“Ash? You’ve been in there for an hour. Are you okay?” Iris calls, her voice muffled by the door but tinged with genuine concern.
“Fine!” I scramble to retract my wings, biting my lip hard enough to taste copper to keep from crying out at the pain. The feathers seem to melt back into my skin, disappearing completely as if they were never there. “Just... homesick!”
“Well, I’ve got chocolate and horror movies whenever you’re done drowning your sorrows in hot water!”
I manage to pull myself together, shadows once again understrict control, and wings painfully bound. When I emerge, steam billowing around me like I’m some kind of supernatural special effect, Iris is indeed waiting with a box of expensive chocolates and her laptop balanced on her knees.
“Slasher or supernatural?” She asks, holding up two movie options with gory covers.
I almost laugh at the fucking irony. “Slasher, definitely. I’m living through enough supernatural bullshit right now.”
Later, after Iris falls asleep curled up like a kitten with her laptop still warm on her chest, I lie awake staring at the moon through our stained-glass window. Its light filters through the colored glass, painting my skin in shades of blue and purple that remind me uncomfortably of bruises. Somewhere on this campus, Bael is watching, waiting. He promised he’d be close if I needed him, and right now I’ve never needed anyone more.
But as I drift toward sleep, one thought keeps circling like a vulture: I’m hiding among people who hunt what I am, led by a girl who already suspects I’m different, with powers I barely understand and can hardly control.
And classes haven’t even fucking started yet.
Chapter Two
The first day.
I stare at the gargoyle perched above my dorm room window, convinced it’s been watching me all morning with its carved stone eyes. Its weathered features seem to shift in the dim light, and I swear its mouth has moved from a neutral expression to something that looks distinctly disapproving. Greyson Academy’s Gothic architecture gives major haunted boarding school vibes, all weathered stone that smells like centuries of rain and iron fixtures that belong in a horror movie, not an educational institution. The metal tastes bitter on my tongue when the wind carries its scent through my cracked window.
Four days since my world imploded in that park, and I still feel like I’m dreaming. Or having a fucking nightmare that I can’t wake up from, complete with wings that ache between my shoulder blades and shadows that follow me like loyal pets.
A soft knock interrupts my brooding. My roommate, Iris, pokes her head in, her copper curls catching the dim morning light filtering through the stained glass in jeweled fragments of red and gold. Her smile is bright enough to chase away some of the gloom clinging to the ancient stones.
“Ready for the grand tour?” she asks with a cheerfulness too bright for the medieval dungeon aesthetic surrounding us.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I mutter, grabbing my leather jacket from the foot of my bed. The weight between my shoulder blades is a constant reminder of what I’m hiding—wings folded so tightly against my spine that every movement sends sharp pains shooting down my back. Bael showed me how to retract them, but they still ache like a phantom limb, demanding to be stretched and freed.
Iris chatters as we navigate the winding hallways, her voice echoing off stone walls lined with portraits whose eyes seem to track our movement. She points out important landmarks with the enthusiasm of someone who actually enjoys this place. “That’s Professor Winters’ office—avoid at all costs unless summoned. The east wing is off-limits to first-years. Oh, and never go into the north tower after midnight.”
“Let me guess,” I say dryly, my breath visible in the perpetually cold air. “It’s haunted?”
She gives me a strange look, her green eyes wide with something that might be amusement or concern. “No, that’s when the light Nephilim conduct their rituals. Dark Nephilim aren’t welcome.”
Right. The whole supernatural hierarchy thing I’m still trying to wrap my head around while pretending I belong here.
We step into a massive courtyard where ancient cobblestones glisten with morning dew, and students cluster in obvious social groups like some fucked-up version of high school cafeteria politics. The air smells like wet stone and fallen leaves, with an underlying current of ozone that makes the hair on my arms stand up. Iris points them out like she’s giving a wildlife tour at the world’s most dangerous zoo.
“Those are the Gifted humans—like me,” she explains, gesturing to a group of normal-looking students sitting on weatheredbenches near a fountain that gurgles with water dark as ink. “We each have one ability. Mine’s empathy, which is why I got stuck with the transfer student.” She winks to show she’s joking, but there’s truth behind her teasing tone.
“And those?” I ask, pointing to a group radiating so much light they’re practically glowing, their combined radiance making my eyes water even from this distance. The air around them shimmers with heat waves, and I catch the scent of something clean and sharp, like lightning.
“Light Nephilim. They’re descended from angels who stayed loyal during the Fall. Super righteous, super judgmental.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “They mainly stick to healing and protection magic, but don’t let that fool you—they can fry you to ash if they want to.”
My eyes drift to the opposite side of the courtyard, where students draped in darker colors lounge in the shadows of ancient oak trees whose gnarled branches block out most of the sky. Their presence feels heavier somehow, more substantial, like they’re taking up more space than they physically should. The shadows around them move independently, creating patterns that hurt to look at directly.
“Dark Nephilim,” Iris confirms, following my gaze. “Descended from fallen angels. They manipulate shadows; some can dream walk, others have death-related abilities. The light ones call them abominations.”
I swallow hard, tasting copper and fear, conscious of my own shadows curling around my ankles like nervous cats seeking comfort. “They don’t get along, I take it?”
Iris snorts, the sound sharp in the quiet courtyard. “That’s putting it mildly. There’s been war between them for millennia. Greyson is one of the few places with a truce, and even here, it’s tense as fuck. The light ones work with Hunters to track down and eliminate ‘corrupted’ dark ones.”
Great. I’m trying to hide among people who actively hunt what I am, while pretending to be something I’m not, with powers I barely understand.
“What about those?” I ask, nodding toward a small group that seems to float between the factions, neither fully in light nor shadow.
