Chapter 5 Ophelia #2
He turns and walks away before pausing and calling back. “Tomorrow they will summon you again. They’re testing your compliance. Attend your classes and be punctual. Tomorrow will change everything for you.”
I stand there, fists curled, letting the heat bleed off my face.
The summons comes again. No envelope this time, just a student—older, square-jawed, eyes like a dead fish—waiting at my classroom door.
He says nothing, just gestures, and I follow him down the hall.
I wonder if the rest of the class is watching, if they know what it means to be pulled from a lesson by an escort instead of a bell.
Probably. This place is built on rituals, and shame is the only one open to outsiders.
He leads me to a side entrance this time, into a corridor I’ve never seen before.
It’s colder here, the air less filtered, and the walls sweat moisture in thin lines that remind me of veins.
We go down two flights of stairs, then into a room at the farthest end.
He leaves me at the door. When it closes, I am alone with two pairs of eyes pinning me in place.
“Sit,” says Abelard.
I do.
Ms. Valence smiles, but it’s worse than a scowl. “You are punctual again, Ophelia. Good. We admire personal development.”
The words hang, and I can’t tell if I’m supposed to thank her or apologize. I do neither.
He steeples his hands. “Ms. Morrow. Do you understand why you are here?”
“I dunno, you called me here yesterday. Seems redundant to split this into two meetings, but here we are.”
Ms. Valence’s tongue flashes, wet and quick, at the corner of her mouth. “Direct. We appreciate that, too. But the truth is more complicated.”
“You are not here merely as a debt payment. You are here because the Academy demands continuity. Tradition.”
My pulse thrums at my neck. I keep my chin high. “I don’t know what that means.”
Ms. Valence leans in, elbows to the table, her jaw sharp enough to slice through meat.
“The Board has been disappointed in the recent Night Hunt outcomes. Too much deviation. Too little discipline. Last cycle, the men took the games off campus. They say the bloodlines are thinning. Do you know what that means?”
I feel my shoulders tense. “That you need more kids to keep the old names alive.”
She laughs, but it’s hollow. “Precisely. The Night Hunt has rules for a reason. To prevent the breakdown of control. Pineridge cannot happen again. All that wasted time and money.”
I search her face for some clue, but all I see is satisfaction at my confusion. “What did happen at Pineridge?”
Valence’s fingers dance on the table’s edge. “That is not your business, little girl.”
Dr. Abelard’s eyes catch the light. “You are here because you have no one to run to. Because your father signed your name away in exchange for another shot at his own survival.”
The words should hurt, but I already knew them. The only thing that stings is how little I matter in the equation. “So I’m a breeder. Is that it?”
“If you choose not to be, the Hunt will decide your value in other ways.”
The logic of this place is clean and cruel. My role is set, even if I don’t fully understand the rules yet.
I ball my hands into fists. “Why Caius Montgomery?”
Valence glances at Abelard. “He is the Board’s God Son. He is also—how shall we say—well-suited to correct the weaknesses in the last generation.”
A pause. Then Abelard leans forward, the gold pin on his lapel catching every bit of torchlight.
“Your continued enrollment is conditional on your complete cooperation with your sponsor. Your father’s arrangement left you little recourse.
You have none, now. You will participate in the Night Hunt.
You will make Caius prove himself worthy. ”
The words hit like a cold shower. I force myself not to blink. “What happens if I don’t?”
Valence slides a folder across the table. It lands in front of me, leather cold under my hand. “Expulsion. Your father’s debt is recalled, with interest. You both disappear.”
There is a form inside, thick as a legal brief. The last page has a single signature, my father’s, scrawled in desperate blue ink. I trace it with my finger, the ache rising in my throat.
The two shadows start whispering to each other. I hear only pieces: “…the ritual…” “…refusal means culling…” “…will not repeat the Pineridge mistake…”
Valence watches me sweat. She waits until the drop beads at my hairline, then slides a tissue across the table. “You may read the contract if you wish. It will not change the facts.”
I force a laugh. It’s too loud, but I let it echo. “So I get the education, the room, the food, and the privilege of being hunted by the school’s favorite sociopath. Sounds fair.”
For the first time, Abelard smiles. It’s almost worse than his frown.
“You misunderstand. The Hunt is not for you to lose. Your sponsor will ensure your compliance. And if he fails, there are others waiting.”
I close the folder, the pages trembling in my grip. “What if I leave now?”
