The courtyard smelled like copper and roses.
Elira stood beneath the silver-bled moon, her coat whipping in the wind, her expression carved from stone. Behind the hedges and marble statues, red and blue lights flickered — security, faculty, half-asleep students.
And in the center of it all, a body.
Face pale. Limbs twisted like broken twigs.
Letters carved deep into her skin — deliberate, cruel.
"Tell the devil his queen is here."
It wasn't just a warning. It was a declaration.
Elira stepped closer, her eyes scanning the girl's face. She wasn't familiar — maybe a second-year. Pale hair. Dead eyes.
But her blood… it formed a pattern.
A symbol.
She recognized it.
Azriel's footsteps approached from behind. He didn't speak.
"She wasn't random," Elira said.
"No. She was on the list."
Her eyes narrowed. "What list?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a folded black envelope. Handed it to her.
Inside were six photos. All girls. All students.
Faces Elira had seen in passing — in the hallways, in the classrooms.
One had been transferred in from Greece.
One had lost her family in a fire.
One was always silent, eyes haunted.
And one was now dead.
Each file had two things in common:
A red stamp: "MONITORED."
A handwritten phrase across the top corner:
"Girls who were not meant to exist."
Elira sat in her room that night, every muscle taut, staring at the folder Azriel had given her.
The girl who died — her name was Livia Hargrove.
Age: 19. Enrolled in Blackthorne two months ago.
Orphaned. No next of kin. No record before 2020.
But Elira knew the symbol on her arm. It was used by The Asphodel, an underground intelligence faction Elira's family had once warred with — before they were slaughtered.
Why would one of them be at Blackthorne?
And why was Azriel tracking them?
She barely noticed the knock.
When she opened the door, Caelum stood there.
"I shouldn't be here," he muttered, glancing down the hall. "But I figured you'd want to see this."
He handed her a drive.
Downstairs, she plugged it into her laptop and saw a list of files — security footage. One for each girl.
Livia's last day alive was timestamped.
Video 1: 03:16 PM.
She's seen exiting the south wing, eyes darting.
Video 2: 03:18 PM.
A man follows her. Face covered. Unidentified.
Video 3: 03:21 PM.
Camera cuts to black.
Video 4: 04:01 PM.
Camera flickers back. Blood on the ground. Livia's body gone.
It wasn't a murder.
It was a message. Deliberate. Timed. Professional.
She didn't sleep that night.
By morning, the campus was dressed in whispers.
"Did you hear she was found naked?"
"Who would do something like that here?"
"I heard the Dean knew and covered it up."
Elira walked through the halls like a shadow, tuning them out.
Then she saw her.
Girl #3 from the list.
Black hair. Honey skin. Sitting on a stone bench, nervously tearing a leaf apart.
Elira sat beside her.
"You don't know me," she said. "But I know you're scared."
The girl flinched.
"Who sent you?" Elira asked softly. "Who made you come here?"
The girl's eyes watered. Her lips trembled.
"I was told this was sanctuary. They said I'd be protected. That he would protect us."
"Who?" Elira pressed.
But the girl shook her head. "You'll die if you ask. We all do."
She stood and left. Fast.
Elira didn't follow. But she texted Azriel two words:
"She knows."
Azriel had always known Blackthorne was rotting.
It wasn't just an elite university. It was a veil — one hiding power, experiments, bloodlines, secrets.
He hadn't told Elira the full truth.
Not yet.
Because he wasn't just watching those girls.
He was watching her too.
She was once on the list. Until the name "Elira Vale" vanished off the face of every international system.
Only a ghost would dare walk back into the light.
And ghosts always had a reason.
By the time the sun dipped, another message arrived.
Slipped under her dorm door.
No envelope. Just one sentence.
"Queen or pawn, you'll burn the same."
Elira ripped the paper and flushed it.
She was done being hunted.
It was time to hunt back.
She found Azriel in the training arena — shirtless, fists red, punching a target dummy until it splintered.
"Do you want to die?" she asked coldly.
He didn't stop.
"No. But I want them to try."
She tossed the folder at him.
"They're sending a message. What are you doing about it?"
He caught the folder mid-air. Opened it. Skimmed. Tossed it aside.
"Everything you think you know is surface-level," he muttered.
"Then tell me what's beneath," she snapped.
He turned, eyes cold. "Fine."
He walked past her to the wall and pulled out a hidden panel. Inside was a staircase — downward.
She followed.
The room below was not part of any map.
Stone walls. Monitors. Weapons. Screens tracking students.
And a board — with seven photographs now.
One had been marked with a red X.
Livia.
Elira stared.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.
Azriel looked at her.
"I was born here. I was raised by wolves in silk suits. They turned me into something useful. Then they gave me this school to manage like a cage."
He pointed at the photos.
"But some cages aren't meant to hold monsters. And they knew… one day, the daughters of the fallen would rise."
He pointed to her face.
"You were always one of them. Even before you knew."
Her blood ran cold.
"You're saying this was planned?"
"No," he said. "I'm saying it was engineered."
Suddenly — a loud bang.
The lights flickered.
A scream echoed from above.
Azriel drew his gun.
Elira reached for her knife.
They bolted up the stairs.
Smoke curled down the hallway.
Another girl. One from the list.
Hanged. From the chandelier in the great hall.
No blood. Just a single word carved into her cheek.
"Liar."
And on the floor beneath her feet… was a photo.
Of Elira.
Not from campus.
From six years ago.
Standing in front of her parents' burning house.
Holding a matchbox.
__________
To be continued <3