The polished marble halls of Westdentia Elite Academy stretched wide and silent under the afternoon sun, the golden light spilling through the arched windows like spilled ink. Only the faint sound of shoes clicking softly against the floors disturbed the quiet, as Seraphine and Emile made their way toward the secluded library annex that few students ever bothered to visit.
They walked side by side, not speaking, the distance between them measured and easy. They were used to it being the ones unnoticed, moving like shadows through the corridors, never quite belonging yet quite out of place either.
Since the fourth grade, when they first transferred from Urion, they had maintained this careful, muted presence. Urion's sharp, wind-battered coasts seemed far away now, but the cool reserve they learned there still clung to them like a second skin. Rumours about their arrival had fluttered briefly, something about a sick mother, whispered with the detached curiosity only privileged students could muster, but none of it had ever been confirmed.
No one knew them. Their names were known. Their faces were recognised. But their lives beyond the academy gates remained a closed book.
Emile's steps slowed for a moment as he adjusted the strap of his bag, the sleeve of his uniform jacket slipping up to reveal a faint scar across his knuckles. A mark earned years ago, one he never spoke about, and no one dared to ask.
Seraphine moved ahead slightly, pushing open the heavy oak doors of the annex. Dust motes danced in the air, lit by stray beams of light. It was a place forgotten by most, but somehow, it suited them.
She sat down at a far table, dropping her bag with a soft thud. Emile joined her without a word, settling into the chair opposite.
On the surface, it seemed almost peaceful. Calm. Detached.
But some rifts were too deep to ignore, no matter how much silence tried to cover them.
As Seraphine leafed through an old textbook, a flicker of memory returned, sharp and unwanted.
A flashback surfaced, unbidden.
...
Years ago, during a Kilner family gathering, a stiff, glittering event where ambition pulsed louder than the music.
Seraphine, just five at the time, had wandered through the ornate gardens behind her uncle's estate, a silver locket clutched tightly in her hand, a gift from her mother. She had stumbled upon Vivianne laughing with a group of children, the sound sweet and bright.
But when a servant nearby had dropped a tray, Seraphine had seen it the cold, cutting disdain in Vivianne's eyes, masked a heartbeat later by a perfect smile. Words, cruel and sharp, had slipped from her lips like poisoned honey.
The facade had cracked, and Seraphine had never forgotten it.
Not the broken glasses.
Not the servant's bowed head.
But Vivianne's face, so frighteningly hollow beneath the polish.
...
The memory faded, leaving a hollow chill in its place.
Years later, the unspoken rivalry remained, carefully concealed behind smiles and poised conversation. No one at Westdentia Elite knew the truth that Seraphine and Vivianne were cousins, bound by blood through Jonathan Kilner, the ambitious younger brother who cared more for business empires than for family ties.
Jonathan had long since scrubbed the twins from his public narrative. In the eyes of the world, he was merely the diligent Kilner sibling climbing the ranks behind his brother. No mention of Seraphine. No acknowledgement of Emile.
And truthfully, the twins preferred it that way.
Vivianne carried on her perfect act at the front of the academy's spotlight, soaking in the admiration she carefully curated. But Seraphine had seen the cracks long ago.
She glanced across the table at Emile, who caught her eye and gave a small, knowing tilt of his head. They understood each other without needing words.
Vivianne played the role of the flawless Kilner, calm, poised, revered.
But beneath the surface, something dangerous simmered.
And the world would soon learn that Vivianne Kilner was far less harmless than she appeared.