Bellmere Academy was nothing like Angelica Redgrave imagined.
It was bigger, colder — like a palace built by ghosts. Its white spires pierced the clouds, and a stone bell tower loomed in the center like a crown. The gates opened without a sound, swallowing her car like it had done a thousand others.
Inside, her stomach churned. Not from fear. From pressure. From expectation.
She was a Redgrave, after all.
The Redgraves always rose to the top.
The Orientation Hall sparkled with chandeliers and crystal glasses. Velvet banners in gold and crimson hung from the ceiling, displaying the school's motto in archaic Latin. A full string quartet played softly in the corner.
Angelica adjusted her ribbon and walked alone through the crowd of new first-years, chin high, back straight. She had earned her place. She would prove it.
This was where the future elite were made — the best of the best.
She just didn't yet know what it cost to become one.
The Headmaster, a pale man with a voice like marble, welcomed them with a speech that felt like a veiled threat.
"Excellence is survival," he said. "Survival is excellence."
Some students chuckled politely. Others did not.
Then the Headmaster gestured toward a group standing off to the side — older students in impeccable uniforms. They radiated power like royalty. At the center was a boy with golden eyes and a gloved hand resting on a cane he didn't seem to need.
Kage Blackthorne.
Student Council President.
Angelica had heard of him in whispers before she even arrived — a prodigy, a genius, cold as ice, charming when it suited him.
Their eyes met for just a moment.
She felt like she was being measured.
And then he looked away.
After the ceremony, students were herded into small groups for campus tours. Angelica was assigned to Group Seven, led by a sharp-nosed boy who looked like he hated children and sunlight equally.
"This school doesn't reward hesitation," he said bluntly. "Keep up, or fall behind. Your choice."
Angelica raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She wasn't here to make friends. She was here to succeed.
The hallways were spotless. The architecture: brutal and beautiful. Every corridor had cameras. Every staircase had mirrors. The school watched everything.
That night, in her dorm room, Angelica unpacked slowly. Her roommate hadn't arrived yet. The silence pressed in from all sides.
She glanced at the welcome packet again — the schedule, the rules, the honor code. It all felt so... controlled.
And then she noticed something odd.
Tucked between the rulebook and map was a small black card, blank except for a crimson bell pressed into the paper in wax.
No name. No instructions.
Just a symbol.
She turned it over.
A single word was written in ink.
"Tomorrow."
Her blood ran cold.