Untitled Episode
Chapter 001:
The Ghost of Literature Class
The fog in the town of Vale did not just drift; it crawled. It wrapped around the Gothic stone pillars of Shadowvale College like a shroud, keeping the elite academy hidden from the rest of the world.
Nyx Claire pulled the collar of her cheap leather jacket higher against the damp chill, keeping her head down as she walked through the massive archway. She was eighteen, entirely broke, and had spent her whole life bouncing around the foster system. She didn't belong in a place that looked like it belonged to old money and royalty. But she had a goal, and she was going to achieve it.
The moment she stepped into the main courtyard, the morning chatter died.
It didn't fade out slowly. It cut off instantly, like someone had flipped a switch. Dozens of students dressed in pristine, custom-tailored designer uniforms froze in their tracks. Conversations stopped mid-sentence.
A girl standing near the grand fountain dropped her glass water bottle. It shattered against the stone, the noise echoing like a gunshot in the dead silence.
Every single pair of eyes locked onto Nyx’s face. They weren't looking at her with the normal judgment reserved for a poor transfer student. They were looking at her with pure, paralyzing horror.
'Let me out,' a heavy, bloodthirsty voice growled, scratching at the back of Nyx's skull. 'They stare too much. Let me tear their eyes from their sockets.'
"Quiet, Leo," Nyx commanded mentally, tightening her grip on her backpack strap. "We are trying to blend in. Remember?"
Leo snarled, a low, vibration-like sound inside her head that made her own teeth ache. He was an ancient, violently protective werewolf spirit bound to her soul. He gave her supernatural speed, insane healing, and reflexes that made the human world look like it was moving in slow motion. Nyx had spent her entire life hiding him, knowing that if the human world found out what she was, they would lock her in a lab or put a bullet in her brain.
"Freya?" a boy whispered from the front steps, his face turning a sickly shade of white. "Oh my god... it’s her ghost. She’s back."
"It can't be," another student muttered, stepping backward as if Nyx were a walking corpse. "The Principal said she hung herself at the basketball courts. We all saw the body."
Nyx didn't stop. She didn't ask questions. She kept her face blank and walked right past them, but her mind was racing. 'Freya.'That was the second time she had heard that name since arriving in this town. Apparently, a girl who looked exactly like her had died a few months ago under very suspicious circumstances.
She checked her paper schedule, ignoring the terrified whispers following her like a tailwind. Her first class was Advanced Literature, Room 304.
When she slid open the heavy oak door to the classroom, the effect was exactly the same. The room was half-filled with students, and the second her boots crossed the threshold, the room went dead silent. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Nyx chose a seat in the very back corner, pulling out a cheap notebook and a scratched plastic pen.
Then, the back of her neck began to tingle.Leo didn't just snarl this time; he went completely rigid inside her mind.
'Danger, Nyx. Something lethal is coming. Hide.'
The classroom door opened, and a man walked in.
He didn't look like a teacher. He looked like a billionaire who owned the building. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with a cold, terrifying grace. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his black suit was tailored so flawlessly it looked like body armor. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and his eyes were a piercing, stormy gray.
This was Mr. Creed. He was a multi-millionaire who reportedly "volunteered" to teach at the college for fun.
But as he walked down the aisle toward the podium, Nyx’s wolf went absolutely wild. Leo was clawing at the walls of her mind, desperate to force a shift. Mr. Creed didn't smell like the other humans. He didn't smell weak. He smelled like cold steel, heavy ash, and something sharp that made her lungs burn.
'Silver and wolfsbane,' Leo warned, his voice laced with a rare hint of caution. 'He carries the scent of a killer. He is a predator, Nyx. A human predator.'
Mr. Creed didn't look up immediately. He set a heavy leather briefcase on the mahogany desk and picked up an expensive, black fountain pen. His movements were slow, dominant, and completely in control of the room. The air in the classroom felt heavy, suffocating under his sheer authority.
"Open your books to page fourteen," Creed said. His voice was a deep, smooth baritone that sent an involuntary shiver straight down Nyx's spine. It was a voice used to giving orders, a voice that expected absolute submission.
He finally raised his stormy gray eyes to scan the room.
He looked at the front row. The middle row. And then, his gaze landed on the back corner.
On Nyx.
Mr. Creed froze. His entire body went completely rigid, the polite, dominant mask of a teacher vanishing in a fraction of a second. His pupils dilated until his eyes looked almost entirely black. A dark, shock-filled horror washed over his features, followed instantly by something much more dangerous—a fiercely possessive, toxic obsession.
Crack.
The expensive fountain pen in his hand snapped perfectly in half under his raw physical grip. Dark blue ink spilled across his palm, dripping onto his crisp white cuff, but he didn't even blink. He just stared at her, his chest rising and falling heavily as if he had just seen a ghost.
Nyx didn't look away. She lifted her chin, staring right back into his dangerous eyes, letting him know immediately that she wasn't afraid of him.
Mr. Creed’s knuckles turned white against the desk. He didn't care about the ink. He didn't care about the class. His eyes locked onto hers with a lethal intensity that told her one thing very clearly:
He knew exactly who Freya was, and Nyx’s life was never going to be the same again.
