The second bell hadn’t even finished echoing before Silver Ridge Academy turned into one long, petty stage play where I was somehow the villain for existing. Every hallway felt narrow, like a throat swallowing me whole. Every whisper grazed my skin. The enchanted sconces along the walls flickered with their pale witch-flames—cool, steady, judgmental—as if they, too, were critiquing my life choices.
Rune-laid stone thrummed under my boots like a second pulse, the academy measuring me, weighing me, filing me under: problematic.
Lila hooked her arm through mine before I could bolt, practically radiating fire. Chin high. Eyes sharp. Daring anyone to try their luck.
She didn’t need words to say f**k around and find out.
Bree slipped in on my other side—quiet, gentle, grounding—while Nora ho
