Chapter 2
Seph
I was led inside by Lyra, Ivan skulking behind me like he expected me to bolt.
Instinctively, I tugged my oversized sleeves down over my wrists, making sure every inch of skin was covered.
The building opened up like a museum — wide halls framed in dark wood and polished brass.
The beams and staircases gleamed with the kind of sheen that only comes from age and money.
Green carpet stretched down the centre of the hall, thick and lush, while antique tables held lamps and delicate ornaments that looked too fragile to touch.
Students moved through the corridors in neat uniforms: white shirts, navy skirts, pants, or shorts.
My stomach dropped.
A fucking uniform?
No way I was wearing that.
Lyra led me toward an old elevator — the kind with iron grates and a groaning pulley system. It was small and boxy, and with the three of us inside, the air felt tight.
I made a silent note to take the stairs from now on.
The office was on the top floor, at the end of a long corridor. Lyra knocked, and a voice — sharp, female — called, “Enter.”
I stepped inside.
The room was enormous, almost like a private library.
Books lined every wall, thick spines and rolled parchments packed in tight.
At the far end sat a massive mahogany desk, dark as dried blood, easily four metres wide.
Behind it, a woman with meticulously styled black hair and matching lips watched me over the rim of her computer screen.
When she smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Persephone,” she said. “Welcome. We’re so pleased you could join us. That will be all, Lyra. Ivan.”
My chaperones nodded and slipped out, the heavy door closing behind them with a dull click.
I swallowed as the woman stood and came toward me.
“Don’t worry,” she said smoothly. “They won’t go far. But this room is quite soundproofed.” Her eyes swept over me — assessing, dissecting. “Miss Persephone Quinn. You don’t look much like your mother.”
It was true.
Where my sister, Sable, had been golden — golden hair, golden eyes, peach-cream skin, the perfect echo of our mother Georgina — I was something else entirely. My hair was silver, true silver, almost white, and my eyes were dark midnight pools flecked with gold, like stars trying to break through.
I was not beautiful like Sable.
Mother reminded me of that every chance she could.
I looked… other.
Wrong.
Otherworldly.
Like an alien, I used to joke to myself.
Ha ha ha.
“So,” Warden Wild said, flipping through a thin file, “we heard about the… unfortunate incident that took your sister, Sable. I’m so sorry. Your mother must be devastated—losing such a child.”
I shifted uncomfortably.
“Oh, forgive me.” She tapped her temple with a manicured finger. “We’re not supposed to mention that, are we?” Her tone was mild, curious, as she scanned the notes. “Ah. Here it is.” Her smile sharpened. “Because you killed her.”
The words landed like a slap — not loud, but sharp enough to draw blood.
“I didn’t.” The word snapped out before I could stop it.
“Persephone,” she said smoothly, voice dripping with mock patience. “I’m not here to judge you. Every young person we take in at Darkmoor has faced… tragedy. Some more personal than others.”
She closed the file with a soft thud that echoed through the quiet room.
Her gaze lingered on me. “We don’t dwell on the past here. We reshape it.”
My pulse hammered in my ears. I couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a promise.
“We will reshape you,” she continued. “Your gifts—my, they do sound promising.”
“I don’t have a gift,” I said automatically.
“Lying doesn’t make it so, Miss Quinn. And there are three young men who could speak the truth of it…” Her smile widened. “If they could speak anymore, of course.”
Something hot twisted in my chest. Rage. Guilt. I couldn’t tell which.
“What do you want?” I forced out.
“Your cooperation.”
She folded her hands, stepping closer. “We’ve made an agreement with your father to keep your name under wraps. You’ll be known here as Persephone Harrin, provided you’re willing to work with our lead scientist, Dr Phillip Marr, in a series of tests.”
“You mean experiments,” I said flatly. “Are you seriously blackmailing me?”
“We could simply force you,” she said, unbothered. “But we prefer compliance. Cooperation.”
She moved behind her desk again, straightening a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening.
“In return, we’ll keep your true identity a secret from the criminals and the monsters housed in other wings of this institute.
You’ll attend classes, eat with the other students—perhaps even make friends.
We’ll set you up with a uniform, books, paper – everything you need. ”
“I want to keep my gloves.”
Wild looked at me, “We can discuss the details later.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, glinting with something predatory.
“Once a week, you’ll report for your sessions. Dr. Marr is… eager to understand exactly what you are.”
“Will you tell the others about—” I swallowed hard. “Will they know?”
“No,” she said smoothly. “In fact, we’d prefer you didn’t mention it. According to the records of every teacher in this building, you’ll be listed as a null.”
I nodded. “Okay. Fine. Whatever you want.”
“Wonderful!” Her voice brightened unnaturally, the sound of a mask snapping back into place.
A knock broke the silence. The door opened without waiting for permission.
“Miranda?” a man’s voice asked.
A figure stepped into the room — tall, balding, wearing a spotless white lab coat. His round glasses caught the light, hiding his eyes for a moment before they reappeared, small and black and hungry. Something about the way he smiled made my skin crawl.
“Ah, Phillip,” Warden Wild purred. “Just in time. Meet our newest student.”
I went cold. Dr Marr.
I’d heard of him of course. My father was a devout follower of his progress.
And now, staring up at this unassuming man, I had never wanted to run so far in my life.
The man approached, slow and deliberate, like he was already cataloguing me.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear,” he said, extending a hand. “I’ve been looking forward to working with you directly for a while.”
I stared at it — pale, too clean, fingers twitching like he couldn’t wait to touch.
“I don’t touch,” I said flatly.
His hand lingered in the air a moment longer before he lowered it, the smile never leaving his face. “We’ll fix that.”
I suppressed a shudder.
Suddenly, from outside the office, came a commotion — the crash of furniture, the clang of metal against stone.
Then laughter.
Wild, unhinged laughter that rolled down the hallway like a living thing.
Warden Wild’s head snapped up. Her lips pressed into a thin line, colour draining from her face.
“Well,” she said briskly, her composure cracking just enough for me to notice, “if that’s all, I have a great deal of work to do. Miss Harrin, please wait outside with Lyra. I’ll deal with this—” her nostrils flared, “—unpleasantness.”
Before I could move, the door slammed open.
Two guards stumbled through, struggling to contain someone between them — a boy, maybe a few years older than me, his hands cuffed but sparking faintly with restrained energy.
His hair was silvery-brown and wild around his face, his eyes mismatched — one gold, one blue — and a long scar cut across his cheek like lightning carved into skin.
He was beautiful.
And he was furious.
The guards tried to hold him, but he threw them off like they were made of paper, laughter spilling out of him again — manic, reckless, electric.
For a heartbeat, his gaze met mine.
And I felt it — a pull, sharp and inexplicable, like gravity deciding to change direction.
A huge grin spread across his face, slow and seductive.
“There you are,” he smirked.