The car ride was quiet. Unnaturally so.
Megan Holster watched the trees blur past the window, all tall and silver-lined, as if dipped in mist. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was thick. Like Ashville didn't want to be found.
Her father hadn't said much since they left London.
"You'll be safe here," he had said. "Fresh start. Good people. Good school."
Megan didn't know how to respond to that. She had just woken up from a coma after seven years. The last time she saw her reflection, she was sixteen. She had been… smaller then. More full of dreams and less full of body.
Now she is twenty-three. Round-faced. Chubby in all the wrong places. Staring at a future that looked nothing like the one she planned.
And somehow, she was still going back to school.
---
They reached a modest government bungalow on the edge of town. Old stone walls. A neat little garden. A bit too quiet. Her father worked for some hush-hush branch of the ministry, so when he said "transfer," she knew not to ask questions.
"You'll like it here," he said as he opened the car door. "Ashville's different."
She stepped out, her boots crunching against gravel. The air was crisp—too crisp. The town looked like something out of an antique postcard. Cobblestone streets. Gabled rooftops. Everyone walking around was either too well-dressed or too quiet.
Like a painting… or a lie.
---
The next morning, Megan stood in front of her mirror, tugging at the hem of her shirt for the tenth time.
Too tight. Everything was too tight.
She had settled for black jeans and a soft hoodie. No makeup. Just lip balm. Her curls were pinned back loosely, framing her full face.
"You don't need to impress anyone," she muttered to herself. "It's just school. You've done this before."
Except she hadn't.
Not like this.
Not in Ashville.
---
The car dropped her off at the academy gates at 8:30 sharp.
Ashville Academy wasn't like London's schools. It was more like a castle had fallen in love with a luxury spa. Black stone buildings stretched into the fog, wrapped in ivy and gold trim. The gates were enormous, forged iron with carved markings she didn't recognize.
Megan stepped forward.
And instantly felt… watched.
Every student she passed looked like they had been filtered on a magazine cover. Tall. Sharp-jawed. Glassy-eyed. Girls with hair like spun silk. Boys with faces that didn't belong in high school textbooks.
And all of them turned to look at her.
The chubby girl with a nervous smile and secondhand boots.
---
She kept her gaze low and headed toward the main office. Just act normal. That's all.
"Megan Holster?" the receptionist asked, eyes scanning her ID. "You'll be in Class 3A. Building C, up the stairs, turn left."
She nodded. "Thanks."
Gripping her bag tighter, she walked toward the corridor… and bumped into a wall.
A warm, breathing, smirking wall.
"Woah there, sweetheart. You drop in from the sky?"
Megan stumbled back a step.
He was tall. Ridiculously tall. He leaned lazily against the stone wall like it was built just for his back. Dark hair. Sculpted jawline. A half-buttoned school shirt that showed off a chest that had no business looking that good this early in the morning.
And those eyes—amber. Like fire trapped in honey.
"I—sorry," she mumbled, brushing her hoodie straight.
He tilted his head, clearly not moving aside.
"New girl?" he asked, tone casual. "Don't think I've seen you before."
"I… yeah. First day."
"Clearly." His gaze swept her body slowly. "You look lost. And squishy."
Her eyes snapped up. "Excuse me?"
He shrugged, amused. "In a cute way. Like a marshmallow."
Was he… teasing her?
Before she could reply, he stepped closer—too close—and leaned down, his voice a whisper only she could hear.
"Humans like you don't usually last long here."
Megan blinked. "I beg your—"
He was already walking off, whistling, hands in his pockets.
She stood frozen. Did he say humans like you?
What else would she be?
---
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Class 3A wasn't too bad, except that most of the students barely acknowledged her. A girl with platinum hair sniffed the air when Megan sat beside her, then promptly shifted her seat.
Lunch was worse. Everyone sat in small, perfect little circles.
She took her tray and sat in the far corner, near a window, pretending she didn't care.
Until a shadow fell across her table.
"Mind if I sit?"
Megan looked up—and choked slightly on her water.
It was him again. Mr. Tall, Amber, and Unbothered.
"You again," she muttered.
He smirked and slid into the seat across from her, resting his elbows on the table like they were old friends.
"Victor Umbrae," he said, offering his hand. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
Megan stared at his hand but didn't take it. "Should I?"
His grin widened.
"No," he said. "But you will."