The warm afternoon sun spilled through the long arched windows of Moonstone Academy, casting soft gold across the polished marble halls. Shadows of passing students danced along the walls, some rushing toward the sports complex, others heading to their dorm houses or wandering off to the auditorium for a film screening. It was a typical Tuesday afternoon, 3 p.m., and the air carried the hushed hum of a school caught between activity and rest.
Adam adjusted the strap of his backpack, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion. It had been a long day, double Chemistry, a draining physical education session, and an endless barrage of new content he was still trying to catch up on. But despite the fatigue anchoring his legs, he made his way toward the library. He'd made a promise to Abigail.
The doors of the library loomed ahead, tall, elegant, and reinforced with carved wooden panels that shimmered under the hallway lights. He pushed them open.
Moonstone Academy's library was a quiet cathedral of thought. Modern yet timeless. Like something carved out of luxury and silence. The floors were glassy black tile, cool underfoot, while the walls were lined with books that rose all the way to the second level, accessible only by golden spiral staircases. The ceiling arched high, skylit by faint panels that let in dying sunlight. In the center stood a square of reading tables, crimson velvet chairs arranged around dark mahogany surfaces, each table with its own antique reading lamp.
Adam's eyes scanned the room until he found her.
At a corner table tucked near the second column of shelves, Abigail sat with Anissa and two other girls he didn't recognize. The table was filled with open books, annotated printouts, and a few empty coffee cups. Abigail's hair was pinned up lazily, a pen resting between her fingers, and her oversized Moonstone hoodie slightly fell off one shoulder. She looked calm, relaxed—even commanding in a quiet sort of way.
Anissa, however, looked the opposite. Stiff. Uncomfortable.
Adam hesitated for a second, then made his way toward them.
"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual as he placed his bag down beside the chair closest to Abigail. "Hope I'm not late."
"You're not," Abigail replied smoothly, without even looking up. "We just started."
He gave her a small smile, then turned to Anissa. "Hey. We haven't really talked since that day at the match."
Anissa blinked, her hand frozen mid-note. Her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something, but then she quickly looked down at her notebook. "Y-Yeah. It's been busy," she muttered. "Lots of… classes."
Something felt off. Her tone was weirdly clipped, like she wasn't sure what to say, or wasn't allowed to say it. She avoided his eyes entirely. A quiet awkwardness settled over the table.
Abigail's eyes flicked toward her sister for just a moment. She said nothing. But something in her stare was enough to silence whatever tension was rising.
"I think that's enough studying for today," Anissa said suddenly, shutting her notebook a bit too fast. She turned to the others. "Let's call it a day?"
The two other girls exchanged glances and began packing their things. They mumbled goodbyes and quickly left, Anissa barely looking at Adam as she slipped past him.
He watched her go, eyebrows furrowing. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked.
Abigail shrugged and flipped a page in her textbook, her pen gliding across it without pause. "She's always awkward with people she doesn't know well. Don't take it personally."
Adam nodded, but her response didn't sit quite right with him. Anissa wasn't awkward the last time they spoke. She was audacious, curious and maybe somewhat rude. Today, she looked like she was afraid of him ro something else entirely.
But he let it go.
"Anyway," Abigail said, tapping her pen against the biology textbook. "You need help on mitosis or are you pretending you understood everything from class?"
Adam chuckled and sat down across from her. "A little bit of both."
For a while, they worked in silence, save for the occasional correction or explanation from Abigail. Her explanations were clear and practical. She made tough concepts seem like common sense. Adam couldn't help but admire how easily it all came to her.
He leaned in a little to see her notes. She didn't move away.
Their shoulders nearly brushed.
Adam caught a faint whiff of lavender. It lingered around her like a secret. He tried to focus on his textbook, but the scent made him blink once, then again. His gaze drifted toward her lips for half a second, round and soft, and he quickly looked away, flustered.
"So," Abigail said suddenly, eyes still on her notes, "how's the Luna thing going?"
He looked up. "Luna?"
"Yeah. I'm interested."
Adam scratched the back of his neck. "I... We haven't talked at all today, I don't even think she noticed I exist"
"She probably didn't," Abigail agreed, writing something in the margin. "You'd have better luck charming a statue."
Adam laughed softly. "Still. I thought maybe we could be friends. But… I dunno."
Something unreadable flickered in Abigail's eyes.
"Maybe she's not the one you're supposed to be looking at," she said under her breath.
Adam blinked. "What?"
"Nothing." She smiled easily. "Want to quiz each other?"
He nodded, trying to shake the strange feeling building in his chest.
