They pass by tables like no one else exists.
But everyone else sees them. Worships them.
Don’t get me wrong, I have eyes. They are all incredibly good looking. But they scream danger. I’ve had enough of that.
The tables around them seem to bend in their direction, students perking up like sunflowers toward the light—if the light were cold, untouchable, and dressed in black and silver.
I take another bite of my fruit, slow and steady.
This must be Blackmoore royalty.
Quietly, I lean toward Dakota. “Okay, who are they?”
Dakota follows my gaze and smirks. “Oh. That’s the Blackmoore Four.”
“The what?”
“It’s stupid,” Callie cuts in.
“They’re not a real group or anything,” Brynn adds. “Just… a collective legend.”
“They’re all legacy students,” Tammy says. “Super elite, they ran the high school. No one really knows what they’re studying half the time.”
“They’re kind of like the school’s personal myth,” Dakota says, tapping her spoon to her bowl. “Scary-smart. Scary-skilled. Scary-hot.”
I snort. “Great. So, they’re a walking red flag.”
“Basically,” Callie says, sipping her smoothie. “But the kind that makes everyone want to run right into traffic.”
“Do they have names? Or is it like no one dares to speak their name type thing?” I ask the girls, grinning.
“Oh, they definitely have names.” Evie giggles. “I hear girls moaning them all the time.”
Dakota rolls her eyes, leaning into me. “That one”—she nods subtly at the first boy— “is Jace Ravencourt. He’s like the silent leader. He never speaks unless he has to.”
The boys sit down only a table away. Jace looks like an aristocrat. High cheekbones, nice nose, strong jawline.
That’s Ravencourt? Ugh, of course he’s hot.
“He’s… intense.”
Dakota smirks. “That’s one word for it.”
“I’ve named him the cold prince in my head.”
“I love her commentary.” Evie giggles.
“The tan one leaning back like school’s a joke? That’s Luca Silvain. He’s got teeth behind the charm. Don’t fall for it. He flirts with literally everyone.”
I glance at him. Tousled dark hair, lazy smirk, glint in his eye that says he enjoys pulling wings off flies just to see what happens. He catches me looking and winks.
I look away fast, heat creeping into my cheeks.
“Then there’s Tex Ward,” Tammy says. “You don’t want to meet him in a hallway alone. Came from nowhere.”
He’s massive. Brooding. Scar on his eyebrow and sleeves rolled up to show the ink lining his arms. He’s not slouched—he’s coiled.
“And the last one?”
