Chapter 12
Nova
I wake up to voices downstairs.
Not loud—just the sounds of people existing in the same space. Cabinets opening. Water running. Someone laughing at something someone else said.
I lie there for a minute, letting it wash over me. They sound like a family down there. They’ve had years to become this, to learn each other’s rhythms and jokes and silences. And now I’m here, dropped into the middle of something that was already whole.
I shove that thought down and move.
I pull on the same gray joggers from yesterday and a clean shirt from the dresser, run my fingers through my hair. Good enough.
The kitchen is warm and smells like coffee and eggs.
“—can swap with Rane for third period, that covers Resonance Studies.”
“And fourth?”
“Vaelor’s got House History.”
“That leaves Mark Theory.”
Silence falls over the room.
“None of us have Mark Theory.”
I stop in the doorway. Kyron’s got his phone out, frowning at it while Rane leans over his shoulder. They’re both staring at something on the screen like it personally offended them.
“We could talk to the registrar,” Rane says. “Switch something around.”
“They’re not going to let us rearrange our schedules because we don’t like hers.”
“We could ask.”
“We could also not look like obsessive psychopaths.”
Locke clears his throat. Loud. Pointed. “Too late for that.”
Kyron looks up. Sees me in the doorway. His expression flickers for just a second, and then the phone disappears behind his back like a kid caught with something he shouldn’t have.
“Morning,” he says. Too bright. Not at all suspicious.
Rane spins around so fast he almost knocks over his coffee. “Hey! You’re up. That’s great. We were just—” He looks at Kyron. Kyron looks at the ceiling. “—talking about the weather.”
“The weather,” I repeat.
“It’s supposed to rain.”
“It’s not,” Vaelor says from the stove without turning around.
“It might.”
“There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“Weather changes, Vaelor.”
I lean against the doorframe. “Were you talking about my schedule?”
Silence. And suddenly everyone finds something else to look at.
“Because it sounded like you were talking about my schedule.”
Rane opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “Okay, yes. But in a totally normal, not-at-all-creepy way.”
“You literally just said you were being obsessive psychopaths.”
“I said we could also not look like that. Implying we weren’t already.”
“That’s not what that implied.”
Kyron sighs and pulls the phone back out. “We were making sure you had one of us in your classes. That’s all.”
“Why?”
He looks at me like the answer should be obvious. “Because you don’t know anyone. And after yesterday with Harrick, people are going to—”
“Kyron.” Locke’s voice is low cutting across the room in warning.
Kyron stops. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t finish the sentence.
“It’s your first day,” Rane says, stepping in. “We just wanted to make sure you weren’t alone. That’s all.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks.” I say trying not to sound awkward.
I try to focus on breathing, but with the five of them, all in the same room, all looking at me it feels impossible. My skin feels too tight again, that same prickling awareness I had yesterday.
Fuck.
The fridge opens beside me and Beckett holds out a glass of orange juice without comment. “Morning.”
I take it because he’s already pressing it into my hand. “Morning.”
He moves past me toward the table and I catch Vaelor watching me from the stove. Not the food. Me. When our eyes meet, he looks away too fast, turning back to the eggs like they suddenly need all his attention.
My face feels warm. I focus on the orange juice.
“Breakfast,” Vaelor says, and suddenly everyone’s moving.
Plates come out of cabinets while Rane grabs silverware and Kyron sets down his phone to help. Someone puts toast on a plate and hands it to someone else who hands it to me. Beckett pulls out a chair and Locke pushes off the wall to take a seat.
I blink and somehow I’m sitting at the table with a full plate in front of me.
What the fuck just happened?
They’re already eating, already talking about something else, and I’m still trying to figure out how I got here. I pick up my fork and take a bite without really tasting it.
By the time Kyron stands and grabs his bag, my plate is half empty and I don’t remember eating any of it.
“We should go,” he says. “Don’t want to be late.”
I grab my schedule and follow him out.
The day is exactly what they promised. Every class, one of them is there.
Kyron in Territorial Protocol, catching my eye when I get lost and mouthing “later” like he’s already planning our study session.
Rane in House History, whispering commentary until the professor glares us into silence.
Vaelor in Resonance Studies, a wall of calm between me and everyone else.
And everywhere—the staring. The whispers. Eyes tracking me like I’m something dangerous, something wrong, something that doesn’t belong. I keep my head down and try to focus on the lectures, but I understand maybe half of what’s being said. Fifteen years is a lot to miss.
By the end of the day, I’m exhausted and my skin still prickles every time one of them gets too close. Rane’s shoulder bumping mine in the hallway. Vaelor’s hand on my back, guiding me through a door. Kyron leaning in to say something, his breath warm against my ear.
I don’t know what my body is doing. I’m choosing not to think about it.
When the last class before Mark Theory ends, it’s Beckett waiting outside the door.
“One more,” he says.
We walk. He doesn’t fill the silence, and I’m grateful for it. Almost like I can just exist, and that feels oddly nice.
“This is you,” he says stopping in front of the marked doorway. “Mark Theory.”
The cold feeling from this morning settles back into my stomach.
“None of you are in this one.”
“No.” He pauses. “But we’ll be right here when you get out.”
I nod. He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for something.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, even though I’m not sure that’s true.
“I know.” He says it like he believes it. “You’ve got this.”
I nod, heading inside.
The room is small. Twelve chairs arranged in a circle with no desks, nothing between me and the other students. It feels intimate in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I take a seat near the door and count the other students as they filter in. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The professor is a woman with gray hair and sharp eyes. She’s arranging papers on a small table in the center of the circle.
Two empty seats remain. The door closes.
I’m starting to think I might actually survive this when it opens one more time.
Two people walk in together.
Trey.
My chest tightens before I can stop it. His eyes find mine now and there it is again, that same pull, I felt in orientation.
And beside him, a man with dark hair, cold eyes. One of Harrick’s group from the path yesterday. He doesn’t look away when our eyes meet, and I don’t like it.
They cross the room and take the last two seats. Directly across from me.
The door clicks shut.
Oh shit.