Chapter 9
Nova
Morning light is too bright.
I don’t know when I finally fell asleep, but it wasn’t for long. My body feels heavy and wrong, like I’m moving through water. But there’s noise in the house—voices, footsteps, the clatter of something in the kitchen—and I can’t hide in this room forever.
I sit up. Look at the dresser I ignored last night.
Might as well.
The drawers have clothes in them. Nothing fancy, but they’re clean and soft and roughly my size. Someone put these here. Someone thought about what I might need before I arrived.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I pull on a pair of gray joggers and a black t-shirt that’s a little too big but not swimming on me. They’re better than the processing clothes. Better than anything I’ve worn in a long time, if I’m being honest.
The hallway is bright. Sunlight through windows makes the house looks different—warmer, more lived-in. Less like a trap.
I make myself walk toward the noise.
The kitchen is full of them.
They’re all here, moving around each other with the easy rhythm of people who’ve done this a thousand times. Someone’s saying something about a training schedule. Vaelor is at the counter, doing something with the coffee maker. There’s a conversation happening that I walked into the middle of.
Rane is at the table.
He looks up when I enter. Our eyes meet.
My chest tightens. Here it comes. The question, the comment, the acknowledgment of what he saw last night—
He gives me a small smile. “Morning.”
That’s it.
He goes back to his phone. No mention of the bathroom. No mention of me on the floor with a plate in my lap at 3am. Nothing.
Why would he do that?
“How’d you sleep?” Vaelor asks, not turning from the counter.
I hesitate. “Fine.”
“Liar,” Kyron says, almost amused. He’s pouring coffee. “No one sleeps the first night.”
“Kyron didn’t sleep for three days when he got here,” Rane offers. “Just sat in the corner like a suspicious cat.”
“That’s not—” Kyron stops. “Okay, that’s mostly accurate.”
“I slept fine,” Locke says.
“You sleep like the dead,” Rane says. “It’s unsettling.”
“There’s food,” Vaelor says, gesturing to the counter. “Help yourself. Donuts, or I can make eggs if you want something real.”
I look. A box of donuts that smells heavenly. Not just that, but it’s something I can take with me if I need to leave.
“Donut’s fine.” I take one with colored sprinkles. Hold it in my hand without eating it yet.
Vaelor sets a mug of coffee in front of me. Black. I set the donut down and wrap my hands around the cup because it’s warm and I don’t know what else to do with them.
I stare at it.
“I’ve never actually…” I stop.
“You’ve never had coffee?” Rane looks genuinely wounded. “Ever?”
“It wasn’t exactly a priority.”
“Damn.” He shakes his head. “Okay. Sip it. Tell us what you think.”
I take a sip. Try not to make a face. Fail.
“Too bitter?” Vaelor asks.
“Little bit.”
He takes the mug back without comment, dumps half of it, adds something from the fridge. Slides it back to me.
I try again. Not great, but drinkable.
Vaelor watches me. “Better?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, and turns back to the stove.
No one watches or comments. I let myself relax just a little.
Beckett comes in from the hallway, still looking half-asleep. He makes a straight line for the coffee without acknowledging anyone, pours a cup, and leans against the counter with his eyes closed.
“He’s not a person until the second cup,” Rane says to me, like he’s sharing a secret.
Beckett raises a middle finger without opening his eyes.
A giggle escapes before I can stop it. Small, surprised. I clamp my mouth shut.
Locke glances at me. Something flickers across his face—not a smile, but close. He looks away before I can say anything.
“Did you get the text about orientation?” Rane asks.
“What text?”
“They sent it last night. Nine o’clock this morning.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
The room pauses. Vaelor and Rane exchange a look.
“We’ll fix that,” Kyron says.
“I don’t need—”
“You do.” He’s looking right at me. “We need to be able to communicate. All of us.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him I’ve survived fifteen years without a phone, without anyone needing to reach me, without being part of anyone’s “all of us.”
But the way he says it makes the argument die in my throat.
I shut my mouth.
“Orientation is mostly procedural,” Rane says. “Rules, expectations, schedule stuff. Boring.”
“They’ll ask questions,” Locke adds. “About you. About us. About how the cluster is adjusting.”
“What do I say?”
“As little as possible.”
“If it gets uncomfortable, we’re there,” Beckett says. “All of us. Same room.”
I look at him. Remember the way I stepped toward him last night without meaning to. The way I could breathe when I looked at him.
He meets my eyes for a second, then looks away.
“And if something goes wrong?” I ask.
“Then we’ll be right there when it does,” Rane says.
I don’t think that’s as reassuring as he thinks it is.
I eat the donut standing up, taking small bites. They talk around me—about the schedule, about someone named Harrick, about things I don’t understand yet. I let it wash over me without trying to track it all.
At 8:40, they’re moving toward the door before anyone says it’s time to go. I’m two steps behind before I realize I’m following.
The walk to orientation is strange.
I don’t notice it at first—I’m too busy looking at the campus in daylight, the buildings and paths and people moving between them. But after a few minutes, something feels off.
They’ve gravitated around me. Locke slightly ahead, Vaelor somewhere behind, the others filling in the gaps. Adjusting their pace to match mine without seeming to think about it.
I’ve always been separate. I’ve never been part of something. I’m not sure what I’m feeling, but I’m not mad about it.
We round a corner and I feel it before I see it.
The air changes. My body tightens before my brain catches up—that instinct that says wrong wrong wrong even if I don’t know why.
Locke shifts and I’m looking at three men on the path ahead. One makes eye contact that gives me the ick. They’re waiting for us.
My group slows.
“Harrick,” Locke says. Low. He’s not happy to see them.
The one in front—tall, broad, dark hair slicked back—smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Heard you finally got your missing piece.” His gaze slides past Locke, past Kyron, and lands on me. “This her?”
No one answers.
Harrick tilts his head, looking me over like I’m something he found on the ground. “Huh. Not what I expected.”
What the fuck?
“Walk away,” Locke says.
“Just saying hello.” Harrick’s smile widens. “Being neighborly.”
I watch it happen like it’s in slow motion.
Kyron shifts his weight. Beckett steps forward—not in front of me, but beside me, close enough that I feel the heat of him. Vaelor moves from behind me to my left, blocking the angle. Rane goes still in a way I haven’t seen from him before.
And Locke—
Locke doesn’t move at all. But something in him changes. Something in the air around him goes cold and heavy, like the space itself is holding its breath.
“I said walk away.”
The words are quiet. Flat. Final.
Harrick’s group shifts. One of them mutters something. Another takes a half-step back.
Harrick holds Locke’s gaze for a long moment. Then he laughs—short, dismissive—and shrugs.
“Fine. See you around, new girl.”
They walk past us. One of them shoulders close enough that I feel the air move, and Beckett’s hand twitches at his side but doesn’t rise.
Then they’re gone.
I realize I’m not breathing. I force myself to inhale.
No one says anything. They just start walking again, like nothing happened.
But something did happen. I don’t know what, but I can feel it in my bones. A shiver runs down my spine, but it’s not from fear.
That’s a problem.
Why aren’t I afraid of what I just saw? I’m oddly calm and that doesn’t feel right. But it also feels more right than anything I’ve ever felt.
That scares me more than Harrick ever could.
The Academy building looms ahead, stone and glass and windows that catch the morning light. People stream in and out, normal and unbothered, like the world didn’t just tilt sideways on the path behind us.
We walk through the doors.
Whatever comes next, I’m not facing it alone.
I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.