Ravenscourt International Academy woke the next morning exactly as it always did—immaculate, composed, and utterly indifferent to the chaos it had caused.
Sunlight spilled through tall arched windows, glinting off polished marble floors and framed portraits of benefactors who had paid handsomely to be immortalized on the walls. Students moved through the corridors in tailored uniforms, voices low, laughter controlled. To an outsider, nothing was wrong.
But Elliot Carter felt it.
The school was watching him.
He sat near the back of the grand lecture hall during morning assembly, spine straight, jaw tight. The letters were hidden inside his satchel, wrapped carefully in a Ravenscourt-issued blazer as if fabric could somehow muffle destiny. Every rustle of paper, every creak of wood made his pulse jump.
Beside him, Amelia Rhodes leaned back casually in her seat, one ankle crossed over the other, expression bored—but her fingers tapped twice against her knee. A code Elliot had learned over years of friendship.
Stay alert.
Up front, Headmaster Blackwood spoke smoothly about academic excellence, legacy, and "the responsibility of privilege." His voice was calm, practiced, and hollow.
"The alarm last night," Blackwood continued, hands clasped behind his back, "was the result of a minor systems malfunction. There is no cause for concern."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the hall.
Elliot felt Amelia stiffen.
Liar, Elliot thought.
The ground had been disturbed. A time capsule had been unearthed. Letters had named names and predicted truths. And now Ravenscourt was doing what it did best—rewriting reality before anyone could question it.
His gaze flicked across the room.
Madison Brooks sat three rows ahead, eyes glued to her tablet, glasses reflecting lines of code she definitely wasn't supposed to be running during assembly. Her posture was relaxed, but Elliot knew better. Madison only looked calm when she was ten steps ahead of everyone else.
Kai Zhang stood near the wall with a cluster of prefects, tall and immovable, gaze sweeping the room like a silent guard. He didn't look at Elliot—but his presence alone was reassurance.
And then there was Hiro Tanaka.
Hiro sat near the front, immaculate as ever, dark blazer perfectly fitted, posture elegant. He looked like the kind of student Ravenscourt brochures were designed around. When Blackwood mentioned "malfunction," Hiro smiled faintly.
Not amused.
Knowing.
The assembly ended with applause that sounded rehearsed. Students rose, filed out, and the illusion resumed.
But the cost of curiosity arrived quickly.
Arjun Malhotra's Advanced Physics class was unusually quiet.
Normally, the room buzzed with debate—equations thrown across the board, theories challenged, egos bruised. Today, students avoided eye contact, whispers dying before they fully formed.
Arjun sat at his desk, hands folded neatly, eyes forward.
Elliot slipped into the seat behind him, heart pounding.
Amelia took the chair beside Elliot. "Something's off," she whispered.
Before Elliot could respond, the professor cleared her throat.
"Arjun," she said gently. "Would you come to the front, please?"
The room froze.
Arjun stood without hesitation. He walked to the front with calm precision, but Elliot caught the slight tightening of his jaw.
"Yes, Professor?"
She hesitated—just a fraction too long.
"There's been a concern raised about your latest submission," she said. "Specifically regarding originality."
A hush fell over the class.
Elliot's blood ran cold.
"You're accusing him of plagiarism?" a student whispered loudly.
The professor raised a hand. "We are investigating. However, until that investigation is complete, this matter will be noted."
Arjun didn't raise his voice. Didn't argue. He simply said, "I didn't cheat."
His accent—soft but unmistakable—hung in the air.
The professor sighed. "You may return to your seat."
Arjun did. Slowly. With dignity.
But the damage was done.
Elliot felt sick.
Because the words from the letter burned in his mind.
A scholar will be humiliated before they are believed.
Lunch at Ravenscourt was a performance of wealth.
Crystal chandeliers. Linen napkins. Conversations about hedge funds and overseas estates disguised as teenage small talk.
Elliot barely touched his food.
They regrouped at their usual table near the tall windows overlooking the courtyard—the same courtyard where everything had begun.
"That wasn't random," Amelia said quietly.
"No," Arjun replied, voice steady but sharp underneath. "It was a message."
Madison closed her tablet. "And it wasn't initiated by faculty. I checked. The complaint was logged through an internal channel that bypasses standard review."
Kai frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning someone wanted Arjun shaken," Madison said. "Publicly."
All eyes turned, slowly, to Hiro.
He approached them moments later, tray in hand, expression unreadable.
"May I?" he asked politely.
No one answered. He sat anyway.
"You should be careful," Hiro said conversationally. "Ravenscourt doesn't like disruptions. Especially from students who forget their place."
Arjun met his gaze. "And where exactly is my place?"
Hiro smiled thinly. "You tell me."
Elliot stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "Say what you really mean."
Hiro's eyes flicked to Elliot's bag.
A beat.
Then another.
"Enjoy your lunch," Hiro said, rising. "The future is expensive. Not everyone can afford it."
He walked away.
Silence followed.
Amelia exhaled slowly. "I officially hate him."
Madison nodded. "Same."
Elliot sat back down, hands trembling.
The letters hadn't just predicted the future.
They had triggered it.
Outside, clouds rolled over Ravenscourt's spires.
The school stood tall, unshaken.
But something beneath it had awakened.
And the price of knowing had only just begun.