Chapter 3 The Star Next to Her Name

The crowd dissolved the moment Dean Vale stepped down from the dais. The spell broke; chatter rose like a wave.

“First-years, form a line for your packets,” someone shouted over the noise. “Alphabetical, people, not feral.”

Tables that had been banners of vague threat a few minutes ago suddenly became destinations. Upperclassmen in color-coded sashes called names and handed out thick envelopes stamped with the Blackridge crest.

Ayla stood very still.

The crack in the marble beneath her feet remained—a thin, jagged line no wider than a hair. When she blinked, she half-expected it to be gone, a trick of her imagination. It wasn’t.

Her shadow lay across it.

And for just a heartbeat, the crack pulsed. Not with light. With darkness. Like ink seeping deeper.

“Ayla!”

Lila’s voice cut through her trance.

She waved from near the THORN table, beckoning. “Rowan! Over here, doomed soul!”

Ayla forced her legs to move, weaving through the tide of students. Someone bumped her shoulder; their perfume smelled sharp and metallic. Another brushed past, eyes flashing an unnatural topaz.

“First-year list?” an upperclassman was asking, a clipboard in his hand. He had the same gold-flecked eyes as Kade, though his grin was broader, less weighed down.

“Rowan, Ayla,” Lila supplied before Ayla could speak. “Starred.”

The boy’s gaze sharpened. “Oh. That one.”

Ayla bristled. “You all say that like I’m a disease.”

He looked at her properly then, and something like apology flickered across his features. “Sorry. Habit. I’m Jonah. Second-year. Welcome to Thorn House, maybe.”

“Maybe?” Ayla echoed.

Lila leaned in. “Orientation first. Sorting later. Try not to die in between.”

Jonah rifled through a stack of envelopes until he pulled one out. It was thicker than most, the paper heavier. A small silver foil star was pressed next to her name.

He held it out, but didn’t immediately let go when her fingers brushed the edge.

“You feel that?” he asked.

Ayla frowned. “Feel what?”

He tilted his head. “Nothing. Must be me.”

He released the packet.

The moment it settled into her hands, the crest ink shimmered. Just for a second—the ridged mountain and crescent moon blurred, darkening, shadow spilling through the lines until another shape surfaced beneath it.

A ring.

Broken at one point, a spill of what looked like tiny black stars pouring from the gap.

Then it was just the university crest again.

She almost dropped it.

Lila was still talking. “Inside you’ve got your provisional schedule, a totally inaccurate campus map, ten pages of rules you’ll ignore, and a form you’re supposed to sign in blood.”

Ayla choked. “What?”

“I’m joking,” Lila said. Then she paused. “Mostly.”

“Stop saying ‘mostly,’” Ayla muttered. “It’s not comforting.”

Lila’s smile softened. “You’ll get used to it.”

Will I? Ayla thought.

She slid her thumb under the wax seal. It resisted for a moment, and she had the absurd sensation that it was… smelling her. Then it cracked with a soft sigh.

Inside, the first thing she saw was a welcome letter in Dean Vale’s clean, sharp handwriting. The second was a campus map inked in black and deep blue—buildings marked by name, paths curling like veins.

Certain areas were shaded darker.

EAST WOODS – STAFF ACCESS ONLY

NORTH WING SUBLEVELS – RESTRICTED

OLD QUADRANGLE – CLOSED FOR RENOVATION

Someone had drawn a tiny skull next to the “Old Quadrangle” annotation in what looked like Lila’s messy handwriting.

“That’s mine,” Lila said when she saw it. “Dean Vale doesn’t have a sense of humor, so I add one for her.”

Ayla’s eyes drifted to a faint space in the center of the map. It was just… blank. No building name, no path, just an empty oval of uninked paper. But the moment her gaze touched it, something low in her chest hummed—like the feeling at the gate, at the crack in the marble.

“What’s here?” she asked, tapping the blank space.

Lila glanced. “Here?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing,” Lila said. “Just lawn. And some statues. Creepy ones. Why?”

“Feels like something,” Ayla murmured.

“Here,” Jonah said, pulling out a smaller card and slid it on top of the map. “Keycard. Gets you into the basics until they assign your house.”

The card was black with subtle silver script. Her name glowed faintly when she touched it.

“Color’s temporary,” Jonah added. “Changes once you’re sorted.”

“Sorted into what?” she asked.

Lila and Jonah exchanged a glance.

