Lilly's Pov
The guy I'd dumped coffee on and he was looking directly at me.
"Do you know Zayn Blackthorne?" Sage asked, her voice sharp with surprise.
"I... it's complicated," I managed, my mouth suddenly dry.
Below, Zayn said something to his friends, then started walking toward our building. My heart kicked into overdrive, hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
"He's coming here," Sage said, her eyes wide. "Oh my God, he's coming to this building. Lilly, what did you do?"
"Nothing! I mean, I kind of spilled coffee on him yesterday at a café, but—"
"You WHAT?"
Before I could explain—before I could even begin to process what I was going to say—there was a knock at the door.
We both froze, staring at each other like deer in headlights.
"Should we answer it?" I whispered.
"I don't know!" Sage whispered back. "Maybe if we stay quiet, he'll think we're not here?"
Another knock, more insistent this time. Three sharp raps that seemed to echo through the room.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and walked to the door. My hand trembled on the handle for just a second before I pulled it open.
But it wasn't Zayn standing there. It was a student I didn't recognize—a tired-looking junior with a clipboard and the expression of someone who'd rather be literally anywhere else.
"Mandatory assembly in one hour," she said in a bored tone, not even looking up from her clipboard. "All new students must attend. Main auditorium. Don't be late."
She walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing in the doorway feeling like an idiot.
"False alarm," I called back to Sage.
"Thank God." She collapsed onto her bed dramatically. "I thought I was going to have a heart attack." Then she sat up, looking me up and down critically. "But we should still prepare. If there's an assembly, Zayn will be there. And if Zayn is there, so will Victoria."
"Victoria?"
Sage's expression darkened. "Victoria Ashford. Zayn's ex-girlfriend. She's not technically part of the Elite Council, but she might as well be. She's obsessed with Zayn—like, scary obsessed. If she thinks you're interested in him, or if she thinks he's interested in you, she'll destroy you." She paused. "She's already run off like three girls this year."
"I'm not interested in Zayn," I said automatically.
Sage raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because you turned bright red when you saw him, and you're still red now."
I pressed my hands to my cheeks, feeling the heat there. "That's not—I don't—" I took a breath. "Look, I dumped coffee on him yesterday by accident. It was embarrassing. That's all."
"If you say so," Sage said, but she didn't look convinced. "Either way, you need to look good for this assembly. First impressions matter here, and you've already made some questionable ones with Beauty. Let me help you pick an outfit."
I wanted to argue that I didn't care what anyone thought of me, that I wasn't trying to impress anyone. But that would have been a lie, and we both knew it.
So instead, I let Sage dive into both our wardrobes, pulling out options and holding them up critically.
"Too casual," she muttered, tossing aside a sweater. "Too try-hard. Too—oh, this one." She held up a combination that was somehow both my clothes and hers, mixed together into something that looked effortlessly cool. "This says 'I belong here but I don't care if you think I do.'"
"That's very specific," I said.
"Trust me. I've been studying the social dynamics here for a year. I know what I'm talking about."
As I changed into the outfit—dark jeans that actually fit, a top that was nicer than anything I'd owned before I got here, a jacket that pulled it all together—Sage kept up a steady stream of advice.
Who to talk to. Who to avoid. How to navigate the minefield of Ravencrest social politics without getting blown up.
It should have been overwhelming. It probably was overwhelming. But Sage's enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself almost looking forward to the assembly.
Almost.
"And whatever you do," she said as we prepared to leave, her voice dropping to that serious tone again, "stay away from the north tower after dark. Seriously. Just don't go there."
"Why? What's in the north tower?"
"I don't know. No one does." Sage shuddered. "But students who go up there after hours have a tendency to either come back acting weird or not come back at all. Last year, a junior went up there on a dare and they found him the next morning unconscious at the base of the stairs with no memory of what happened."
"That's... concerning," I said.
"This place has a lot of rules, Lilly. Some of them are official, written in the handbook. Others are unofficial, learned through experience and whispered warnings." She met my eyes. "You're going to have to figure out which ones are superstitions and which ones are serious."
We headed down to the main auditorium, joining the stream of students all moving in the same direction. It was like being swept up in a current—you could either go with the flow or get trampled trying to swim upstream.
The auditorium was impressive—vaulted ceilings that seemed to stretch up forever, carved wooden panels depicting scenes I didn't recognize, brass fixtures that gleamed in the light filtering through stained glass windows.
But what caught my attention was the stage at the front.
Three chairs sat there, throne-like and imposing.
And sitting in those chairs were Zayn, Nix, and Ashton.
The Elite Council.
Zayn's eyes found mine the moment I entered the room.
That electric shock hit again, stronger this time. Like every nerve in my body had suddenly woken up and was screaming for attention. I forced myself to look away, to focus on finding a seat, but I could feel his gaze following me.
Tracking me through the crowd like a predator watching prey.
"This is fine," I muttered to Sage as we sat down in the middle section. "Everything is fine."
"You keep telling yourself that," she whispered back. "Meanwhile, Zayn Blackthorne hasn't stopped staring at you since you walked in, and Victoria Ashford looks like she wants to commit murder."
I risked a glance toward the front row, where a girl with perfect blonde hair and a designer outfit sat with her arms crossed, glaring daggers in my direction.
She was beautiful in that expensive, high-maintenance way that came from good genes and better skincare. But her expression was pure venom.
Great. I'd been at Ravencrest for less than a day, and I'd already made enemies of both the mean girls and the queen bee.
This was going exactly as planned.
The assembly started with Chancellor Perkins welcoming the new students, laying out expectations for the year in a voice that was warm but carried an undercurrent of steel. But I barely heard a word of it.
I was too aware of Zayn's presence on that stage. Too conscious of Victoria's hostile stare. Too overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
When the assembly finally ended, students began filing out. Sage grabbed my arm, trying to steer me toward the exit, but the crowd was too dense, too slow-moving.
We were trapped in the middle of the throng, shuffling forward at a glacial pace.
"Lilly."
The voice came from behind me, smooth and deep and sending shivers down my spine that I absolutely did not want to analyze.
I turned slowly, knowing who I'd see but somehow still not prepared for the impact.
Zayn Blackthorne stood there, his two friends flanking him like bodyguards or attack dogs, hard to tell which.
Up close, he was even more imposing than I remembered. Tall enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Features that looked like they'd been carved by someone who understood the concept of aesthetic perfection a little too well.
Dark eyes that seemed to see straight through me.
"We need to talk," he said. It wasn't a request but an order that I knew damn well not to flout.
My mouth went dry. Around us, students were pretending not to stare while absolutely staring. I could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on us, could sense the shift in the room's energy as everyone realized that Zayn Blackthorne—Zayn Blackthorne—was talking to me.
To me. The scholarship kid who'd been here for less than six hours.
"I don't think—" I started, but he cut me off.
"It wasn't a request," he said again, and there was steel beneath that smooth tone. "My office. Ten minutes."
He walked away before I could argue, his friends following like shadows. The crowd parted for them automatically, creating a path that closed again as soon as they'd passed.
"What just happened?" I asked Sage, my voice barely working.
"You've been summoned," she said, her eyes wide. "By Zayn Blackthorne. To his office. This is either really good or really, really bad, and I'm leaning toward bad."