Page 6 of Revenant

A voice cuts through the room, carrying far enough to turn heads. “Did they not teach basic comprehension in whatever town spat you out?” I turn around, trying to find where the voice came from. Two rows back, a guy sits angled in his seat as if the space was designed to frame him. His hair, polished silver blond, every strand of spun moonlight ordered into place as if he’d willed it there.

The jacket he wears fits with surgical precision, shoulders squared, sleeves hemmed to reveal the illusive tease of corded forearms beneath his cuffs. A narrow crest—subtle but visible if you’re meant to see it—presses from the breast pocket, hinting at heritage, wealth, or something old enough to not need explaining.

He leans back, lazy but intentional, his feet kicked out in front of him. The small, idle rebellion is all the room needs to know he doesn’t care for the rules—he sets them. The expression he wears is bright with malicious amusement, a humor that never reaches his eyes.

Laughter stirs around us, the entire room tuned to his frequency. Smirks, sidelong looks, even those who don’t laugh at me shift with unease.

The sound stuns me like the scrape of glass on flesh. My skin feels thin, stretched, everything underneath exposed. I force my eyes anywhere but at him, willing them not to flick up—not to betray the emotions I’m trying hard to hide. My hand closes tightly around the pen—too tight—the sharp metal tip digs a neat little point on my palm. I relish in the sting, let it anchor me, pretending this isn’t happening. Pretending I’m invisible.

He flicks his hand, as if to dismiss me, like I’ve wasted his time simply by existing. My stomach twists into knots as humiliation and anger take root.

Before he can go further, another voice cuts through, firm and most definitely unamused. “Eryx.”

I recognize it instantly. My self-appointed hero from yesterday. Chairs creak as everyone’s attention shifts to the speaker—except mine. Eryx’s wolfish smile tilts as he meets his gaze. “Pryce,” he returns, drawing the name out like a challenge.

Nobody makes a sound, afraid that the mere huff of a breath would cut the tension surrounding us. It’s suffocatingly thick, like the air is holding all the words going unsaid between the two.

A throat clears at the front of the class, and judging by the victorious look on Eryx’s face, I’m assuming Pryce was the first to break their stare down. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to turn away from him—and I instantly regret it. Eryx’s eyes catch mine, boring into my soul and keeping my attention captive. But it’s not just the overwhelming sensation that rushes over my body when our gazes lock, it’s the sinister yet alluring colors of his eyes. One, like it was plucked from the most serene sunset, flecks of orange and yellow mingling together to create the richest honey. The other…half onyx, like an abyss of amber dowsed in obsidian.

His demeanor changes on a dime, turning venomous in the blink of an eye. The professor clears his throat a second time, and finally, I obey. Facing front, I try to ignore the tinge of embarrassment when I realize that everyone else is no longer staring at Eryx and Pryce, or the professor who is impatiently waiting—they’re all staring at me.

3: Alicent

I can’t get out of this class fast enough. Professor Asshole dismisses everyone, and I quickly shove my supplies into my bag. Standing abruptly, I bump into the guy that was sitting next to me, and mortification doesn’t even begin to describe the emotion flooding my veins. His stare is calculated, eyes analyzing, as if he can’t decide whether to ignore me or bark at me like some rabid dog. Thankfully, he chooses the former, and I couldn’t be more grateful. After such an…eventful first class, I just want to find a fucking sandwich. Finding time to eat around here has proven to be impossible.

“Miss Calder,” the professor calls. “Stay a moment.” My eyes close on their own accord, and I take a deep breath, internally berating myself for getting sucked into whatever drama that was earlier. Turning around, I close the distance between us, afraid to utter a word in case this is one of those “don’t speak unless spoken to” situations.

“You missed your blood verification,” he says. “That’s not optional. Veilcrest doesn’t tolerate carelessness. You’ll report to the registrar after lunch. They’ll handle your intake.”

I’m not sure what kind of college gets this intense over a blood type verification, but then, I didn’t do much research before my aunt insisted I accept a place here. “Right. Sorry about that, I had a bit of a…thing this morning—”

“This institution also doesn’t tolerate excuses,” he interrupts, and I immediately feel like I’ve shrunk like Alice in Alice in Wonderland. “I suggest not making this a habit.” One might think it was a professor giving a warning, lending a helping hand to the new student.

I took it as a threat.

Keeping my mouth firmly shut, I give a slight nod in understanding before high tailing it the hell out of there.

I vaguely remember skimming something in my welcome packet about an annual blood drive, but I hadn’t given it much thought at the time. It’s easy to forget a detail or two when you’re drowning in new information. At this point, I’m just trying to keep my head above water.

Still, Professor Asshole seemed to emphasize the word verification. A blood drive, I understand, it probably makes the school look philanthropic. But verification feels like more. What could they possibly be checking for?

“Rough start to the year,” a girl chimes from my side, breaking up my thoughts and scaring me half to death. “Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Once I get my heart back to a normal beat, I offer her a soft smile. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Those guys can be a bit…intense. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Intense is one word for it.”

She laughs, and I find her presence oddly calming, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm.

“I’m Moriah, by the way.”

“Alicent,” I offer. We fall into a steady rhythm, our footsteps the only thing filling the silence as we reach the quad. “Are they always like that?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before she answers, like she’s mulling over the right thing to say as she spins a silver ring on her finger. “Yes and no.” Great, that clears everything up. “They’re kind of like an elite clique of sorts. I hate that word, but they stick to themselves and don’t really go outside their bubble.”

“I kind of got that vibe when the entire class came to a rushing halt.”