Chapter 1 Amara #2
I stare at her, willing myself not to blink. My mother once told me that the only way to tame a wolf is to pretend you’re not afraid of being eaten. I never believed it, but right now I’d believe in alchemy if it got me out of this hallway.
“Nice uniform, Marcus.” Her gaze flicks over my body, cataloging, calculating.
“Did Daddy have it custom-made to match him? You know, we heard your Daddy fucked a prof last year and that your mom just lets it happen. Oh, and your brother is still single. Hmmm… maybe I’ll take that Marcus for myself. Then we can be sisters.”
The other girls laugh. It’s not real laughter, just a performance for whoever might be watching from the shadows or the security feed. I picture the Board reviewing footage at the end of the week, rating the cruelty on a scale of one to ten. The smart money says I break by Wednesday.
My throat closes up. I taste copper.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Their words have become distant muffles as I transport myself to my happy place, just like my therapist says to do.
I want to scream at them, claw their perfect faces until the only thing left is the truth. But the scream won’t come. All I can do is press my fingernails into my palm and hope the pain brings me back to the surface.
The brunette leans in. Her lips are so red they look painted on. “You’re awfully quiet for someone with a legacy like yours,” she whispers. “Or did Daddy take your voice when he sold you to the Roths?”
The surprise on my face must have alerted her to the fact that I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Oh you poor thing. You don’t even know. At least Julian has a big dick. I was his girl last year until he got tired of me. Don’t think he won’t tire of you, too.”
The first tear prickles hot behind my eye. I blink fast, desperate to swallow it.
They smell blood.
The ringleader puts her hand on my shoulder, a fake gesture of comfort. Her nails dig in, just enough to sting. “Don’t worry, princess,” she says, voice syrupy and venomous all at once. “You’ll learn. We all do.”
Her friends tighten the circle. I can’t move without bumping into one of them.
My breath is a small, sharp thing, barely enough to keep me upright.
I’m going to cry, I know it. The knowledge is worse than the tears themselves. I am on the verge of humiliation, drowning in it, when a voice cuts through the corridor.
“Fascinating display of insecurity.”
The voice is crisp, unhurried. I look up, and there she is: Eve Allen, the girl I’ve seen only in pictures when my father explained the whose who of Westpoint.
Somehow she feels more real than the rest of us combined.
She is not pretty, not by Westpoint standards, but she moves with a kind of stubbornness that makes her impossible to ignore.
Her hair is the color of old coffee, pulled into a lopsided bun, and her uniform is the only one I’ve seen with the cuffs worn at the edges.
Her shoes are flat, practical, scuffed in ways that suggest she uses them for more than walking from class to class.
She stands at the end of the corridor, hands shoved in her pockets, looking at the girls like they’re a bug infestation she’s deciding whether to ignore or torch.
The ringleader’s hand drops from my shoulder. She schools her face into polite disdain.
“Excuse me?” she says, trying for regal but landing on petulant.
Eve shrugs. “I just think it’s fascinating, the way money makes some people so… brittle. You’d think with that many zeroes in your trust fund, you’d have enough self-esteem to leave the new girl alone.”
The girls glance at each other, waiting for someone to call Eve’s bluff. She doesn’t flinch, just keeps her eyes on them, as if daring them to say what they’re really thinking.
The blonde recovers first. “Nobody was talking to you, Allen.”
Eve grins, wide and unbothered. “You were talking to the entire east wing, actually. But I get it. It’s hard to modulate your volume when your head’s stuck that far up your own ass.”
A snort escapes me before I can stop it. The sound surprises everyone, myself included.
The brunette turns on Eve, her face sharp. “You think you’re special, just because they let you in on a scholarship and somehow landed an Ellis?”
Eve tilts her head, mock consideration. “No, but I do think it’s hilarious that you’re so obsessed with me. Maybe go find a hobby?”
The air in the corridor tightens. The girls’ posturing collapses in the face of Eve’s total indifference. There is no social capital in bullying someone who doesn’t play the game.
The brunette flicks her hair, disdain masking defeat. “Whatever. This isn’t over, Marcus.”
She pivots, and the others follow. Their retreat is less an escape than a regrouping, but for now, they’re gone.
The second they round the corner, my legs buckle. I sag against the wall, breathing so hard my ribs hurt.
Eve walks over, slow and unthreatening. She stops just out of reach, as if unsure how much space I need. “You okay?” she asks.
I can’t answer. The humiliation, the gratitude, it’s all tangled up and stuck somewhere behind my tongue.
She waits.
I nod. It’s all I can do.
Eve’s eyes soften, just a little. “They’re scared of what they don’t own. You know that, right?”
It takes me a minute to realize she means me.
She keeps talking. “You have every right to be here. You belong as much as they do, probably more.”
I want to believe her. I want it so badly it almost hurts.
Instead, I stare at my shoes. “Thank you,” I manage.
She shrugs, but I can tell she means it. “Come on. If you stay here, they’ll just come back with more friends.”
I push off from the wall. My legs still tremble, but I follow her.
Eve doesn’t make small talk. She doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t try to fix the silence. We walk side by side down the empty corridor, away from the cameras and the echo of laughter.
For a moment, I pretend we are just two girls at any other school, friends.
It almost feels possible.
The east wing feels like a different world.
The stone is the same, but the echoes are softer here.
