THE SECRETS WE BURN

Rain tapped against the car window like impatient fingers. Elara Sinclair sat still, one earbud in, her hoodie pulled low over her brow. The gates of Halebourne Academy loomed ahead—black iron twisted into vines and thorns, like they were warning her not to enter. "End of the line," her driver muttered. He didn’t offer to help with her bags. She stepped out, clutching her single suitcase. The campus looked like something out of a gothic novel: ivy-covered walls, arched windows, students walking in blazers that cost more than her old foster homes combined. She took a deep breath. Blend in. Keep your head down. Don't burn anything. Literally. “Elara Sinclair?” A woman in a red coat appeared beside her, clipboard in hand, smile tight. “Headmistress Corwin will see you after class tomorrow. For now, your room is in West Hall. Here—map, schedule, keys.” Before Elara could reply, the woman turned and walked off. So… this was it. Her fresh start. School number seven. Town number four. New name. New file. Same secret burning in her chest like a warning flare. As she made her way to West Hall, students stared. Not whispering—just watching. Assessing. Their eyes said we know what you are, even if their lips stayed shut. Inside the dorm, her room was cold. Minimal. One bed. One desk. One cracked window. She unpacked in silence until a flyer slipped under her door. Bold red letters. Black wax seal. DARE NIGHT. MIDNIGHT. THE GREENHOUSE. New blood must play to stay. She frowned. Greenhouse? A knock followed. A tall girl with sharp eyeliner and perfectly straightened hair leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “You're the transfer, huh?” “Yeah,” Elara said slowly. “I’m Sera. Friendly advice? Skip Dare Night if you like your eyebrows intact.” Her smile was all teeth. “But if you want to last here… show up. And try not to cry.” Elara didn’t flinch. “Thanks.” Sera raised a brow. “Ooh. Tough girl. We’ll see.” She left as quickly as she came. Elara stared at the flyer. Her fingers were warm again—too warm. She clenched her fist. The last time her hands felt like this, a fire started. The last time someone dared her… Three people didn’t survive. She tore her eyes from the page and whispered to herself, “You’re not her anymore.” But the flicker under her skin said otherwise.