Chapter 2 Beneath the surfaces
1101 Words
The administration office was nothing like what she had seen in her high school. It was larger, far more spacious—almost like a luxury lounge rather than a place of bureaucratic processing. The floors gleamed, the walls were lined with elegant portraits and shelves of books, and everything smelled faintly of cedar and something sharper—like mint. She couldn’t help but wonder how anyone could get any real work done in such a relaxed environment.
Then she saw him.
A crisply dressed man, likely in his mid-twenties, stood behind the reception desk. He exuded a quiet intensity, his posture straight, his gestures efficient. His presence changed the atmosphere of the room. Professionalism clung to him like a second skin. There was no denying his aura of authority.
He was handsome, too—sharply defined jawline, clean-shaven, and with a pair of focused brown eyes that gave nothing away. He looked like someone who didn’t tolerate nonsense, someone who knew exactly how to get things done.
He stepped forward and extended a hand. “Welcome. I’m Semial,” he said.
Semial. She thought the name was a little unusual for a man, but something about the way he said it made her keep the thought to herself. The name might be odd, but the authority that oozed from him was impossible to ignore. She shook his hand, and his grip was firm, deliberate, like he meant every word he hadn’t yet said. He gestured for her to sit.
As she lowered herself into the plush leather chair, she couldn’t resist looking around the room once more. It was bigger than the bunk room she had once shared with six other girls, and yet only one person worked here. It felt like stepping into another world—one she wasn’t sure she belonged in.
While she studied the room, he studied her.
There was something quietly captivating about her. She didn’t flaunt her beauty, but it was there—soft and understated, with eyes that hinted at something deeper. It was a shame, he thought to himself, that this would likely be the last time he saw her.
“Welcome to Blackwood, Miss Monroe,” he said, breaking the silence. “Your principal has told us a great deal about you. With your impressive academic record, we’re glad to have you on board. This is a place where we help shape the future—and yours is promising.”
She smiled, the nerves in her belly knotting tighter.
He continued, his tone shifting slightly. “We do have some expectations for you. Outside of your academic excellence, there are rules that are strictly enforced. Some of them are non-negotiable. Breaking them could result in the revocation of your scholarship. And I’m sure we’d both prefer to avoid that.”
Her smile faltered. None of that had been mentioned in the scholarship letter she received. She had been so excited then—Blackwood had felt like a dream. Now, that dream was beginning to seem too good to be true.
Semial reached into a drawer and pulled out a dark green folder. “In here, you’ll find your student guide. It includes a map of the campus and basic instructions to help you navigate. Someone will meet you shortly for a physical tour, but it’s good to familiarize yourself with the environment.”
She accepted the folder and thanked him, doing her best to ignore the sudden weight in her chest. Anxiety was bubbling beneath the surface, and she pushed it down as best she could.
“Excuse me,” she asked quietly. “Could I use the restroom?”
He pointed her toward a sleek hallway off to the side. Her limbs felt heavier than usual as she made her way there. A few minutes later, she returned, and Semial gave her instructions to head to the scholarship house.
Outside, a cab was already waiting. She wasn’t sure who had arranged it or who was paying the driver, but she didn’t ask. By the time the cab pulled in front of a long stone building draped in ivy, she was exhausted. No one was around to greet her, so she pulled her bag from the trunk and dragged it up the steps, willing herself to stay upright.
Her dorm room was easy enough to find. The first glimpse of it stole her breath—it was nothing like what she had expected.
The walls were painted a soft lilac, accented by hues of blue. The entire room carried a calming, forest-inspired theme, with gentle leaf patterns on the curtains and a mural of tall trees painted on one wall. It was quiet and cozy—like a sanctuary carved from nature itself.
She dropped the folder on the bed and flopped down beside it, her body finally surrendering to exhaustion.
Sleep claimed her almost instantly.
When she woke, the sun had dipped below the horizon again. The room was cloaked in darkness, and her stomach grumbled in protest. Her phone buzzed with notifications—six missed calls from Lila, her best friend, and two from her principal. She groaned and sat up, brushing sleep from her eyes.
Her bag sat untouched in the corner. She made a mental note to unpack, but her eyes drifted to the folder. Curiosity tugged at her. She reached for it and flipped it open.
The folder was a dark, forest green, and inside were neatly printed documents and guides. At first glance, it all seemed like an overwhelming amount of information, but she focused on a single sheet near the front.
Rules for Students of the University of Blackwood:
1. Do not venture into buildings marked as off-limits to students.
2. Do not go outside after dark.
3. No fraternizing with professors or senior students.
4. Always carry your student ID on you.
5. Visiting the town is prohibited unless accompanied by an authorized guide.
6. Never enter the woods at night.
7. Fighting is grounds for immediate expulsion.
8. Attendance at every social gathering organized by the school’s philanthropist is mandatory.
She read the list twice. The tone of the rules was more than strict—it was almost ominous.
Her heart pounded a little harder in her chest. There was something strange about Blackwood, and she had a feeling that what she had seen so far was only the surface.
But she had come here for a better future. Whatever secrets the school held, she would keep her head down and follow the rules.
She couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity.
Not now.
- Writer
