“You okay?” I ask Trey. He looks distracted. More than usual.
“Yeah. Just—” He shakes his head. “Silas has been weird lately.”
“Weird how?”
“Haven’t seen him much. And when I do, he’s…” He trails off, searching for the word. “Quiet. Watching. More than usual.”
“That’s not ominous at all,” Rane mutters.
“He’s always watching,” Locke says. Flat. “That’s not new.”
“This feels different.”
No one argues with that.
We keep walking. The morning air is crisp, the kind of cold that wakes you up without biting. Students drift past alone and in groups, everyone heading the same direction. It’s nice, how normal it is.
“Nova!”
I turn. Zoe’s crossing the quad toward us, two of her guys trailing behind. Eli, and one I don’t recognize—tall, dark hair, moving like he’s aware of every angle around him.
“Hey.” She falls into step beside me, her guys peeling off to join mine. I glance back and they’re already talking—low voices, easy postures, like they’ve known each other for years.
Maybe they have. I’m still learning how all of this works.
“How are you doing?” Zoe asks.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Zoe, she means it.
“Good. Better.” I hesitate. “It’s getting easier.”
She smiles. “Told you.”
We walk in comfortable silence for a minute. The guys are a loose orbit around us—not hovering, thank goodness. I’ve stopped noticing how they rotate, how there’s always someone at my shoulder, my back, my blind spots. It used to make me twitchy. Now it just feels like… how things are.
The sound comes first.
Engines. Low, rumbling, wrong.
I stop walking. So does everyone else.
Three black vehicles are pulling through the main gate. Not cars—bigger, armored, with tinted windows that catch the light like oil. They move slowly, deliberately, like they have every right to be here.
“What the hell?” Rane’s voice is tight.
“That’s… strange, right?” I look at Kyron. “Tell me that’s strange.”
“It’s strange.” His eyes haven’t left the vehicles. “No one has vehicles except Nightmare Order. It’s one of the ways they control movement between territories.”
“And they don’t come here,” Beckett adds. “Academy’s supposed to be neutral ground. High-level oversight only.”
The vehicles roll past us, heading toward the administrative building. Students stop and stare. Conversations die mid-sentence.
“If they’re on campus,” Zoe murmurs, “something’s already broken.”
No one argues.
“Trey.” Locke’s voice is low. “You think this has anything to do with Silas?”
