took an involuntary step back.
This was pure fear but not only fear.
Then, as if summoned by my panic, both of them lifted their heads at the same time.
Their gazes locked onto me and their smirks vanished.
What replaced them made my blood turn cold and my heart hammer in my chest.
I didn't think. I just turned and ran.
I shoved through the crowd, ignoring shouts and curses, fingers digging into strangers' sleeves as I forced my way out. My heartbeat roared in my ears. The courtyard blurred into stone and color and noise.
I ran because staying felt dangerous in a way I didn't have words for.
I ran until my lungs burned and my legs shook, until I burst into a quiet corridor far from the noise. I slammed my back against the wall, chest heaving.
My hands trembled and my mind wouldn't stop replaying those eyes, that heat, the way something inside me had reacted. The way my blood sang and my heart raced.
I pressed my palm flat against my chest, grounding myself.
Think. Think.
Logic had always kept me alive.
Twins were rare. Born only of extraordinary pairings. Powerful ones.
Which meant those two weren't just trouble. They were troubled I needed to stay away from.
"The Dravenmoor twins made them fight."
The words echoed again in my head.
Whoever or whatever they were, they were dangerous. I had to stay as far away as I could.