Blackthorne Academy's main hall stretched wide and cold, all marble floors and high ceilings that swallowed sound. Students moved in clusters, already sorted into their tribes by the second day.

And Y/n stood alone by the window, backpack straps tight on her shoulders, watching the courtyard where a group had already formed.

Six of them. Maybe seven. All dressed like money didn't matter—because for them, it never had.

The tallest one caught her eye first. Black curls, gold skin, a jaw sharp enough to cut glass. He was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, talking to a shorter boy with tighter curls who kept glancing her way.

Then the tall one turned. Slow. Deliberate.

And when their eyes met—

Beside him, a boy with sharp features and tired eyes straightened, his gaze cutting through her like he already knew every answer she refused to give.