Chapter 4
Seph
I watched them drag the boy away. For half a second, I wanted to reach for him—to stop them.
They were hurting him.
But Lyra caught my arm and turned me aside.
I jerked back. “Don’t touch me.”
She only sighed. “Don’t be rude. I’m taking you to your room.”
“Does that mean I’m done—”
The warden’s door shut in my face, cutting off the words and leaving me standing there—stupid and dismissed.
“You’ll learn a few things during your time here, Persephone.”
“Seph,” I said firmly.
“There are many people here you should avoid when you can.”
“Who was he?” I asked, watching the retreating figures of the guards.
Lyra rolled her eyes, refusing to answer. “Follow me, Persephone.”
I dragged my feet behind her as she started talking.
“There are a group of—shall we say—reprobates who walk the halls of Darkmoor,” she said.
“That was one of them. His name is Ash, and he’s a psychopath, so I suggest you steer clear.
He unfortunately spends a lot of time with K, one of the hottest guys here.
” She blushed slightly and touched her hair.
“K is also off limits.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Is K your boyfriend?” I asked her.
She glared at me. “He’s off limits. That’s all you need to know.”
“What did he do? Ash, I mean.” I asked, unable to help myself. “I mean, why is he so bad?”
Those eyes had struck me. I couldn’t stop seeing them in my mind.
“Ash would sooner rip a guard apart and play with his entrails than have a normal conversation. He’s bad news, Persephone. Most of the people here are. You need to be careful.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” I said.
“Most of the people here have been sent by their parents or magic schools because of antisocial tendencies. Under the Pure Light initiative, this is a last resort for a lot of students.”
“Including you?” I asked carefully.
She jerked to a stop. She turned and glared at me. “That is none of your business.”
I flinched slightly but nodded. “Ok. Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Lyra stared daggers at me for a moment, looking me up and down. I widened my eyes innocently, my palms out, non-threatening. I lowered my head to hide my smile.
Inwardly I was chuckling.
Don’t be a smartass, Seph, I could imagine Sable say.
Something in her calmed, and I watched her aura slowly churn.
She pulled herself up, eyeing me with suspicion before finally going back to her tour.
“You will need to find yourself a safe group of people to surround yourself with. Like the library people. You could be a library person!” She smiled, but it was predator-like.
I forced myself to smile back. I hated to think what the library people were like.
“You’ll find your time here best spent if you stick to the right groups. We have a few light magic users—me included—who would be a more appropriate crowd to sit with in the cafeteria.”
“You want me to sit with you?” I asked. The thought filled me with unease.
“No.” She actually looked horrified. “God, no. A null? Please. There are others—lesser students. I’m sure you’ll find some. Otherwise, the library allows loners. The courtyard too, as long as you stay away from the oak grove.”
“What’s in the oak grove?”
Lyra’s lips curved. “The oak grove is where only the most refined students sit.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes bright with pride. “It’s where I sit.”
Once again, I felt her aura burn — that warm, cloying pressure trying to twist my emotions into obedience.
“You wouldn’t want to upset me by trying to butt into my turf, would you?” she purred.
I knew what I was supposed to feel. So I smiled. “Of course. I would never do that.”
“Great.” Her voice turned sugar-sweet again. “Now—upstairs.”
The dorms were situated in wings that were attached to the house. My room was on the right, in what Lyra called the Night Block.
“This is the only place we could put you. You have a roommate. Her name is Jess. She’s a nasty piece of work – a pyromaniac. So just stay out of her way.”
The corridor leading into the Night Block was narrower than the others — colder too.
The windows here were smaller, their glass thick and clouded, warping the last of the afternoon light into strange shapes across the floor.
A faint hum ran through the walls, like the building itself was holding its breath.
Lyra walked ahead, heels clicking a steady rhythm against the tiles. “We keep the more… challenging students in this section,” she said lightly. “It’s quieter that way. The walls are lined with magic dampeners – in fact the whole school is. So that should work in your favour, huh?”
She smiled at me like I was a child.
“Um. That’s good?”
She stopped at the last door on the right and produced a key card. The light above the reader blinked green, and the lock clicked open.
“Here we are.” She pushed the door open with the tip of her finger.
The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and damp wood. Two small rooms sat opposite each other, divided by a worn couch that had seen better years. The far wall held a narrow window with iron bars woven through the frame. Someone had scratched a line of tally marks into the sill.
The room on the left was a disaster—clothes scattered everywhere, dark jeans, combat boots, a leather jacket with silver studs along the collar. A single cigarette smouldered in a dish, trailing lazy smoke toward the ceiling.
The girl lying on the bed looked up when we entered.
She had sharp features, dark red curls cropped short around her jaw, and eyes that caught the light like glass—pale, unfriendly, unreadable.
“Jess,” Lyra said sweetly. “This is your new roommate. Persephone Harrin.”
“Seph.” I said, my voice flat.
Jess didn’t move. “I don’t do roommates.”
“Well,” Lyra said, still smiling, “now you do.” She turned back to me and handed me the card. “Unpack. Dinner’s in an hour. Cafeteria’s on the east side—follow the noise. And don’t expect me to escort you again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmured.
Her aura shimmered as she stepped back into the hall—that same cloying sweetness curling through the air—and then she was gone.
Silence stretched.
Jess exhaled a thin stream of smoke, eyes never leaving me. “You snore, you’re dead.”
“Good to know.”
She smirked faintly. “Welcome to Darkmoor, princess.”
Then she rolled over, cigarette glowing in the dim.
I stepped into my room and closed the door behind me.
It was pitiful. A narrow single bed with a thin, worn blanket; a pillow so flat it looked ashamed of itself. The sheets were grey.
Above the bed, a small window with no blinds stared out at nothing. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, its light harsh and lonely, bleeding pale over the vinyl floor.
A thin rug lay beside the bed — once blue, now a tired grey, a foot too short to be useful.
I sat down and touched my bracelet again.
How had things gone so wrong?
Of course I knew how.
It was my fault.
I sighed and began to unpack. The small desk was bolted to the wall — the kind that didn’t trust you not to steal it. I set my notepad and pen on top, beside a boxy white computer that looked twenty years old and probably slower than sin.
As I turned away, something clattered.
I froze. The pen lay on the floor.
Frowning, I picked it up and set it back on the desk.
It stayed still for a moment. Then, slowly, it began to turn — a single, deliberate circle, as if nudged by an invisible finger.
My heartbeat thundered. I stumbled back.
The pen fell again, clattering onto the vinyl with a sharp, hollow sound. Still.
My breath came too fast, the room suddenly colder.
And then it hit me.
I think I might have a ghost