Chapter 13 Survive
The next morning feels like a punishment, too bright, too normal for how hollow I feel inside.
My eyes are puffy, my throat scratched raw from crying until there was nothing left in me.
I haven’t even changed out of the sweatshirt I threw on the night before.
Everything still smells like bonfire and embarrassment.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall where the camera once was. It’s gone now. But the damage has already been done.
My hands shake as I pick up my phone.
It rings twice.
“Gracie?”
Lucian’s voice is low, calm.
I open my mouth to speak, then close it again.
“What’s wrong?” he presses.
Something tightens in my chest. I blink fast, pressing the heel of my palm into one eye. “They… they showed a video of me. From my room. Everyone saw it. They’re watching me, Lucian. Laughing at me. Like I’m nothing. Like I’m a game.”
His voice hardens. “A video? What kind of video?”
“Just me,” I say quickly. “Just me… crying. I was having a nightmare. It wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s business.”
A breath on the other end. “The cameras—your room is secure. That shouldn’t be possible.”
“It was before the cameras were installed. When they broke into my room the first time.” My voice cracks, ugly and vulnerable. “I thought they just messed with my stuff, but they hid a camera.”
Lucian goes silent again, but I can feel him thinking, calculating. “I’ll look into the breach immediately. You know I will.”
“But that’s not…” I bite my lip hard enough to sting. “I don’t think I can do this.”
His voice is quieter. “I understand. But if you come home now, they win. And I didn’t raise a daughter who lets cowards win.”
I press my forehead into my hand. “You didn’t raise me at all.”
That makes him pause.
“No. But I’m here now. And I’m not letting you run.”
I don’t say anything. Don’t have it in me.
My breath hitches. I hate crying, hate the way it makes me feel weak and messy and exposed, but the ache in my chest won’t stop growing.
“Then tell me what I need to do.”
Lucian’s voice, calm and unwavering, carries only one word, “Survive.”
“If anything, that’s all I know how to do. I’ve already survived worse.”
“That’s my girl.”
I spend the weekend in my room after Dakota told me a nifty perk of being an Ashthorne; I can order room service. Not having to go down to the food hall to eat is truly the cherry on top.
Monday rears its ugly head. The cafeteria buzzes with chatter and clinking trays, but it all goes silent the moment I step inside. The air changes. Everyone already knows.
Eyes flick in my direction. Mouths twist around barely hidden smirks. The weight of every stare crawls across my skin.
They want me to shrink, to fold into myself. They want my embarrassment. But I’m not giving them anything. I imagine the strength my grandma had, all from Lucian’s stories, and I channel her.
I keep my chin high, walking straight to the breakfast line. Gripping the tray a little too tightly, I shuffle forward before grabbing some eggs and fruit I won’t eat.
Laughter rises from a nearby table. Different theories and guesses at what the video is about float around me.
The tray shakes just slightly in my hands. I don’t look. I don’t break. I’ve heard worse. But it feels different.
The cafeteria shifts again, as heads turn to watch Jace, Luca, Tex, and Noah move through the room as if they own it.
Luca spots me first. His grin spreads slow and cruel. “Morning, starlet,” he calls across the room. “Didn’t know you had such a flair for dramatics.”
A table erupts in laughter. My ears ring. I keep walking.
Then Jace’s voice slices through. Cold. Loud enough to carry. “You should be grateful. Most people don’t get this much attention on their first week.”
I freeze mid-step. The tray in my hands feels stupidly heavy. He’s looking straight at me. Daring me to crumble. Waiting for the fallout.
“She didn’t ask for your opinion.” Dakota’s voice cuts clean through the noise.
The entire room seems to stop.
She’s standing at her table with a full tray in hand, her friends behind her like a wall. Callie, Brynn, Evie, Tammy, and Rowen—all watching with expressions that range from mildly pissed to full-blown ready to throw down.
Dakota walks toward me, heels tapping like punctuation. She stops at my side, looks past me to the boys.
“Don’t you have anything better to do? Or are you just that obsessed with her?”
Callie lets out a loud oof.
Brynn mock-clutches her chest. “Damn. That’s embarrassing for you, Jace.”
Tammy bites into a strawberry and mutters, “Creepy.”
Luca opens his mouth, but Rowen beats him to it. “Shh. Let the grown-ups talk.”
Jace’s expression cools further somehow, but he doesn’t respond. Just turns and walks off, the others following.
Dakota turns back to me, her voice dropping. “Come on. Sit with us.”
