Chapter 10 Blackmoore Academy
The city turns into winding roads through dense forest past iron gates, stone bridges, and long-forgotten statues tangled in ivy. The world feels quieter here.
The car slows, the trees part, and I see it.
Blackmoore Academy rises like something out of a forgotten fairytale. Gothic spires pierce the sky. Black stone walls stretch wide and tall, covered in climbing ivy. The building is sharp-edged, sprawling, ancient.
It looks like it was built to keep things out—or keep them in.
I gulp.
The car pulls up to the front circle drive. A massive stone fountain gurgles at its center, water spilling over a statue of some winged creature with blank eyes. The flagstones gleam under the overcast sky.
My heart pounds as the driver opens the door.
Lucian steps out first. He’s dressed sharply, as always. His hand lingers on the doorframe. For a second I wonder if he’s second guessing my decision to come here.
Then he turns, opens my door, and offers me his hand. I take it.
The wind hits me first—cool and tinged with the scent of pine and rain. The air tastes different here. Thinner.
Blackmoore looms in front of us, all shadowed arches and hard lines.
Dakota moves around the car and joins us.
“Isn’t it amazing?”
I nod, smiling despite the nerves tightening in my chest. “It doesn’t feel real.”
“It will.” Her hand lingers lightly on my arm before she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Come on, let’s go get settled in.”
Lucian raises a brow but doesn’t argue. He just gives me a nod and a small, proud smile.
I look at him. “You’re not staying?”
“I have some business to take care of today.” His eyes are apologetic. “I tried to reschedule but it couldn’t wait.”
I nod, trying not to cling. “Okay.”
He leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. He opens his arms, and I step into them, wrapping my arms around him. He squeezes me tightly.
“I love you,” he whispers into my hair.
Dakota and I watch as his car rolls back out of the driveway. I tighten my grip on my bag, draw in a shaky breath. The pressure of the Ashthorne legacy sitting on my shoulders. Knowing what hides beneath Blackmoore, in the shadows. It’s overwhelming. I steel my reserves.
I can do this.
“Ready?” Dakota asks.
I nod, and we head inside together, side by side.
The entryway is massive—vaulted ceilings, marble floors, chandeliers like upside-down forests of crystal. Students pass us, but I don’t flinch. Not with Dakota next to me.
She chatters as we climb the staircase. “Your schedule’s been uploaded to your account. And I talked to the housing director, so you’re on the same floor as me. Three doors down.”
“That’s… perfect,” I say, stunned.
She nudges me with her elbow. “I thought so.”
North Wing feels like a place carved out of time—arched ceilings, tall windows, and long stretches of echoing stone. Students stand in clusters, lean against window ledges, glance up as I pass. I pass a group of girls and hear their whispers.
“…that’s her…”
“…Ashthorne’s kid…”
“…kind of pretty, I guess…”
I keep walking. Shoulders straight. Chin up. Eyes ahead. Heartbeat pounding. Don’t let them see you sweat.
By the time I reach the third floor, my legs ache and my hand hurts from clenching my bag so tight.
“This is you.” She says.
The door is tall, dark-stained wood with black iron hinges. A silver key sits in the lock; it clicks open with a satisfying, solid sound.
I step inside—and freeze.
My room is nothing like I expected.
The ceiling is vaulted, beams exposed and painted deep charcoal.
Two tall arched windows line the far wall, spilling soft afternoon light across the stone floor and rich woven rugs.
A queen-sized canopy bed sits centered, its frame brushed black metal, layered with cloud-colored sheets and a thick, plush comforter.
A writing desk. A wall of bookshelves. A wide armchair nestled under one of the windows.
A couch set in front of the large dresser with a TV sitting on top.
A small kitchenette area. En-suite bathroom and a walk-in closet.
“This room is beautiful.” I walk in.
“Right?” Dakota follows me in, the heavy door shutting behind her. She slides the lock into place.
A slow breath rattles out of me. The lock on the inside settles my nerves a bit.
“We’re actually lucky. Some girls have to share their rooms. But thanks to Lucian, we don’t.” Dakota takes a seat on my couch.
“Oh, yeah, that is nice.”
I wander the space like I’m walking through a dream. Everything smells faintly of cedar and clean linen. I run my hand along the cool glass of the window.
There’s a small panel by the door—a sleek intercom system. I press it and a clear, robotic voice chimes:
“Breakfast begins at 7:00 A.M. in the East Wing dining hall.”
“Blackmoore wouldn’t let anyone just be late.” I chuckle.
