The morning after the kiss with Jasper and the warning from Lucian, Seraphina walked into the common hall like she wasn't falling apart inside.
Her head held high. Her stride steady.
She'd learned something important in Eryndale: the strong survive but the untouchable dominate.
And if she couldn't be safe, she'd be untouchable.
Still, she felt it the moment she stepped through the doors.
The weight of a hundred stares. Girls whispering behind books. Boys pretending not to look. Tension tighter than the strings on a violin.
She was no longer the invisible new girl.
She was the problem.
And problems, in this academy, didn't last long.
The first hit wasn't magical. Or physical.
It came with a voice sharp and bright like a blade disguised as laughter.
"Oh look. The headmaster's charity case finally decided to join us."
Seraphina turned slowly.
A circle of girls stood by the marble fountain. At the center: blonde, gorgeous, too-perfect Delara Vance Ariana's second-in-command, but more venomous.
She sipped her tea, eyes never leaving Seraphina's face.
"You do realize this isn't a brothel, right?" she said sweetly. "You're not required to collect all three."
Snickers rippled.
Seraphina's jaw flexed.
She stepped closer, quiet heels echoing on the marble.
"Careful, Delara. All that jealousy's starting to show in your face. Or is that just your natural bitch filter?"
The other girls froze.
Delara blinked.
Then smiled too brightly. "Oh, honey. I'm not jealous. I just think someone should tell you attention doesn't equal affection. But I'm sure you know that. Girls like you always do."
Seraphina tilted her head. "And girls like you are always the loudest when they feel threatened."
The tension cracked like lightning.
Before anyone could respond, Professor Vex strolled in and clapped his hands once.
"Enough socializing. Time to burn something."
...
Combat class.
The one place where chaos was legal, and pain was encouraged.
Seraphina had barely picked a weapon before Delara was in her face.
"I want her," Delara told the instructor. "Friendly duel."
A few boys hooted.
The instructor shrugged. "Try not to kill each other."
They squared up in the ring. Wards humming around them. A crowd gathering because of course.
"You sure you want to do this?" Seraphina asked.
Delara smirked. "Sweetheart, I'm about to bury you."
The whistle blew.
Delara struck fast. A whip of fire, searing the air. Seraphina ducked, rolled, kicked the girl's legs out from under her. Delara snarled, twisted, recovered.
It wasn't just a fight. It was personal.
Magic cracked. Spells flew.
By the time Seraphina's blade kissed Delara's throat, they were both bruised, sweating, hair wild and magic bleeding from their skin.
Seraphina leaned down, eyes locked on Delara's furious face.
"Next time, try aiming with skill. Not envy."
After class, she barely made it to her room before someone else stopped her.
Not Jasper. Not Lucian.
Damian.
"Come with me," he said.
No greeting. No questions. Just that clipped tone of command.
She wanted to say no.
But she didn't.
He led her deep underground. Past stone halls and silent statues.
Into a secret chamber that pulsed with ancient energy. Books lined the walls. Symbols glowed. The air was thick with secrets.
"What is this place?" she asked.
"The Arcanum. Only the most powerful know about it."
"And why am I here?"
Damian didn't answer immediately. He stared at her like she was an equation he couldn't solve.
Then: "Because something inside you resonates with this place. Like you were born from it."
"You still think I'm not human."
"I think you're not just human."
She stepped closer. "And what do you want from me, Damian?"
Silence.
Then his voice dropped.
"Nothing."
A pause.
"Everything."
He moved—fast—slamming her back against the wall, hands on either side of her head, breath hot against her skin.
"You drive me crazy," he muttered. "You talk back. You burn too bright. You make me want to forget who I am."
"And yet," she whispered, heart racing, "you keep chasing me."
His lips hovered inches from hers.
"Because I want to ruin you."
She smiled.
Then dragged his mouth down to hers.
It wasn't gentle. Or slow. It was a collision of frustration and need, power and pride. His hands roamed, her legs wrapped around his waist, and he lifted her like she weighed nothing, pinning her to the wall.
His lips moved to her neck. His teeth grazed.
"I could take you apart," he growled. "Right here."
"Then do it," she dared.
But he didn't.
Instead, he pulled away—again.
Eyes wild. Hands trembling.
"I'm not the one you should be afraid of," he said.
"Then who is?" she whispered.
His gaze darkened.
"You."
That night, she sat on her bed alone, still buzzing, still aching, still confused.
She wasn't the same girl who'd arrived here days ago.
Now girls hated her.
Boys kissed her and cursed her.
Magic clung to her skin like second breath.
But the worst part?
She liked it.
Every burn.
Every bruise.
Every stolen moment.
She was falling for the danger.
And it might be the end of her.