As the minutes passed, the library grew quieter. The golden light outside dimmed, shadows stretching long across the floor. The space between them shrank. Abigail leaned closer as she pointed to a diagram in the textbook. Her hand lightly grazed his wrist. It could've been accidental. But it didn't feel accidental.
Adam sat up straighter, his heartbeat louder than before. He stole a glance at her. Her features were soft under the library's reading lamp glow, those same hazel eyes from their first meeting at the Thorne estate. They looked different now. Closer. More curious.
He tried to focus. But in this study session focusing was going to be more difficult than Adam originally anticipated
Meanwhile, The hallway to the middle school wing was quieter than usual, lit with soft amber tones bleeding through the large arched windows, painting golden bars across the marble floor. Aiva's footsteps echoed lightly as she walked, her tote bag swinging gently at her side, the thin stems of a wrapped flower peeking out. She glanced down at it with a small smile, the petals were pale violet with soft veins of blue. A rare hybrid. Delicate. Almost like it shouldn't belong in this world.
She'd found it two days ago near the lacrosse field, wilting, lonely, and somehow… calling to her.
She wasn't sure why she'd felt so compelled to bring it home. Or why she found herself obsessively researching how to care for it. The botany teacher was a kind older man with a fondness for odd flora; he might have some answers.
But halfway through the corridor, her pace slowed.
Something was off.
Muted voices drifted from around the bend. Harsh. Male. Mocking. She stopped. Frowned. Then tilted her head slightly, her senses sharpening. A shove. A small grunt. The unmistakable sound of a backpack being kicked.
She stepped forward quietly, her soft sneakers barely making a sound.
Peering around the corner, she saw two tall boys, Moonstone high-schoolers by their uniform stripes, pushing around a younger boy. He was crouched against the wall, one cheek already bruising, his glasses cracked. One of the bullies leaned in, gripping the boy's collar with a fist.
"You think being adopted makes you special, freak?" the larger one spat. "You're nothing. You're just the tagalong nobody wanted."
The other chuckled darkly. "Your brother should be ashamed to call you blood."
Aiva froze.
Adopted.
Her heart beat once, hard.
The boy didn't cry. He balled his fists, stared them down with trembling fury. But he was cornered, and clearly outmatched. She saw it in his jaw, the kind of silence that came not from fear, but from having endured too much. Her stomach twisted.
That look.
She'd seen it in the mirror too many times.
And somewhere, buried beneath her ribs… something stirred.
A flicker of pressure, like a crawling warmth behind her eyes. Her vision sharpened just slightly. The world slowed, and for a heartbeat, every emotion she'd long buried roared forward.
Pain. Isolation. Rage.
Let me in, whispered a voice inside her, so faint, like it came from behind her bones. Let me out.
She blinked and stepped back, pressing a palm to her temple.
Not now.
Not here.
Not him.
She drew in a deep breath. Fought it down. Buried it. Her fingers brushed the flower in her bag. The petals had started to wilt. She didn't know if she was trying to save it… or if it was trying to save her.
Then, her eyes hardened. She pulled out her phone.
Two seconds. Video on. Pointed directly at the boys. She stepped into the hallway.
"Moonstone's suspension board loves footage like this," she said calmly.
The taller boy turned, frowning. "Huh?"
She tilted her head. "You know—assault, harassment, breaking the new ethical code. All caught in 4K." She smirked faintly, eyes steady. "Unless you want to star in a very public hearing, I suggest you leave."
The boys hesitated.
"She's bluffing," the shorter one scoffed.
But the older one met Aiva's gaze… and froze.
Her stare didn't blink. Cold. Calm. Controlled.
But behind her eyes… there was something else. Something ancient and waiting.
He looked away first.
"C'mon," he muttered to his friend. "Screw this."
They turned and left, their laughter bitter and forced as they disappeared around the corner. Aiva exhaled slowly. Her grip on the phone loosened. She flicked the camera off.
The younger boy stood awkwardly, brushing himself off.
"You, uh, were bluffing, right?" he asked, eyes wide.
She nodded. "Didn't record a thing."
The boy looked down. "One of them's my brother."
"I figured."
"You could've gotten in trouble."
"You could've gotten hurt."
A pause.
He swallowed, then mumbled, "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
"I wanna be brave like you someday," he added.
She paused again. Smiled faintly. But then, for just a second, something passed over her face. A shadow of sadness. Or maybe guilt.
"You don't want to be like me," she said softly, her voice almost inaudible. "Trust me."
The boy tilted his head, confused. But Aiva was already stepping away, her steps calm, controlled, precise.
Behind her… a slow breeze filtered through the cracked window.
Behind her eyes… the voice returned.
You're slipping…
But she didn't let it out.
She wouldn't.
Not again.