Luca glances forward, then back at me. “Catch you after class, Ashthorne?”
It’s not really a question.
I nod—slow, careful. “Sure.”
He gives a lazy salute with two fingers and turns back to the front like we didn’t just have a bizarre, surreal moment.
I stare at my tablet for a beat too long before finally forcing myself to focus.
The bell signalsthe end of second block and the beginning of lunch. Students begin to file out of class, Evie launching into a story about how one of the history professors once caught a kid cheating and made him recite the Academy’s founding doctrine backwards.
I’m only half-listening.
Because I can feel him behind me. Footsteps that don’t rush but don’t stop either. Predator pace.
Evie says her goodbye to me and turns down the hall.
As soon as we’re alone, he speaks.
“You took your time finding your place.”
I turn. Jace Ravencourt stands there—hands in the pockets of his pressed uniform slacks, posture relaxed, but his pale grey-blue eyes sharp.
“I didn’t realize I had one,” I say.
He steps closer. Not enough to crowd, but enough to unsettle. It’s too quiet.
“You do now.” He leans down slightly. “Or at least, you think you do.”
I narrow my eyes. “Do you always talk in riddles or is this just a ‘me’ thing?”
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a glitch in a perfect program. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Great. Disappointing rich boys since day one.”
His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Not disappointed. Intrigued.”
“I’m not here to entertain you.”
“No,” he says, taking a measured step closer, “you shouldn’t be here at all.”
My fists clench at my sides. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
Jace’s voice drops.
“You think because the vultures circled you and didn’t strike, that you’re safe?” His gaze flickers down, then back up. “You see, Ashthorne—this place doesn’t work like the world you came from. Here, the knives are hidden behind perfect smiles. And the second you forget that…”
He taps a finger against the crest on my blazer. “You bleed.”
I hold his stare. “Thanks for the reminder then.”
His expression doesn’t change, but there’s something dangerous in the silence that follows. Like he’s calculating how deep he could cut if he wanted to.
“Good,” he says at last. “I’d hate to be bored.”
He looks down his nose, like I’m nothing more than a speck of dirt. Then he turns and walks away like nothing just happened.
Like he didn’t leave frostbite behind with every word.
