Signos didn't seem to notice me at all as he took over hauling my suitcase with an ease that made me wonder if he was secretly part superhuman. He didn't even flinch at the weight, dragging it up the stairs like it was light as a feather. It was pretty much the entire contents of my wardrobe packed into one suitcase, but apparently that was nothing to him.
I instinctively reached for it, not just out of guilt but also because I half-expected it to slip from his grip. I didn't want to lose all my stuff, especially not to someone who barely even acknowledged I existed.
But before I could get a solid grip, Matilda's hand shot out like a steel trap, stopping me. Her gaze met mine—sharp, unwavering.
"It's fine, new student," she said, tone flat but razor-sharp. "I suggest you stay about three steps back, though."
I blinked. "What?"
I swallowed, feeling the weight of her gaze on me. She wasn't just concerned, she was certain. Her voice, low and steady, left no room for protest. "He got it. Just keep a wide berth for now. Especially on stairs."
So I did what she said—mainly because something in her tone made it sound less like a suggestion and more like a warning disguised as advice.
If Percival was all warmth, bright smiles, and easy charm, then Matilda was cold precision—straight-backed authority with eyes that always seemed to calculate three steps ahead.
I was pretty sure she had factored in my luck too. I stumbled and nearly fell down the stairs more times than I'd like to admit. She never offered a hand—just waited, unbothered, while I got back on my feet. Even Signos shot me a glance, a grimace just barely visible beneath his mask.
Matilda practically dictated the tour as we moved from the faculty building to the dormitory, rattling off instructions and rules like she was reading from a manual..
"Don't touch that," she said as we passed a wall-mounted shelf covered in oddly shaped stones.
"Don't step there," she added, gesturing to a rug that looked just slightly off-center.
"And if you value your sleep, avoid Room 309."
Noted.
Signos, meanwhile, remained silent. He didn't look at us. Didn't speak. Just kept dragging my suitcase with the kind of stoic determination that made me wonder if he'd do it even if it burst into flames. Maybe especially then. Will his eyes will glow again like the flames--- wait what?
We reached the stairwell landing between the third and fourth floors when Matilda casually pointed upward.
"Roof's off-limits," she said, her voice steady. "You've probably seen Percy's leaflets, but if you want to tempt fate, be my guest."
I remembered the leaflet—Lyceum Students Be Ware!—the one President Percy had put together, warning everyone about the dangers of the roof. No one ever took it too seriously, but still, I wasn't about to push my luck.
I followed her gaze. The upper walls had wooden perches nailed in at random intervals—and lining those perches were crows. Dozens of them. All staring down like they were judging us. One let out a slow, grating caw that echoed through the stairwell.
I grimaced. Yeah, no thanks. I'll pass on the roof.
Matilda continued as we ascended. "All rooms are single-occupant. No roommates. Yours is on the fourth floor—since the first three were claimed at the start of term." She shot me a look. "Late arrivals get the scenic climb."
"No elevators?" I asked, eyeing the seemingly endless staircase.
"There are," she replied, "on the main school grounds. Dorms? Not so much."
Fantastic.
When we finally reached the fourth floor, it was... different. The air felt heavier. The buzz of the overhead lights was sharper, and most of them flickered, casting jittery shadows across the hallway. It was darker than the other floors—dimmer and strangely quiet, except for the dragging rumble of my suitcase's wheels.
I frowned, glancing around. "Why's it so dark up here?"
Matilda didn't answer at first. Then, without looking back, she muttered, "Some floors take time to adjust."
Whatever that meant.
Signos kept walking, unbothered, until he stopped in front of a door near the end of the hallway. He dropped the suitcase with a soft thud, turned around, and stepped aside without a word.
Matilda finally looked at me. "This one's yours. Room 417."
Her voice sounded like the end of a ceremony.
"Uh, thank you," I muttered, just staring at them. I mean, what did they want more from me? Saying 'yay, were here!' awkwardly wasn't going to suddenly make this place feel any less like a prison.
Matilda watched me for a beat, then murmured, "Hmmm… got it. You're really going to fit right in."
My eyes snap to hers, unsure if that's a compliment or a warning.
She pulls a black card from her pocket and taps it against the doorknob. A bright chime rings out—startling in the dim hallway.
"You probably got a keycard like this from the chairman. Don't lose it," she says, flicking the card back into her pocket. "If you do, find me. I've got the master key."
She pushes my suitcase into my hands.
"Thanks," I mumble, not sure who I'm saying it to—both of them, probably.
Matilda nods. "The chairman probably gave you the handbook and the pamphlet. If not, ask someone. I'll be downstairs—got a few students to drag out to class."
She presses her hand against the door, and it swings open. One by one, the lights flare to life. Motion sensors, I tell myself, trying to ignore the goosebumps crawling up my arms. It's just bulbs—not fire.
I glance back at Matilda as I roll the suitcase in. "Thanks again. Oh—uh, is there somewhere I can buy a new uniform?"
She blinks at me slowly. "Check the closet. You've got everything you need in your room." She nods toward the space.
I finally take it in—far larger than I expected..
As I turn back to look at them, I catch Matilda and Signos starting to leave. Panic flares in my chest, and I blurt, "Wait!"
They pause. "Yes?" Matilda asks, her expression unreadable. It's Signos, though, who looks like he's silently asking, What now?
I open my mouth to ask something—anything remotely sensible—but before I can, Signos speaks. His voice, low and firm behind the mask, rumbles through the air.
"Meet downstairs and attend your class. That was a simple instruction. If you have more questions, the faculty staff can answer. We can't—and we won't—tell you anything."
His gaze fixes me in place like a nail to a board. I swallow hard. "I… understand." I step fully back into the room. "Thanks… I guess. See you around."
As I close the door behind me, I swear I hear the sharp crack of a slap echo faintly down the hall. But I'm too tired to care. Still hungry—despite the biscuits—and thirstier than ever after that bitter black coffee.
I press my forehead against the door, only to wince at the unexpected chill. It's cool—too cool for wood. I pull back, run my fingers over the surface.
Smooth.
Cold.
Definitely metal, though it's painted to mimic the texture and color of wood grain.
I frown. Why metal? And why go through the trouble to make it look like something it's not?
This place… everything looks normal until you look pass it.
Silver gates, silver fixtures, and now this. What is it with this school and silver?
I unconsciously fidget with my necklace, spinning the silver pink rose between my fingers. A breath escapes me—slow and heavy. Just yesterday, I was home. Now, I've been flown across time zones, driven down winding country roads, climbed a hill, battled crows, survived exploding faucets, and wandered a campus that seems to never sleep. And it all led me here—meeting a friendly, bubbly guy who's a year older than me, a girl who looks cool and acts cool too, and a guy with eyes that burn like fire, but colder, more distant than anyone else I've met so far.
I poke my head into the closet and, sure enough, a fresh set of uniforms hang neatly inside. Relief washes over me. I grab one, unzip my suitcase, pull out my things, and head straight to the bathroom, desperate for a quick shower and a moment to breathe.
As I pass the small kitchen nook on my way to the shower, I spot a fruit basket on the counter—bananas, apples, grapes—and beside it, an envelope. I set my things down, peel a banana, and gulp water from one of the fridge's bottled waters. Perching on the counter stool, I stretch, savoring the fruit, before finally opening the envelope.
And oh…
what is this?