I nod, stunned, and follow her back to their table. The moment I sit down, Callie scoots her tray closer.
“Your eyes are actually insane,” Brynn says, studying me like I’m some painting that just arrived.
“Don’t listen to any of those people; they just thrive off the drama.” Evie rolls her eyes.
I’m caught completely off guard. Compliments? From popular girls? To me? Are they backing me up?
“Oh. Uh. Thanks,” I mumble.
Dakota slides into the seat beside me, smiling like nothing just happened.
“Ignore them. They’re loud, not interesting.” She hands me a napkin. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. I think I am.”
And I mean it.
I barely walk out of my last class before my alert pings again — a soft chime that sounds like a gunshot after the day I’ve had.
New classes. Required attendance. No exceptions. Please see below.
Great. Because nothing says ‘welcome to your villain origin story’ like surprise after-school activities with the people who most want to destroy you.
I trudge across campus, every step a reminder of the whispers in the hallway, my own voice echoing in my head like a broken record.
Multiple guys reenact my video from the party. I try not to scowl, but I’m pretty sure I fail.
My limbs feel heavy, the kind of tired that settles in your bones and stays there. I don’t even look at the class name. Don’t care.
I just want this day to end. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, I expect some kind of lecture hall or maybe a weird elective.
Instead, I step into something that looks like it belongs in a Bond villain’s basement — sleek black floors, reinforced walls, weapons racks gleaming along one side. A training room.
A man in a fitted black jacket glances up from a clipboard near the front and gives me a brief nod. “You’re late.”
I can’t do anything but stare.
“Look who finally decided to join us,” Luca purrs from the side of the room.
His voice fills me with dread.
And there they are. All four of them. At least Dakota is here too. Relief washes over me at the friendly face.
Luca, lazily perches on a bench like he’s posing for a magazine cover, twirling a throwing knife between his fingers.
Jace stands rigid, watching me with that same cold, unreadable expression.
Tex leans against the wall in the back, looking like he has better places to be.
And Noah, already typing something into a device strapped to his wrist, eyes me over the rims of his glasses.
“Awesome,” I mutter under my breath, making my way to the far edge of the mat, as far from them as possible.
Dakota opens her mouth, but the instructor clears his throat. “Welcome to Combat Fundamentals. This is a guild-verified practical, not an academy course. You will be watched. You will be graded. And you will not enjoy it.”
He pauses, eyes settling on me. “But you’ll learn. Or you’ll fail.”
I’m not even sure I care which.
The instructor scans his clipboard again. “Ashthorne.”
I lift my chin.
He points to a narrow hallway off to the left. “Changing room. Training uniforms are waiting in your size. You’ve got two minutes.”
No one else moves. No one else needs to change, they are already changed. Of course. I nod stiffly and duck through the door.
Inside, the room is cold and bare—metal lockers, a bench, and a single matte-black uniform folded neatly on the counter.
I peel out of my uniform with shaking fingers.
Slip into the training outfit which clings like a second skin—slick and tactical, high-collar, long-sleeves, and black from neck to heel.
I look ready to break into a museum.
By the time I step back into the training room, I can already feel their eyes.
Luca lets out a low whistle.
Noah doesn’t even try to hide the once-over he gives me.
Jace’s expression doesn’t change, but I feel the weight of his gaze.
Dakota gave me a reassuring smile,
“Better,” the instructor mutters, like I’m a tool finally polished.
I take my place on the mat next to Dakota, crossing my arms tight over my chest.
“Partner assignments,” the man barks. “These are not optional.”
“Ashthorne. Ward.”
Tex doesn’t say a word. Just jerks his chin toward the mat. Dakota squeezes my hand in silent support.
I walk toward him, every step heavier than the last. Luca has a look of amusement on his face while Noah has something close to pity. I hate both.
We take our positions.
“Basic blocking drill. Switch every five strikes,” the instructor calls out. “Begin.”
I brace myself, raising my hands. I barely have time to react before Tex moves.
Strike. Strike. Strike.
His movements are precise, effortless, like he’s been doing this since birth. I stumble back after the fourth hit, barely catching the fifth with a shaky forearm block.
“Switch,” the instructor says.
My turn. My strikes are hesitant. Clumsy. I barely graze him. He doesn’t flinch once, doesn’t even blink. When I finish the fifth, he doesn’t wait. He advances again, faster this time.
I block the first two, then he clips my side with a sharp jab that knocks the wind from my lungs. I cough, doubling over slightly, trying to breathe.
“You done?” he raises an eyebrow.