Lydia.
The Old Observatory sat on the highest hill on campus, a skeletal dome against a moonless sky. I arrived three minutes before midnight. The door creaked open before I could touch it.
A figure in a black robe and a silver mask gestured me inside. He didn't speak. The air inside was cold and smelled of dust and old paper.
About a dozen other freshmen were already there, huddled together in the center of the circular room. They shifted their weight, their nervous whispers echoing in the vast, dark space above.
“Did you hear what happened to Troy Lexington?” a girl with a blonde ponytail whispered.
“Yeah, a townie broke his wrist,” a boy in a ridiculously expensive jacket replied. “That’s why Braden’s on edge tonight. He hates when things look bad for the Circle.”
I found a spot away from them, near the wall, my back to solid stone. I scanned the faces. He wasn’t here yet.
The heavy doors slammed shut, making everyone jump. The lights died.
Girls screamed. Boys cursed.
Then, the room was flooded with red emergency lights. More robed figures burst in from side doors I hadn't noticed. They moved with theatrical aggression, shouting.
“On the floor! Now!” one of them yelled. His voice was artificially deep.
“Hands behind your backs! Do not speak!” another commanded.
The freshmen scrambled to obey, whimpering.
I simply knelt, placing my hands behind me. It was all so performative. So loud.
A robed senior grabbed my wrists. He fumbled with a length of thick rope. “This one thinks she’s tough,” he grunted to his friend, pulling the knot tight. “Let’s see how tough she is after a few hours in the dark.”
I felt the knot against my skin. A simple, clumsy square knot. A child could escape it. My father taught me how to tie a slipknot that could choke a man before I learned long division.
The senior gave it one last tug. “There. Not going anywhere.”
He moved on to the next pledge. I waited until his back was turned. I flexed my wrist, twisted my hand, and the rope fell loose. It took less than a second. I slipped my hands back inside the loop, feigning captivity perfectly. This game was more amusing if you played along, just a little.
My eyes adjusted to the dim red light. I began to watch.
The pledges were all tied, sitting in a miserable circle. Some were crying silently. Others were trying to look brave and failing.
But the room wasn't right. There was a pocket of stillness in the far corner. A disruption in the pattern of forced chaos.
I saw him then. Dante Thorne.
He was sitting calmly in a straight backed wooden chair, not on the floor with the rest of us.
He was not tied up. His hands rested on his thighs, perfectly relaxed.
And on the floor around his chair, three of the robed seniors were groaning. One clutched his wrist, his whole body trembling. Another was curled on his side, gasping for breath. The third was just staring at the ceiling, his silver mask askew, his expression one of pure shock.
“What happened over there?” a pledge near me whispered, his voice shaking.
“I don’t know,” his friend hissed back. “They went to grab him, and then… they were just on the ground. He didn't even seem to move.”
The main doors opened again. This time, two figures entered without robes. The first was Braden Croft, his blond hair perfectly styled even in the red gloom. His face was a mask of cold arrogance.
The girl beside him was beautiful, with sharp features and a bored pout. Chloe, I guessed. The socialite Sarah had mentioned.
Braden surveyed the scene, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Welcome, pledges. Your first test is one of submission. To prove you can follow…”
His voice trailed off as he saw the scene in the corner. His smirk vanished. “What is this? What the hell happened?”
He strode over to the downed seniors. “Get up! What is wrong with you?”
The one clutching his wrist looked up, his face pale. “Braden, we couldn't… he wouldn't let us.”
“He wouldn’t let you?” Braden snapped. “There are three of you! He is one pledge!”
Chloe laughed, a sound like tiny, sharp bells. “Looks like your boys aren't as tough as they look, Braden.”
Braden’s jaw tightened. He ignored her and turned his furious gaze on Dante.
Dante hadn't moved. He simply watched Braden approach, his expression unreadable. He looked like a king observing a minor squabble in his court.
“You,” Braden said, stopping a few feet from Dante’s chair. “You think you’re above the rules?”
Dante didn't answer. He just tilted his head slightly, a silent question.
“I gave an order,” Braden said, his voice rising. “All pledges were to be restrained. You were supposed to submit.”
“They tried,” Dante said. His voice was low and calm, yet it cut through the entire room. It held a rough, gravelly texture that sent a strange shiver down my spine.
“They tried, and you put them on the floor,” Braden shot back. “Who do you think you are?”
“He’s the guy who just took out three seniors,” Chloe said, looking at Dante with a new, hungry interest. “I’m impressed.”
“Shut up, Chloe,” Braden snarled without looking at her. He took another step toward Dante. “This is my house. My society. My rules. You will get on the floor and you will let us tie you up, or you can get out.”
I watched, fascinated. This was the first interesting thing that had happened since I arrived at this university. Braden was a bully who relied on numbers and status. Dante was something else entirely.
Dante slowly rose from the chair. He was taller than Braden, broader. He didn't move aggressively, but the sheer presence of him made Braden take an involuntary step back.
“You want me on the floor?” Dante asked, his voice still quiet, still dangerously calm.
Braden’s bravado was cracking. He glanced at his downed men, then back at Dante. He was trying to calculate his odds and realizing he had none.
“Fine,” Braden finally spat out, forcing a laugh. “A little fight in you. I can respect that. Consider this part of the test. You passed.”
It was a pathetic attempt to save face. Everyone in the room knew it.
Dante just gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod and sat back down in his chair, a silent victor.
Our eyes met across the room. There was no smile on his face, no flicker of triumph. There was only the same cold, assessing look I had seen on the balcony. A look that said he saw me, truly saw me, sitting here with loose ropes around my wrists.
A look that said he knew I was playing a game, just like him. Only our game was infinitely more dangerous than this childish charade.
Braden, clearly shaken, turned away from Dante, needing to reassert his dominance. His eyes swept over the rest of us, the compliant, tied up sheep.
His gaze landed on me.
“Alright,” he announced, his voice tight with frustration. “Let’s move on to the next phase. The interrogation.”
He pointed a finger directly at me. “We’ll start with her.”
