The woman at the desk types something. A badge prints out—temporary, the word VISITOR stamped across it in red—and she clips it to my jacket without asking.
“Proceed to orientation wing. Someone will meet you.”
That’s it. No explanation. No welcome.
I’m inside, but I’m not part of this place.
The difference is obvious.
The woman waiting for me at the end of the corridor looks like she belongs here.
She looks pleasant enough. It’s the way she stands that gets me. She looks relaxed, like the ground beneath her feet has always been solid and always will be.
“Nova?” She steps forward with a small smile. “I’m Zoe. I’ll be showing you around.”
“Showing me around, or making sure I don’t run?”
The smile doesn’t waver. “Both, probably. But mostly the first one.”
I almost like her for that.
“Come on,” she says, turning toward the corridor. “It’s a bit of a walk.”
The Academy is a maze.
Hallways branch in every direction—training wings, administrative offices, residential buildings. Zoe points things out as we pass, her voice calm and informational.
“Dining hall’s through there. Opens at six, closes at nine. Food’s decent.”
“Good to know.”
“Training facilities are in the east wing. You probably won’t have access to most of them yet.”
“Yet?”
“Depends on your classification status.” She glances at me sideways. “Which I’m guessing is complicated.”
“You could say that.”
She doesn’t push. Just keeps walking.
We pass other students—groups of two and three, some alone, all of them moving with the easy confidence of people who know exactly where they’re going. A few glance at us. At me. Their eyes catch on my temporary badge, my ill-fitting clothes, the way I’m scanning exits instead of looking straight ahead.
I’m not one of them.
They know it. I know it.
Zoe either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
We’re cutting through a courtyard when it happens.
Footsteps behind us, quick and light. Zoe half-turns, and then there are arms around her waist, a body pressing close, lips brushing her temple.
“Hey.”
The voice is male, warm, familiar in a way that has nothing to do with me. Zoe leans back into the embrace automatically, her whole posture softening.
“Hey yourself.”
