Chapter 5 Amara
I shower faster than I’ve ever showered before.
Everything from the roots of my hair to the cuticles of my nails feels tainted by him.
I towel off, and the scratch of fabric sets my nerves on fire.
The uniform, once armor, now fits like a straitjacket.
I run the flat iron over my hair until the ends sizzle.
I leave the dorm with a pit in my stomach. I almost turn back twice before I reach the main hall.
My eyes are on my shoes, the step pattern so rehearsed it’s muscle memory. Right foot, left foot, up three stairs, pivot right, then down the gallery past the stone columns and under the ugly little statues that watch over everything.
I’m halfway to the lecture hall when I hear my name.
Not the full name—just Amara, stretched out and then compressed into something ugly. The word bounces off the cold stone and lands like a curse.
I freeze. My spine goes rigid and I press myself flat against the nearest wall, skin flaring with adrenaline.
Then there’s footsteps, slow and heavy. I recognize the voice: Bam. The other is Julian, clipped and quiet yet somehow deadly at the same time.
They round the corner, walking side by side.
I know I should keep moving, but I can’t. Something in me demands to listen.
They don’t see me hiding in the shadows.
Bam’s head is bent low, shoulders hunched forward, hands jammed deep in the pockets of his jacket.
He’s bigger up close than I remembered from the dinner.
His biceps look like they could snap tree trunks.
The tattoos on his hands are just visible, winding up under the sleeves.
Julian walks with the ease of someone who knows the world is watching. His blazer is crisp, the cufflinks flashing with every movement. His hair is pushed back from his face, leaving every sharp angle exposed.
They stop just a few meters from where I’m hiding.
“Can you believe they really went through with it?” Bam chuckles. “Thought for sure the Board would hold out for someone with less… family baggage.”
Julian sighs. “She’s the last of the female line. That’s the point. No one else has the pedigree. Her brother will likely marry rich, but he’s got his own shit going on. They need someone to step into Westpoint’s politics and who better to marry her off to, than me.”
I feel my pulse start to accelerate, blood rushing in my ears. I press my palm to the wall, grounding myself in the cold.
Bam snorts. “She’s not gunna survive man. You said she could barely hold up against your parents. If the dinner didn’t do it, the Hunt will.”
The Hunt.
The event I’ve only ever heard whispers about and somehow have a feeling that’s exactly what I’m doing here. Why my father wanted me to comply.
“I’m not worried,” Julian says. “It’s already decided. Her father signed the papers before she even got here.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Fucking sick,” Bam says. “They’re really moving fast now. Something must be happening for them to sign before you even claimed her.”
“That’s the whole point,” Julian answers. “Her father wants power. The Board wants legacy. She’s the only one who ticks both boxes. No matter how she acts, she’s going to end up right where they want her.”
My vision starts to tunnel. The cold from the wall leeches up my arm, but my skin is burning.
Bam leans against a column, picks at a hangnail, then flicks it away with a grunt. “So what happens next? You court her for a week, then lock it down?”
Julian’s mouth pulls into a smile I can hear in his voice. “I’m supposed to ‘solidify the alliance’ by the full moon. Claim her at the Hunt and then everything will be done and dusted. Both the Ellis’ and the Marcus’ will hold more power than we’ve seen in almost a century.”
Bam claps his hands before rubbing them together. “You think she’s gonna put up a fight?”
“She’s not a fighter. She’s been caged since birth. It’s just a matter of time before she caves. I mean fuck man, you should have seen how easy it was to have my way with her in the bathroom.”
I dig my nails into the seam of my skirt, hard enough to leave marks. My throat is tight, and every breath is a shallow gasp. I can’t feel my hands.
Julian’s voice turns cold. “The only variable is whether she goes quietly or if I have to make her.”
Bam shrugs, then stretches his neck, the sound of cartilage popping in the quiet hall. “Guess that’s why they picked you.”
Julian’s smile is blinding. “I’ve never failed an assignment.”
They start walking again, boots echoing against the marble, until they stop just on the other side of the pillar. I’m so close I can smell the cigarettes from Bam’s jacket.
There’s a shuffling, then Bam says, “You ever think it’s fucked up? The way they just trade us like dogs?”
Julian’s reply is soft, but it cuts: “You’re here because you like the fight. I’m here because I like to win.”
