THREE
LINDSAY
The bells start at dawn.Low, deep chimes that vibrate through the stone walls of Overflow.
I groan and roll over, face buried in a pillow that smells faintly of lavender and something vaguely burnt. Tamsin’s already up. Perched cross-legged on her bed, braiding her riot of red curls with practiced speed.
“Up, human,” she calls cheerfully. “You’re not late yet. Let’s keep it that way.”
I sit up, rubbing grit from my eyes. “Do they always start this early?”
She laughs. “Welcome to Blackthorn. First day’s a gauntlet.”
Great. Just what my fried nerves need.
I drag on clothes that look like hand-me-downs—the academy wear they’d left folded on my bed last night. A soft, long shirt, leggings with pockets—yay for that at least—and a plain brown cloak. Not silver. Not crimson. Not black. Just…basic brown.
Message received.
I shove my map in my pocket, snag up the backpack they left for me with supplies, and follow Tamsin out. The halls arealready packed—students streaming toward Orientation, voices echoing off stone.
Most wear rich fabrics, embroidered cuffs, House colors woven through their cloaks. Tamsin whispers what each one means as we walk. Silver for Blood. Bone-white for Bone. Deep crimson for Fang. Shadow-black for Veil.
And I’m a lone spot of brown in the flow of prestige and power. Eyes follow as I move. Some curious. Some amused. A few openly hostile.
Tamsin leans in. “Ignore them. They’ll get bored eventually.”
“Sure,” I mutter, heart hammering. “Easy for you to say. You have a silver and black robe.”
She snorts, but doesn’t reply.
The main hall opens up before us, a massive stone room.
A vaulted chamber big enough to hold an army, banners of each House hanging from the rafters. Blood. Bone. Fang. Veil. The student body gathers in a sea of white, silver, crimson, and shadow black.
Tamsin pulls me toward the edges. “Overflow sticks to the sides. Trust me.”
A raised dais spans the front. At its center, Headmaster Veyne stands flanked by House heads, I assume; tall, robed figures with eyes like polished stone.
The air shifts as he steps forward.
“Welcome,” he intones. His voice rolls through the hall without needing amplification. Magic hums beneath every word.
“You stand at the threshold of another year at Blackthorn Academy,” he continues. “A place where power is honed. Where alliances are forged. Where strength is rewarded. And where we work together to protect the Veil.”
I glance around at the other students. Nobody else seems to be surprised that we're being recruited like soldiers to protectsomething that sounds like it's a separation of some kind. Who are we protecting and from what? Also, is it too late to opt out?
His gaze sweeps the crowd, cold and assessing.
“For some of you, greatness is expected.” His eyes flick toward the Blood House ranks.
“For others…” a faint smile touches his mouth. “…survival will be your first test.”
A ripple of laughter from the Bloods. My gut twists. Orientation? More like public humiliation. What is this,The Hunger Games?
Headmaster Veyne lifts a hand. Sigils flare in the air, each House symbol blazing to life.
“Know your place. Earn your standing. We begin today.”
