Chapter 11 Blackmoore Four
The classroom smells like old paper and eucalyptus cleaner. The walls are lined with dusty bookshelves, and sunlight cuts through tall windows in golden slats. I slip into a seat near the middle—not too close to the front, but not in the back where it’s easy to disappear.
My fingers brush the sleek school tablet on my desk as I glance around. Students file in, most of them already talking to each other. Some toss their bags down like they’ve been here forever. I keep my spine straight and my mouth shut.
This is fine. I’ll just get through class, take notes, and leave.
A chair scrapes nearby.
I don’t look.
Then a voice—low and smooth—says, “You always sit alone, or is this just a first-day ritual?”
I blink and glance up.
Luca Silvain is leaning on the desk next to mine, his tie still loosened from earlier, dark brown curls falling into his light brown eyes.
There’s something too perfect about his smile—white teeth, sharp canines, full mouth, and just enough mischief to make it dangerous.
The lip ring catches the light when he grins.
He’s smiling like we’ve been flirting for years. Like this is a thing we do.
I freeze. “Are you… talking to me?”
His grin widens. “Depends. Are you Isobel Ashthorne?”
“…Yeah.”
“Then yeah,” he says, dropping into the seat beside me without waiting for permission. “I’m talking to you.”
My brain scrambles. I have no idea what to say.
Popular boys don’t talk to me. Especially not the boys everyone else stares at like they’re carved out of legend and unbothered wealth.
How does he even know my name? Then I remember Lucian.
Of course, people would know his long-lost daughter.
He was with Jace, is he in the Guild too?
Lucian’s voice echoes in my head. My hackles rise.
He watches me like he’s waiting for something, his elbow propped on the desk, fingers loosely twirling a pen.
“Luca,” he offers, like we’re friends now. “You’ll want to remember that.”
I blink at him.
“You’ve got a nice poker face,” he says, nodding to me. “Jace owes me twenty.”
“You’ve already bet on me?”
“Well, of course,” he says with that flirty smile that must get him all the girls, head tilting. “Impressive.”
“Thanks?”
He leans in enough that I catch the faint scent of some expensive cologne and peppermint. “So… Advanced Lit. Either you're smart, or someone seriously overestimated your reading comprehension.”
I lift a brow. “You always this charming?”
“Only when I’m trying to impress someone,” he says without missing a beat.
A breath of a laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
He grins like that was exactly the reaction he was aiming for.
I open my mouth to respond, but something makes me pause. I feel someone watching me. I glance across the room and—there he is.
Sitting three rows up, in the very center like he owns the damn place. Jace Ravencourt. Dark hair, sharp profile, back perfectly straight. I can feel his attention like a blade across the back of my neck.
Judging. Waiting.
Not smiling. Not speaking.
Luca observes me with the lazy attention of a cat playing with its toy. He leans forward on one elbow.
“You’ve got the look, y’know,” he drawls, voice low enough that no one else can hear. “The whole tragic, dark past thing. Haunted eyes, mystery girl vibes. You’re lucky—some people pay for that aesthetic.”
I try and fail not so scowl, a little taken back by the change. “You talk to everyone like this?”
He shrugs one shoulder, grinning. “Only the interesting ones.”
“I could show you around,” he says, quiet and dangerous. “Blackmoore’s a labyrinth if you don’t know the right doors. And I happen to know all of them. All the best places to do dirty things in.” He winks.
I fold my arms. “Thanks, but I don’t trust guys who flirt like it’s a sport.”
Luca’s eyes spark—amused again. He likes the pushback. “That’s fair. But maybe I’m just being nice to the new girl.”
“Maybe I don’t need nice.”
He tilts his head, like I’ve just confirmed something for him. “No. I bet you don’t.”
Then the smile fades. And just like that, the temperature drops.
I knew it. They were testing me. Using the charmer first to try to lower my guard. Sneaky move, Ravencourt.
He leans back in his seat, all trace of warmth gone from his voice. “Still,” he says, tapping a finger on the desk, “you should be careful.”
My stomach knots.
“New girls tend to break easily around here,” he finishes. “Would be a shame if all that sharpness you’re pretending to have turned out to be paper-thin.”
My jaw tightens, and he smiles again.
Not kind. Not playful.
Predatory.
A voice from the front of the room calls for attention as the teacher begins organizing the day’s lecture.
Luca glances forward, then back at me. “Catch you after class, Ashthorne?”
It’s not really a question.
I nod—slow, careful. “Sure.”
He gives a lazy salute with two fingers and turns back to the front like we didn’t just have a bizarre, surreal moment.