The silence that follows is louder than any scream.
Bam barks a laugh. “Fucking right, man. Claim her first, then Caius said we’re ready to move onto phase two.”
Julian lowers his voice, but I can still hear it. “She’ll come around. They always do. Fear is a powerful motivator.”
“Or pain,” Bam says, the words so casual it takes me a moment to realize what he means.
A long silence, and then Julian says, “One way or another, she’ll belong to me. That’s how this ends.”
The world tilts. My stomach lurches. Every instinct in me wants to run, but my legs won’t move. I am paralyzed by the understanding that everything I thought about this place, about my future, was a lie. I’m not a student. I’m a transaction.
It just proved everything my father said to me.
There’s the sound of a lighter, a brief sulfuric flick, and smoke wafts over to me. These fucks can truly do whatever the hell they want without consequence. I watch their shadows through the gap in the pillar, stretching over the black-and-white tiles.
“Hey, you wanna grab breakfast?” Bam says, as if the last five minutes of horror didn’t just happen.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
They move off, footsteps echoing down the long corridor, their voices fading into the arching silence of the old academy.
I wait until I can’t hear them anymore.
Only then do I let myself slide down the wall, knees pressed tight to my chest. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely untangle them. I stare at the floor, at the tiny pinpricks of blood where my nails have dug into the skin.
I count to ten, then again, then again.
But the shaking doesn’t stop.
At some point, I get to my feet. I don’t know where I’m going, only that it has to be away from here. Away from the sound of their laughter, from the chill of knowing that my life was bartered away before I was even old enough to say no.
I run.
Taking the stairs two at a time, then through a side corridor, ducking past the breakfast hall, past the clusters of girls with their cruel faces and their perfectly braided hair.
I don’t stop until I reach the farthest bathroom in the old east wing.
Inside, it smells of old soap and bleach. Picking the biggest stall, I lock the door and sink onto the floor, my back against the cool porcelain tile.
For a few seconds, I let myself cry.
It’s a silent, ugly thing—no sobs, just hot tears and a raw ache in my chest. I press my palm to my mouth to keep from making a sound.
When it passes, I look at my reflection in the murky steel of the door.
My face is pale and my eyes are hollow, circled in shadow.
I stare at myself, trying to find the person who needs to be strong enough to make it through all of this.
I don’t recognize her yet.
But maybe, if I keep looking, I will.
Okay, get the fuck up and lock in. There has to be a way out of this.
Unlocking and walking out of the stall, I head to the sink. I try to steady my breath but it comes out in jerks. I rest my palms on the edge of the counter and press down, pretending that I can transfer my shaking to the old vinyl.
There are no windows. Just a single bulb over the mirror, too bright, buzzing faintly with the effort of staying alive.
I catch myself wishing the light would flicker out and let me vanish.
I close my eyes and try to remember something that isn’t this place, this moment.
I think of my mother’s hands—long, elegant fingers, always warm and soft, always smoothing back my hair.
She died when I was nine. My father never talked about her, and now I wonder if she ever meant anything to him. Or if she, too, was a contract.
A sound cuts through the silence—a low thump, the heavy tread of shoes on tile.
I freeze.
The door flies open so hard it rattles the hinges. Eve rushes in, face set and eyes wild. She sees me and her whole body sags, just for a second, like she was bracing for something worse.
“Shit,” she says, and locks the door behind her. She leans against it, out of breath, her cheeks flushed with cold or adrenaline.
We stare at each other. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, but the tears start up.
“I saw you run,” Eve says. Her voice is soft, but it bounces off the hard surfaces. “But Goddamn girl, you’re fast.”
I want to ask why she came, but my throat closes. I manage a nod.
Eve surveys the room, like she’s checking for threats. Her uniform is rumpled, shirt collar half untucked, blazer missing. She looks more alive than anyone I’ve ever met.
She takes two steps forward, then stops.
“I guess you know why you’re here now,” she says.
I try to answer, but nothing comes out.
She waits. Then, quietly, “Jules is a hard asshole of a man, but if you can win his heart, he will do anything for you. Like Colt would do for me. Just… all of this sucks dick and I’m so sorry, but I’m here for you. You just need to make it through the Hunt, okay?”
I look at her, really look, and I see that she’s angry. Not at me. At the world.
“They said I was a contract.” My voice is unrecognizable. “They said—” I can’t finish.