Valence’s eyes narrow to slits. “That is not an option.”
I want to fight. But even if I win, I lose. The contract is a noose. The Board are the hands tightening it.
Abelard stands. “You will begin your official duties tomorrow. Caius will collect you.”
As I gather my things, Valence stops me with a word. “Ophelia. You are here because your father believed it would save him. Do not waste the opportunity.”
I look her in the eye. “I won’t.”
She grins. “Good. The Hunt always claims what it’s owed.”
They leave me there, alone, the red from the stained glass painting the table like a spill of fresh blood.
I let my head fall forward, breathing slow, until the thumping in my neck eases.
I am not prey. Not yet.
But I know what happens to things that refuse to run.
What fucking duties?
I stare at the door after they leave, expecting them to come back. For the first time in my life, I feel small enough to disappear. I press the folder to my chest and try to make myself believe that I can survive this.
I wait a full five minutes before I move.
Then I stand, back straight, and walk the perimeter of the room, touching every edge, testing the seams. There are no windows except the one that bleeds red.
The only exit is the door they came through.
I approach it and listen, but nothing filters through except my own heartbeat.
They want me to run. I can feel it in my bones.
Instead, I go back to the table and open the folder.
The contract is dense, line after line of legal code and ancient Latin, but I find the part that matters: “Remittance of all outstanding debts conditional upon physical and behavioral compliance of beneficiary’s next of kin.
Enforcement at the Board’s discretion. Failure of compliance is grounds for immediate forfeiture of all rights and protections. ”
My father’s name is at the bottom, written with the carelessness of a man who never planned for consequences. I want to hate him, but I can’t. I understand the calculus. He saw no other way out.
I let my finger linger over the signature. I wonder if he hesitated before he wrote it. Or if he even knew what he was signing me up for.
It doesn’t matter. The future is set.
I stand again, this time with intent. I flatten my skirt, tie my hair tighter, and face the stained-glass crest head-on. For a moment, I imagine myself as one of the panthers in the mosaics—cornered, but still dangerous.
The door opens behind me. I tense, but it’s just Dr. Abelard, this time alone.
He doesn’t bother to sit. He keeps the door propped open with his shoe, as if expecting a short visit.
“Ms. Morrow.”
I nod. “Dr. Abelard.”
He studies me, and I wonder if he’s searching for weakness, or just confirming that I haven’t fainted. “I thought I would reiterate a few key points. You are not the first to resist,” he says. “But the cost is always the same.”
I want to scream at him, tell him the cost is my life, but I keep my voice level. “I don’t see it fair that I pay my fathers debt.”
He raises a brow. “Have you no loyalty? Would you consign your father to death for the sake of pride?”
The question lands like a slap. “If this is about breeding, pick someone else. I’m not worth it.”
He almost laughs. “You misunderstand, Ms. Morrow. It is not about worth. It is about will. Yours has already been accounted for.”
I feel the tremor in my knees, but I plant my feet. “What if I go to the authorities? Or the press?”
He does laugh, then—a cold, unfiltered sound. “You think this is the first time a girl has threatened us with exposure? No one will believe you. No one ever does.”
I believe him. That’s the worst part.
He gestures to the folder in my hand. “Sign the contract. Save yourself the trouble.”
I grip my pen. My fingers shake so bad I nearly drop it, but I steady myself against the table and sign. My name looks small next to my father’s.
He takes the folder, tucks it under his arm, and nods. “You will report to Mr. Montgomery at seven a.m. sharp tomorrow. Wear white. All your clothing will be white from now on. Your wardrobe has already been corrected accordingly.”
He leaves, and the door swings closed with the sound of a coffin lid.
For a long time, I stand in the center of the room, hands empty, feeling the outline of the word prey being burned into my skin.
As I exit, I hear voices through the wall. Ms. Valence, unmistakable, her vowels sharpened to points: “She’ll run.”
“They always do.”
A pause, then: “Have Caius mark her. It’s safer that way.”
My breath comes shallow. I press a hand to my chest and tell myself I will not break.
Tomorrow, I will wear white.
Tomorrow, I will fulfill my duties, but only because the alternative is death.
Half of me wonders what would happen if I were infertile by some chance.
But then a memory hits me.
The check-up I had right before coming here…
I’m definitely breedable.
But will I be compliant?
A grin spreads over my lips as I step out into the empty hallway.
No… I don’t think I will be. Caius will earn every inch I give.