I glance down at my plain brown cloak. No crest. No House. No standing.
Loud and clear. With that, the bells chime again, three sharp strikes.
I pull out my schedule and unfold it.
Tamsin peeks over my shoulder, her eyes on my schedule, before she tugs on my arm. “Come on. Our first class starts in fifteen minutes. You’ve got Veil Theory first, I didn’t take it last year because I chose Hex Theory instead, and that happens to be my first class too.”
I nod, trying to process everything.
Around me, students are already shifting, sliding into tight-knit groups, their voices low but buzzing with energy. Glances flick my way, some are curious, while others are definitely hostile. The whispers follow, snaking through the air like smoke and brushing against my skin with just enough bite to ensure I notice.
Human.
Doesn’t belong.
Won’t last a week.
The words hit hard. But I square my shoulders and follow Tamsin out. One step at a time.
“Relax,” Tamsin murmurs, falling into step beside me. “First day’s chaos for everyone. Even the First Bloods fake it.”
“Not the vibe I’m getting,” I mutter, nodding toward a trio of robed students gliding past like they own the place.
Blood House. First blood witches. Therealtop of the food chain here. I hold in a snort.
Veil Theory is held in a vaulted lecture hall that looks more like a church than a classroom—high stained-glass windows, tiered stone seating, a dais at the front where an older warlock in a deep gray cloak waits. The second I step inside, the magic hits me. It’s thick in the air, almost buzzing under my skin, and really hard to ignore. I stumble to a stop as I take it all in.
Tamsin nudges me toward a seat near the middle. “Here. Good vantage. Not too close to the Bloods.”
I nod, trying to breathe normally as the room fills. A deep bell chimes. The professor steps forward, voice resonant and clear.
“Welcome to Veil Theory. I am Magister Corvin. This course will introduce you to the nature of the Veil, the forces beyond it, and the factions that shape our world.”
A flick of his fingers, and glowing sigils spiral into the air. They shift into a massive web of light and shadow.
“Four primary factions govern the Veil-bound orders,” he continues. “Blood, Bone, Fang, and Veil.”
As he speaks, each House symbol appears—silver, bone-white, deep crimson, shadow-black.
“Blood House holds the First Blood lines. Bone masters death and resurrection. Fang binds beast and body. Veil commands the unseen—illusion, fate, and shadow.”
“More like tricks,” someone mutters a row away, “Don’t trust the Fae.”
Tamsin huffs out a half-laugh and shakes her head. While I shift in my seat, acutely aware of the empty space where a House sigil should be on my cloak, and that the brown sticks out like a sore thumb. The room hums with focused magic. Students watch raptly.
I try to focus, but the sheer overwhelming information presses in; terms I barely grasp, factions I know nothing about, centuries of politics and power. A headache blooms behind my eyes. I glance sideways and catch a Blood House student sneering openly at me. Whispering to another.
My throat tightens. Overwhelmed doesn’t begin to cover it. But before I can bolt, Magister Corvin’s gaze lands on me, keen and thoughtful. And for one strange beat—the magic in the air hums harder around me. A flicker of heat against my skin. The professor’s eyes narrow, just slightly, before he looks away.
What the hell was that? Did he just use magic on me? Magically scan me? Is that a thing?
Around me, no one else reacts. No startled glances. Nothing. Just me feeling off kilter. Before I can process it, the great bell tolls. Class dismissed. Students rise in a wave of movement, cloaks swishing, conversations flaring.
I move slower, half-dazed, trying to shake the lingering cold under my skin.
“Careful, human.” The voice cuts across my path. Smooth. Mocking.
I look up and there he is.