Eve’s mouth twists into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. Welcome to Westpoint.”
For a long minute, neither of us speaks. The only sound is the slow drip from the leaking faucet.
I grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles go white. “So it’s true? The Hunt? All of it?”
She nods. “Every word.”
She sits on the counter, crossing her arms. “You want the real story? No one ever tells it to us. Not until it’s too late. I tried the other day but Julian rudely interrupted us.”
I nod, desperate for any kind of logic.
Eve’s eyes go sharp. “They don’t care about us, or our grades, or any of the things they tell you in orientation.
The whole school is a breeding program. They pair up dynasties, shuffle us around until the donors and the Board are happy.
If we’re lucky, we get someone who’s not a total psycho.
If not—” she looks away, jaw working “—well, historically, a lot of women don’t make it.
The Feral Boys are tame compared to what used to happen. ”
She looks at me, her anger raw and unpolished. “I was the scholarship experiment, the outlier. I was supposed to get eaten alive, a penance for my mother escaping with me when I was a child. But I survived, and now they use my story to remind the others that anyone can be bought, sold, or broken.”
I try to picture Eve as broken, but it doesn’t fit.
She sees it in my face and laughs, bitter and bright.
“I broke so hard I went the other way. Colton patched me together, but he’s just as fucked as the rest. The only difference is that despite how barbaric the whole thing is, the pairing program works, you know?
Like all of us got paired with perfect matches.
It sucks to have your choice stripped away, but…
we’re happy. You know what saved me? Knowing what they are.
Knowing how they work. Joining Caius and Bam in working to take this whole place down. ”
The words spin in my head, dizzying.
“They think I’m weak,” I whisper. “They think I’ll just give up.”
Eve shrugs. “Let them think that. It’s your only advantage. These boys like to feel in control, but they don’t realize that there’s power in quiet strength. That’s how you get him wrapped around your finger. At least that’s what worked for me.”
I let myself believe her, just for a second. The possibility of not letting myself be destroyed.
Eve leans in close. She smells like cigarettes and cinnamon gum.
“The Hunt isn’t just about bloodlines,” she says. “It’s about power. If you play it right, you can use it. You can bend it.”
I don’t understand. “How?”
She smirks. “Simple. You stop caring what they want. You decide what you want. One of the girls broke the mold and their claiming was right in front of everyone. Totally exploded the Board’s minds.
Bam and Dahlia did theirs outside of the ritual grounds.
We all have our own ways of rebelling. Making it our own. ”
The idea is so alien, I can’t process it.
“I don’t know how to do that,” I say, the words so small they barely exist.
Eve places a hand over mine on the sink. Her fingers are warm, the skin rougher than I expect.
“I’ll teach you,” she says. “The other girls will help too, if you want to meet them.”
There’s a pause, heavy and full of things I don’t know how to name.
“Is that what you want?” Eve asks. “To just survive? Or do you wanna motherfucking thrive?”
I look in the mirror, into eyes that have never belonged to me until now.
“I don’t want to just survive,” I say, the truth blooming in my chest. “I want to win.”
Eve’s hand squeezes mine, and her eyes go bright with something like pride.
“Then you will,” she says. “But first, you have to let go of the good girl. She’s dead. You killed her when you found out the truth, which is more than most of us got.”
The realization lands with a kind of relief. I nod.
Eve lets go and steps back, giving me space.
“Julian’s going to push. He’ll do whatever it takes to make you break first. Don’t let him. And if you need help, find me. Or Colton. Or even Bam, if Jules presses you too hard. They’re good at putting each other in line. We’re not your enemies, not really.”
A part of me wants to believe her. Another part wants to run.
But I stay.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
Eve’s smile is small and private. “Because I wish someone had told me. Because you’re one of us, now. Whether you want to be or not.”
There’s nothing left to say.
Eve heads to the door. Before she leaves, she turns to me.
“You coming?”
I wipe my face, tuck my shirt back in, and nod.
So much for class.
We step into the hall together, side by side, and I feel the eyes on us from every shadow. I keep my chin up, not because I’m brave, but because I have nothing left to lose.
We walk. Not fast, not slow. Just forward.
The world is different now, and so am I.
For the first time, I don’t feel like prey.
I feel like a predator in training.
And I can’t wait to learn.