There are two kinds of power at Daxton:
The kind you take and the kind they let you think you’ve earned.
Sonia sat in the back of the morning business seminar, legs stretched under the table, black pen twirling between her fingers. She wasn’t listening. Not really.
The only thing playing in her head was Mavina’s voice from the night before:
“Someone in House Morvain voted against you.”
And not just that.
“We don’t allow traitors to live comfortably.”
It wasn’t just drama. At Daxton, being uncomfortable meant getting your room trashed, your grades tampered with, your name dragged through whispers until you were nothing but a rumor with a face.
After class, she moved like someone with a mission.
Quick. Precise. Calculating.
There were eleven members of House Morvain. Mavina, two tw