“Definitely not.” Dakota giggles. “The intercom is nice but it gets annoying quickly.”
“I could see that.”
“Well, I’ll let you finish settling in.” Dakota stands up and crosses over to me hugging me again. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She squeals.
“Me too.” I smile, hugging her back. “Thanks for walking me.”
“Of course, what are sisters for?” Dakota squeezes my arms once more before unlocking the door and slipping out.
The intercom buzzes to life, crisp and cold.
“Good morning, students. Breakfast begins in thirty minutes.”
I jolt upright in bed, momentarily disoriented. It takes a minute to get my breathing under control when it finally clicks in my brain that it’s the intercom. I can see why Dakota says that gets annoying.
The soft sheets tangle around my legs. For a second, I think I’m still dreaming. Then I remember. I’m at Blackmoore. No yelling. No doors being kicked open. No footsteps outside my door.
Just quiet. I let myself breathe that in before I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The closet is already stocked with uniforms. Dark green tailored blazers with the gold Blackmoore crest, gray pleated skirts or slacks, crisp white shirts. I pick a skirt and shirt and slide them on with careful, mechanical movements.
Everything fits perfectly. Like it was made for me.
I move to the bathroom. My toothbrush is already in a glass. The soap smells like vanilla and honey from the night before.
I tie my ash-brown hair back in a loose half-up knot, and for once, it behaves. It falls in soft waves down my back.
Back in the bedroom, I slip on the blazer and pull the tablet from the desk to check the map and schedule again.
My bag’s already packed with school supplies that Lucian had delivered last night. Notebooks, mechanical pencils, smooth pens, different colored highlighters, everything brand new and expensive feeling.
It makes me nervous to touch any of it.
At the last minute, I glance at the mirror. My reflection looks… strange. Not in a bad way. Just different.
I grab my keys and head for the door.
Click. The lock slides open.
I leave the broken girl from high school behind. I’m determined to fill this role, to be Isobel Grace Ashthorne.
Time to find out what kind of school Blackmoore really is.
The air is brisk in the stairwell as I make my way down from the third floor, the scent of fresh coffee and something sweet—maybe cinnamon—guiding me toward the dining hall.
My boots echo softly on the polished stone. A few other students move past me in pressed uniforms, talking quietly.
I keep my head high.
The dining hall is cavernous.
Vaulted ceilings stretch overhead like a cathedral, chandeliers hanging low on chains of dark brass.
Long banquet-style tables line the room—polished wood, silver trays, and elegant place settings that’d look more fitting in a five-star restaurant than a school cafeteria.
Food is set out buffet-style along one wall, gleaming under warm lights.
Eggs, pastries, berries arranged like someone painted them.
Fresh bread, citrus, and roasted coffee beans fill my nose. My stomach growls.
Students stream in through arched doorways, laughing, gossiping, and dragging their blazers off to toss them over chairs like royalty. Everyone knows where they’re going. Everyone has a place.
I grab a tray and fill up a plate. I’m hungry but the way my stomach keeps flipping, I’m unsure if I should eat at all.
Dakota’s already seated at one of the long tables near the tall windows, sunlight casting soft gold through the glass and into her hair. She’s laughing at something one of the girls next to her has said, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug. She looks so at ease. Effortlessly at home.
And then she sees me.
Her face lights up. She lifts her hand and waves me over, making space on the bench beside her.
I’m surprised by how much relief that tiny gesture brings. I cross the room, heart thudding a little too fast.
“Morning,” she says as I slide into the seat next to her.
“Hey,” I manage, setting down my tray. “Hope I’m not crashing anything.”
“We’re sisters now.” She nudges my arm. “You’re supposed to sit with me.”
I let out a quiet breath of a laugh and look down at my plate.
Her voice lowers slightly, just for me. “Did you sleep okay?”
I nod. “Better than I expected.”
“Good. Today’s going to be a whirlwind, but I’ve got you. Don’t stress too much about first impressions. Most people know each other from high school.”
I glance at her, surprised again. “You’re… really good at this.”
She shrugs and pops a piece of toast in her mouth. “Being nice?”
“Being a person.”
She snorts. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”
I smile and she gives me a wink.
“Okay,” she says, tapping her spoon on the edge of her plate for attention. “Everyone, this is Isobel—my sister.”
The heads around the table turn. A mix of girls and a couple of boys, all perfectly put together in their tailored uniforms and sleek hairstyles. They look like they belong on the cover of a magazine titled Elite & Effortless.