Rowan awoke to the low hum of the academy. Even in sleep, Ravenswood seemed alive—its corridors whispering secrets he couldn't yet hear. The wind pressed against his window, carrying a chill that made him pull his jacket tighter. He dressed quickly, aware that observation here was as crucial as breathing.
At breakfast, Lyra and Vivienne were already seated at a small corner table, the sunlight catching strands of Lyra's dark hair. Vivienne offered him a soft smile as he approached.
"Good morning," Rowan said quietly.
Lyra's eyes flicked toward him, sharp and assessing. "Morning. Watch your step," she said. "Ravenswood isn't kind to those who don't know the rules."
"I can manage," he replied.
Vivienne leaned closer, whispering, "Ignore her scolding. She means well… mostly."
Rowan raised an eyebrow but let the comment pass. Lyra had a presence that demanded attention. Vivienne's, in contrast, was calming—a subtle reminder that not everything here was hostile.
Across the hall, Orion moved with ease. Students gave him space as he passed, heads bowed slightly in respect—or fear. Rowan's eyes followed him, noting the quiet authority in every gesture. Lyra noticed too.
"He's… unusual," she murmured.
Rowan tilted his head. "You know him?"
Lyra's lips curved slightly. "We've crossed paths before. Pay attention, Rowan. People like him…" She hesitated, "…they notice everything."
The first class began, and the rules of Ravenswood became clearer without anyone speaking them. Every movement was measured. Every whisper carefully timed. A boy dropped his pen; it clattered against the floor like a gunshot. Heads snapped up. Silence. The boy froze, hands trembling.
Rowan leaned toward Lyra. "That reaction seems… extreme."
She shrugged. "He spoke out of turn. That's all."
"But his hands…" Rowan murmured.
Lyra's eyes met his, sharp and assessing. "You'll learn quickly: survival isn't about fairness. It's about obedience and observation. You notice, you survive. You question, you falter."
They moved between classes together, walking behind Orion at a distance. Rowan's eyes swept the corridors, noting which doors were locked, which hallways were empty, which students moved like shadows. Lyra whispered details under her breath, like a guide.
"See that staircase near the science wing?" she said. "Never use it. No reason is given. Just don't. Curiosity has consequences."
Rowan nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."
Vivienne added softly, "And sometimes it's not just the rules. Watch the people. Who looks where. Who talks to whom. That tells you more than the teachers ever will."
At lunch, the students formed natural hierarchies. Seniors at the center, juniors on the edges. Some tables were never approached unless permission was granted—unspoken but clear. Rowan realized Lyra and Vivienne fit somewhere in that structure, blending into the rules while observing the rest.
Orion sat across the hall, watching the room with effortless control. He didn't speak, but the influence was clear: students hesitated, adjusted posture, corrected themselves as he passed. Rowan studied him. Power didn't shout. Power made silence obey.
After classes, Lyra pulled Rowan aside. "Pay attention to the teachers too. Some of them… don't care who notices, as long as no one stops them. Watch Thomas Langley in particular. Keep your distance. And your eyes open."
Rowan frowned slightly. "What about him?"
Lyra's expression hardened. "You'll see. Just be careful."
Later, in the quiet of his dorm room, Rowan unpacked slowly, replaying every interaction from the day. Lyra's warnings, Vivienne's quiet reassurances, Orion's unreadable eyes—all of it. He traced his finger along the window sill, feeling the slight chill of metal.
Somewhere in the shadows of Ravenswood, rules were enforced without words, and consequences waited quietly, like predators.
Rowan knew instinctively: this school was alive, and survival would mean learning its secrets before they learned him.
Outside, the wind rattled the windows. A door clicked somewhere down the hall.
Rowan Arden stayed perfectly still, listening.
He wasn't just a transfer student.
And he wasn't alone.