The hallways are lined with bookcases instead of trophy cases.
No one’s watching from the shadows; if they are, they’re just as good at hiding as I am.
Eve leads the way with her hands stuffed deep in her skirt pockets, her stride unhurried, like she owns the corridor or, at least, refuses to let it own her.
I match her pace, not sure if I’m supposed to talk or just keep breathing.
“I’m not dorming here. Colton and I stay at the edge of the Academy in a cabin. What room is yours?”
I hand her my key. 3A.
“Ah, nice, the quiet section of the rich wing.”
We round a corner and pass through a fire door, which closes behind us with a padded thunk. The next hall is narrower, carpeted in dark grays and blues.
Eve pauses at a window, peering out at the quad. There’s a fountain down there, a couple benches, and a random family of ducks that security is trying to shoo away.
“People avoid this wing,” she says, as if reading my mind. “Old rumor about asbestos in the walls. I think it’s just because the Board can’t be bothered to put in new windows. Wasn’t in the renno budget, but the new, overly expensive Admin building was.”
She glances at me, searching for something in my expression.
I wish I knew what face I was making.
“It’s quieter here,” I manage.
Eve nods, satisfied. “Exactly.”
She pushes off the sill and keeps walking. It’s quaint here, not quite as luxurious as I thought it would be, but nice nonetheless. She gestures at the junction, then points out the window.
“You ever get cornered again, this is your exit. Down the service stairs. If you go left, you’ll end up in the staff kitchen. Right takes you to the archives, which is off-limits but the lock’s a joke.”
She recites this like she’s explaining how to escape a burning building.
“Is this a test?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
Eve grins, just a flicker. “No. If I wanted to test you, I’d do it in public. This is… self-defense.” She turns and starts down the right corridor, and I trail behind, uncertain. “I know what it’s like.”
I try to read her. She’s taller than me, but not by much. Her spine is straight, not in the way of someone who was told to stand up straight, but like she decided a long time ago she wouldn’t let herself fold. There’s a scar under her left eyebrow, thin and pale, only visible in certain light.
I want to ask how she got it, but the thought feels intrusive.
Instead, I say, “Why did you help me?”
Eve stops walking, and I nearly collide with her.
She turns to face me, her hands still jammed in her pockets. Her expression is unreadable.
“Do you know what it’s like to walk into a room and know everyone’s already decided who you are?” she asks.
I want to say yes, but I don’t know if it’s the same for her as it is for me.
She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “When I got here, I was the scholarship girl. The board’s little social experiment.
They tracked everything—my grades, my spending, even what I ate in the dining hall.
Then something happened and… well, let’s just say Colton saved me and now I’m living my happily ever after.
You’ll get yours too, just… try not draw attention to yourself.
You may be a Marcus, but the girls here are cunts and they do not give a fuck. ”
She looks away, down the empty hall. “But it sucks, always being alone.”
The confession is so quiet I almost miss it.
“I’m not… I’m not like you. Strong, I mean,” I say. It comes out smaller than I want.
Eve gives me a look, then shakes her head. “Sure you are. You just haven’t figured out how to be, yet.”
I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a curse.
“That one’s your room. Wanna go back down and we can chill in the lounge the poor kids hang in? It’s way more chill than the dining hall at this hour." She giggles. “Plus, they have my favorite chips in the vending machine.”
“Sure.” I say, feeling myself gain confidence the longer she talks.
We walk again, down the service stairs, past the archives, then into a side lounge with mismatched couches and a vending machine that’s older than either of us. Eve grabs a can of soda from the machine and offers it to me. I shake my head.
She pops the tab and takes a long drink. “You want the real rules?” she asks. “Ignore what the Board tells you. Don’t trust the legacies; they’ll sell you out for clout every time. Never let anyone see you cry, and never, ever let them see you bleed.”
I nod, absorbing every word.
She wipes her mouth on her sleeve. “Professors: Don’t trust Mr. Henley. He likes to make an example of girls who don’t play by the rules. Mr. Kelly in the library is safe. The rest, just keep your head down.”
She looks at me, and for the first time, there’s no armor in her eyes. Just tiredness, and something like hope.
“Your last name is both shield and target here. Your father and brother kept you hidden for a reason. It’s only a matter of time before everyone figures out what that reason is.”
A chill creeps up my spine. I try to picture my father and brother plotting to protect me, and all I see is a cage with thicker bars.
I shiver, even though the room is warm.
“What do you want from me?” I ask. The words taste like defeat.
Eve stares at me for a long moment. I expect her to laugh, or shrug, or say something clever. She doesn’t.
“Everyone deserves one person who isn’t using them for something,” she says. “I’m not here for a favor. I just… I don’t like seeing good people get crushed.”
I don’t know what to say. I want to tell her I’m not a good person, that I’m not even sure what I am anymore. Instead, I just sit there, numb and raw.
We stay in the lounge for a while. Eve tells me stories about the school, the hidden passageways and the best places to nap, the time she filled the legacy girls’ shampoo bottles with mayonnaise. I find myself laughing, once, and the sound feels strange in my mouth.
When the bell rings for next period, Eve stands.
“You coming?” she asks.
I hesitate, then nod.
We walk back through the halls, together this time.
For the first time, I wonder what it would feel like to want something just for myself.
I think I could get used to it.