I stare at my tablet for a beat too long before finally forcing myself to focus.
The bell signals the end of second block and the beginning of lunch. Students begin to file out of class, Evie launching into a story about how one of the history professors once caught a kid cheating and made him recite the Academy’s founding doctrine backwards.
I’m only half-listening.
Because I can feel him behind me. Footsteps that don’t rush but don’t stop either. Predator pace.
Evie says her goodbye to me and turns down the hall.
As soon as we’re alone, he speaks.
“You took your time finding your place.”
I turn. Jace Ravencourt stands there—hands in the pockets of his pressed uniform slacks, posture relaxed, but his pale grey-blue eyes sharp.
“I didn’t realize I had one,” I say.
He steps closer. Not enough to crowd, but enough to unsettle. It’s too quiet.
“You do now.” He leans down slightly. “Or at least, you think you do.”
I narrow my eyes. “Do you always talk in riddles or is this just a ‘me’ thing?”
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a glitch in a perfect program. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Great. Disappointing rich boys since day one.”
His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Not disappointed. Intrigued.”
“I’m not here to entertain you.”
“No,” he says, taking a measured step closer, “you shouldn’t be here at all.”
My fists clench at my sides. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
Jace’s voice drops.
“You think because the vultures circled you and didn’t strike, that you’re safe?” His gaze flickers down, then back up. “You see, Ashthorne—this place doesn’t work like the world you came from. Here, the knives are hidden behind perfect smiles. And the second you forget that…”
He taps a finger against the crest on my blazer. “You bleed.”
I hold his stare. “Thanks for the reminder then.”
His expression doesn’t change, but there’s something dangerous in the silence that follows. Like he’s calculating how deep he could cut if he wanted to.
“Good,” he says at last. “I’d hate to be bored.”
He looks down his nose, like I’m nothing more than a speck of dirt. Then he turns and walks away like nothing just happened.
Like he didn’t leave frostbite behind with every word.
I walk fast, needing to get out of that hallway. Out of the air he left behind.
It’s colder now. Like he took the warmth with him.
I’m halfway down the east wing when footsteps pound on the tiles behind me.
“Isobel!”
I turn just as Dakota skids to a stop beside me, a little out of breath.
“I wanted to catch you and walk with you to lunch,” she says, looking me over. “What happened?”
I force a shrug, even though my pulse is still racing. “Ravencourt happened.”
Her eyes widen. “Wait. He talked to you?”
“Mm-hm.” I keep walking, hoping she won’t press. “It was… something.”
Dakota keeps pace, her brows drawn. “What did he say?”
“Nothing worth repeating.”
Dakota groans.
“He thinks I shouldn’t be here.”
She nudges me gently with her elbow. “Yeah? Well maybe he’s just pissed someone new isn’t falling in line.”
“I’m not here to fall in line,” I mutter.
Jace’s voice still echoes in the back of my mind.
Here, the knives are hidden behind perfect smiles.
The next block I have after lunch is Biology. The desks are long tables arranged in trios. I scan the room, looking for an empty seat.
But I see them.
Two of the four boys are already seated.
Cause why wouldn’t they be here.
Tex is sprawled across the back corner like the desk personally offended him. One leg stretched out, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. As if he’s daring someone to give him a reason to care.
Noah’s adjusting something on his tablet. His fingers move fast, precise. Not once does he look up.
A knot twists in my stomach when I realize the only open seat is between them.
This had to be planned.
I keep my face neutral and make my way over.
As I pull the chair back, Tex doesn’t move, but I can feel his eyes rake over me. Not in the way Luca looked. This is different.
Like he’s watching for cracks.
I sit. Noah spares me a glance over the rim of his glasses, then returns to his screen. No greeting. Not that I expected one.
A woman in a sleek navy coat walks in, heels echoing sharply against the tile. “Welcome to Biology. Team assignment is with who you’re sitting with. Work efficiently.”
Splendid.
Noah sighs. “Great.”
I glance over. “Don’t strain yourself with enthusiasm.”
He lifts a brow. “I’m just not a fan of dragging dead weight.”
Tex snorts.
I don’t even look at him. “Then keep up.”
Noah actually pauses at that. The corner of his mouth twitches—something between amusement and disbelief.
“Alright, Ashthorne,” Noah murmurs. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The tray lands on our table with a wet thunk. A preserved fetal pig. My stomach twists for a half second—then settles. I’ve seen worse.
Tex picks up the scalpel like it’s a weapon. “You ever even done one of these before?”
I pull on my gloves. “You ever stop talking?”