Morning comes with fog.
It rolls through the courtyard in heavy white waves, softening the edges of everything — the gates, the towers, the paths leading to class. Ridgeview looks half-asleep, half-haunted.
Hailey moves quietly around the room, straightening her skirt and tying her hair with mechanical precision. I'm slower, still trying to shake the dream I had — though calling it a dream doesn't feel right. It was a whisper, a feeling, a flicker of shadow behind closed eyes.
When I blink, it's gone.
"You're staring at the window again," Hailey says, not looking up from the mirror.
"Just thinking," I answer.
"About what?"
I shrug. "How quiet this place feels in the morning."
She smirks faintly. "Give it an hour. Ridgeview doesn't stay quiet for long."
She's right.
By the time we step outside, the fog has thinned, and the school is awake. Voices drift through the air — laughter, footsteps, the low murmur of gossip.
But underneath it, there's something else. A pattern I'm starting to notice.
Every time The Ravens pass, the volume dips. Not completely, just enough. Conversations stutter mid-sentence. Laughter fades like a dimming light.
It happens near the dining hall, the courtyard, even in the hallways between classes. The Ravens walk through the center of it all — unbothered, self-contained — and everyone else rearranges themselves around them.
I don't think they notice anymore. Or maybe they do, and that's the point.
⸻
In History, I sit near the back again. The teacher, Mr. Carrow, is young and nervous-looking, the kind of man who checks his watch too often. He lectures about ancient civilizations, but his voice trembles slightly whenever Logan's group is mentioned in attendance.
I notice things now — little things.
The way Mr. Carrow's gaze flicks toward the door before it opens. The pause in his throat when Logan finally enters, late again, followed by Cameron and Asher.
They don't rush. They don't apologize.
"Good of you to join us," Mr. Carrow says.
Logan just nods and takes a seat near the window. The teacher exhales quietly and continues the lesson.
No one laughs. No one rolls their eyes. The silence that follows is obedient.
I don't understand it, but I feel it — the invisible gravity around them, pulling everything into orbit.
Halfway through class, a whisper reaches me. Two girls sitting ahead lean toward each other, speaking just low enough to think they're safe.
"…you heard what happened last year?"
"Stop. You're not supposed to—"
"I'm serious. My brother said there was an accident. Something with one of the seniors, and—"
The second girl cuts her off with a sharp glance over her shoulder. When she sees me watching, her expression hardens. The conversation ends.
I look away, pretending to read my notes, but the words blur. Accident. Last year.
The Ravens sit quietly through it all. Cameron leans back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. Asher stares at the board, motionless. Logan's gaze flicks briefly to me.
It's not a long look — just a second — but it feels deliberate. Like he knows I heard.
⸻
By lunch, the fog has burned away. The courtyard is crowded again, sunlight glinting off wet stone.
I sit under a tree with Hailey, who's scrolling through her phone.
"You ever wonder what the deal is with those guys?" I ask.
Her eyes lift slightly. "Who?"
"You know who."
Hailey sighs. "Yvonne, don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't ask questions about them. People who do… don't usually like the answers."
Her words settle like a chill at the base of my neck. "That's comforting."
She shrugs. "It's not about liking or not liking them. It's about knowing your place here. The Ravens don't bother you unless you give them a reason to."
"And if you do?"
Hailey's gaze drifts to the group sitting across the courtyard — Logan at the center, Cameron laughing, Asher silent. The sunlight hits them in sharp contrast, like they belong to another world entirely.
"If you do," she says finally, "you'll wish you hadn't."
⸻
Afternoon classes blur together. I keep my head down, take notes, and try not to think about the stares I feel when I pass certain corners.
Still, the whispers follow.
"I heard she transferred after—"
"—something happened back in her old school—"
"—you think the Ravens know?"
The last part makes my stomach twist. Because the way they say it — quiet, curious, almost certain — sounds like a secret I haven't learned yet.
In my last class, Literature again, Ms. Rowe assigns group analysis. When she starts pairing names, my chest tightens.
"Logan Mercer and Yvonne Harper."
The room stills for half a beat.
Logan looks up from his desk, expression unreadable. A few students glance between us, whispering softly.
"Page ninety-four," Ms. Rowe continues. "Due Friday."
That's it. No explanation.
When class ends, everyone rushes for the door, eager to escape the tension. I'm gathering my books when a shadow falls over my desk.
"Looks like we're partners," Logan says.
I look up. His voice is calm, measured — the kind of calm that hides more than it shows.
"Yeah," I manage.
He studies me for a moment, eyes flicking over my face like he's searching for something familiar. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one people get before they start asking questions."
"I wasn't going to."
He smiles — not friendly, not cruel. Just knowing. "You already have."
For a second, neither of us speaks. The classroom feels too quiet.
Then he steps past me, voice low enough that only I hear it.
"Welcome to Ridgeview, Yvonne Harper. Took you long enough to get here."
I turn to say something, but he's already walking away, Cameron and Asher falling into step beside him.
I stand there, heart pounding, replaying his words.
Took you long enough to get here.
He said it like he'd been waiting.