By the time the week settled into routine again, Crestwood Academy had mastered the art of pretending.
So had I.
Every morning, I wore my uniform neatly pressed, hair combed just right, expression calm enough to pass inspection. The gates opened. The guards scanned. The cameras blinked once, twice, always watching.
And life went on.
If anyone asked, I was fine.
If anyone listened closely, they would hear how carefully I chose my words.
"Did you sleep well?" Mark Lin asked as he fell into step beside me, balancing a paper cup of coffee like it was sacred.
"Like a baby," I replied, smiling.
It was a lie, but a harmless one. Crestwood thrived on harmless lies.
Mark was one of the few people I trusted here. He had been with me since the scholarship announcement, since the bus ride on our first day, since the moment Crestwood's walls rose before us like a challenge. He was observant in a quiet way, the kind that noticed what people didn't say.
"You've been… quieter," he said.
I shrugged. "History class will do that to you."
He laughed, but his eyes lingered on my face, searching.
Around us, the academy lawn buzzed with life. Students sprawled on expensive picnic mats, laughing over food imported from countries most people only read about. A group of billionaires debated loudly near the fountain, their jackets immaculate, their confidence louder than their voices.
The scholarship students gathered closer together without meaning to.
It wasn't fear.
It was instinct.
"Picnic at noon," Liana whispered as she joined us, her braids bouncing as she walked. "The weather's perfect. Even Crestwood can't ruin sunshine."
I smiled at that.
Liana had a way of pretending things were simple, even when they weren't. She was brilliant, sharp-tongued, and completely uninterested in bending for anyone. Somehow, she made it work.
At noon, we spread out under one of the old oak trees near the east wing. The grass there was softer, less manicured, as if the academy hadn't quite decided what to do with it yet.
I liked that.
Mark passed around sandwiches. Someone brought fruit. I pulled out the raspberries Mrs. Williams had given me earlier that morning. I hadn't eaten them yet.
"They look amazing," Liana said, stealing one without asking. "Your bus lady has good taste."
"She always does," I replied.
For a moment, it felt almost normal.
Laughter drifted easily. Stories were shared. Complaints about assignments, about uniforms, about the absurdity of a place where flowers were replaced weekly just to match the season.
And yet, even as I laughed, I felt it.
The watching.
The cameras near the building weren't pointed at us directly, but I knew better now. Watching didn't always mean staring. Sometimes it meant listening. Sometimes it meant waiting.
"Did you see the news again last night?" someone asked casually.
The air shifted.
I took a slow bite of my sandwich.
"They keep replaying the same thing," Mark said. "It's weird. Like they want us to forget by remembering."
"That's politics," Liana scoffed. "Say it enough times and it becomes true."
I said nothing.
Because I knew exactly how true that was.
A shadow fell across the grass.
Conversation stilled.
I didn't have to look up to know who it was.
Crown Prince Kaelith Altherion stood a few steps away, his presence bending the space around him without effort. His uniform was immaculate, purple jacket sharp against his broad shoulders. His red hair caught the sunlight like a warning.
Behind him, two guards waited at a distance.
He didn't look at anyone else.
He looked at me.
"Miss Winter," he said.
My name sounded different in his voice. Measured. Controlled.
I rose to my feet smoothly, every movement deliberate. "Your Majesty."
Around us, students stood instinctively, heads bowed. The picnic dissolved in seconds, laughter swallowed by silence.
"You seem well," he said.
"I am," I replied.
It was true, in a way. I was alive. So was my family.
That had to count for something.
"Good," he said. "Crestwood values stability."
"So I've noticed."
Something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Something closer to curiosity.
"You understand what is expected of you," he continued.
"Yes."
A pause.
"You will continue to understand."
I met his gaze, careful to keep my expression neutral. "Of course."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he nodded once, sharp and final, and turned away.
The moment he left, the world breathed again.
"What was that?" Liana hissed the second he was out of earshot.
"Nothing," I said, sitting back down. "Just… a reminder."
Mark watched me closely. "You sure you're okay?"
I smiled. "I said I was."
That night, back at home, I helped my mother wash dishes. She hummed softly, unaware of how tightly I was holding onto the moment. My sister talked excitedly about school, about a test she had aced.
I listened.
Later, in my room, I opened my diary.
Not to write secrets.
To write truths.
Compliance is not the same as surrender, I wrote.
I closed the book and slid it back into its hiding place.
Tomorrow, I would laugh again. Study again. Smile again.
And watch.
Because in a place like Crestwood, the people who survived were never the loudest.
They were the ones who learned when to be quiet.