The envelope arrived on a day when no mail came.
Noah Grey stood alone in the rain-drenched entryway of his foster home, staring down at it. No stamp, nor was there any return address. Just his name, scrawled in perfect black ink; the letters were neat and slanted like they were written in a rush, but it still had to be presentable.
The air around him crackled with something electric. Behind him, the house was too quiet—like it was holding its breath.
In front of him, the letter whispered something wrong.
He hadn't applied to Montvale Institute.
He was barely passing high school. He wasn't a scholar. He wasn't anything.
But the letter didn't care.
We are pleased to inform you that you've been selected for admission to Montvale Institute, beginning this autumn term. A car will arrive on Friday. Do not bring phones. Do not speak of this invitation to anyone.
Welcome, Noah. We've been expecting you.
His fingers trembled.
He should've thrown it away or burned it; better still, pretended it never arrived.
But he didn't; it was too good to be left unattended
Because something about the handwriting felt… familiar.
Like déjà vu carved into ink.
He reread the last line over and over again.
We've been expecting you.
Who was "we"?
Even with all the negative energy it came with, he had to make preparations, pick a few things he needed, and wait for the 3rd day.
Three days later, the black car came.
No driver stepped out. The doors unlocked with a soft hiss, like the car was breathing. Tinted windows, a sleek body, and silence, like it had driven out of a dream. Or a nightmare.
Noah stepped inside. The leather smelled like old books and metal. There were no signs, no GPS, and no radio. it was just the hum of the engine and the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
The city fell away fast. They drove through towns he didn't recognize. Then through the forest. Then fog. Endless, shifting fog that made the trees look like shadows from another world.
By the time they reached the gates, the sun had vanished—and so had the sky.
Montvale Institute wasn't a school.
It was a monument to forgotten things.
The building stretched high into the mist, a tangle of glass, stone, and black iron spires. Gothic arches twisted into each other like veins. Windows reflected the world in fractured pieces.
The walls dripped with vines that seemed to twitch when no one looked.
Noah stepped out of the car, his suitcase heavy in one hand, and felt a sudden shift in his heart
Not fear exactly. Not awe. Something felt familiar.
Like something woke up inside him.
Twelve students were gathered at the gate. Their silhouettes cut sharply against the fog. They all looked like they'd been waiting. Like they knew something he didn't.
He didn't meet their eyes.
Not yet.
Because his gaze found him first.
A boy stood apart from the others, leaning against the old stone pillar like he'd been carved into it. Black jacket. Raven hair. Pale skin that looked almost blue in the cold light. And eyes—grey, cold, and endless—that didn't just look at Noah.
They remembered him.
The breath caught in Noah's throat. He didn't know why.
"You're late," the boy said, his voice calm, almost amused.
Noah blinked. "Do I… know you?"
"Not yet," he replied, with a crooked smile. "But we've met before. You just forgot, and you promised not to forget me."
He pushed off the pillar and walked away into the fog without waiting for a response.
Noah turned to ask the others who he was, but they were already filing into the school, silent and unreadable, moving rhythmically.
The boy didn't have a nametag.
But something inside Noah whispered one anyway.
Reign.
Inside, Montvale was worse.
The hallways were long and dim, lit by sconces that flickered like dying stars. The floors creaked. The ceilings wept. Every corridor felt like it was watching. Breathing. Waiting for something to consume.
Noah's dorm already had his name engraved on the door. The room inside was bare—except for a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk with a single book lying on top.
His copy of Frankenstein.
The one he lost three years ago.
The one with his name written inside in his handwriting… and a note he didn't remember writing:
"Even monsters deserve love. Even if they can't keep it."
It kept ringing in his head.
That night, he dreamed of water.
the water was freezing, black, and Endless.
He floated, weightless, surrounded by fog. A figure approached him beneath the surface, dark hair, pale hands, and eyes full of pain.
"You said you'd never forget me, Noah."
Noah tried to reach him, but his hands wouldn't move.
"You promised."
"Why did you let them erase me?"
"Why did you let me die?"
He woke up gasping, drenched in sweat.
The room was dark. The book was gone.
And on the desk was a note, tucked into the pages of a journal he didn't own.
Meet me at the greenhouse. Midnight. You need to remember. — R
His fingers shook.
He hadn't told anyone about the dream.
He hadn't even said Reign's name out loud.
But somehow, someone knew.
Noah spent the day like a ghost.
The classes were strange—some with no teachers, others with lessons that felt like tests of memory. The students didn't talk much. They kept glancing at the doors. At the windows. At him.
During lunch, he saw Reign again, at the far end of the table.
Still. Silent. Watching.
No one else acknowledged him.
"Who's that?" Noah asked the boy beside him—Theo, his roommate.
Theo turned, confused. "Who?"
"That guy. Black hair. Sitting at the—"
"There's no one there."
Noah turned back.
And the seat was empty.
Midnight came like a dare.
The greenhouse sat at the edge of the forest, glass panes fogged with age. Vines wrapped the frame like fingers. Inside, everything grew too fast. Wild. Mutated. Alive.
Reign stood among the shadows, arms crossed, breath fogging the air.
"You came," he said.
Noah stepped closer. "Why me? Why now?"
Reign tilted his head. "Because it's starting again."
"What is it?"
Reign didn't answer. Just took a step forward.
Another.
Close enough that Noah could smell the cold on him. Rain and soil and memory.
"You still don't remember, do you?" Reign whispered. "Not even the lake. Not the fire. Not the promise you made the night you died."
Noah's blood ran cold.
"I'm not dead."
"Not yet," Reign said. "But you've been here before. With me. And every time, you forget."
"What are you talking about?" Noah breathed.
Reign's fingers brushed his. Just barely.
It felt like lightning.
"This school isn't what it seems," he said. "You're not the first to be brought here. But you might be the last."
Noah's heart slammed in his chest.
"Last of what?"
Reign leaned in close. So close that their foreheads almost touched.
"The Thirteenth."
"What does that mean?" Noah whispered.
Reign didn't answer.
Because behind them, glass shattered.
Noah turned, but there was nothing there. Just the fog pressing against the glass like a hungry thing.
When he turned back—
Reign was gone.