“Houses,” Lila said. “Vesper, Thorn, Evershade, Arclight. Bloodlines. Factions. Support groups for people with trust issues and violent tendencies.”

“And if I don’t belong to any?” Ayla said lightly, though the question dug sharp into her ribs.

“Oh, everyone belongs somewhere here,” Jonah said. “Blackridge sees to that.”

“For now,” Lila rushed on, “you’re in general first-year dorms. We all were, once. It’s like purgatory, but with communal bathrooms.”

A line of students was building behind Ayla. Jonah waved the next one forward, already switching to a different stack of envelopes.

Lila snagged Ayla’s elbow. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room. And by ‘show’ I mean ‘pray the building doesn’t move the stairs again.’”

“Again?” Ayla asked.

“You’re going to love this place,” Lila lied.

They slipped out of the main flow of traffic into a side hall. The noise of the orientation faded behind them, replaced by the softer echoes of their footsteps on stone.

“Is Kade always like that?” Ayla asked before she could stop herself.

“Like what?” Lila swung around a corner with the ease of familiarity.

“Like he knows something awful and won’t say it,” Ayla said.

“Ah,” Lila sighed. “Kade Thorn: patron saint of inconvenient truths. He’s head of student security. Takes it very seriously. Especially lately.”

“Because of what?” Ayla asked.

Lila hesitated.

“Because the grounds have been… restless,” she said finally. “And there have been… incidents.”

“What kind of incidents?”

Lila shoved open a heavy door. A narrow stairwell curved up, the stone steps worn in the middle.

“Blackridge has always been weird,” she said, taking the stairs two at a time. “Things move. Lights flicker. Sometimes the sky over the quad doesn’t match the sky everywhere else. But last year, people started complaining about shadows.”

Ayla’s foot slipped on the step. “Shadows.”

“Yeah.” Lila didn’t look back. Her voice bounced off the walls. “Moving wrong. Sticking when they shouldn’t. Whispering.”

“Shadows don’t whisper,” Ayla said.

“Try telling that to the guy who swore his own shadow tried to choke him,” Lila muttered. “He transferred out after winter break. We got a memo about ‘stress-induced hallucinations’ and ‘self-care’ and a very strongly worded reminder to get enough sleep.”

Ayla swallowed.

Her shadow clung to the wall beside her on the stairs, elongated and distorted. For one heartbeat, she thought she saw its head turn a fraction too far. Like it was listening.

She walked faster.

“You said ‘especially lately,’” Ayla said. “What happened?”

Lila stopped at the landing and pushed open another door. A rush of warmer air hit them—less stone, more fabric and human chaos. Voices, music, the thud of a door slamming.

“Welcome to first-year housing,” Lila said. “Or as I like to call it: the screaming floor.”

A long hallway stretched ahead, lined with doors. Some were open, revealing glimpses of bedding, posters, suitcases exploded onto floors. The air smelled like perfume, sweat, and something sweetly herbal.

As they walked, Lila lowered her voice.

“There were disappearances,” she said.

Ayla’s skin prickled. “Disappearances.”

“Two students went missing last semester,” Lila said. “Both first-years. Both after curfew. No bodies. No notes. Just… gone.”

Ayla exhaled shakily.

“Rumor says,” Lila continued, “they were seen last near the east woods.”

“The ones Kade told me to stay away from,” Ayla muttered.

Lila glanced at her sharply. “Kade talked to you? On your first day?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“He doesn’t usually… engage,” Lila said slowly. “Not beyond ‘get back inside’ or ‘don’t be an idiot’ lectures.”

“Well, I got both,” Ayla said. “And a bonus ‘you shouldn’t be here’ special.”

“That tracks,” Lila said, but there was uncertainty in her eyes. “He… sees things. Sometimes. Dreams them. It’s a Thorn thing.”

“You all have visions?” Ayla asked.

“Not me,” Lila said. “Unless you count nightmares about finals. But the main family line… gets glimpses. Possible futures. Possible deaths. It’s fun at parties.”

They stopped at a door halfway down the hall. 3B was stenciled on in silver paint.

“This is you,” Lila said. “You’ve got a roommate, but she hasn’t checked in yet. Probably rich and late. The universe loves to pair chaos.”

Ayla fumbled with the keycard. The lock clicked, and the door swung open.

The room was small, but not terrible. Two beds, two desks, two dressers. A single window looked out onto a slice of campus—a stand of dark trees and the edge of what might have been the old quad.

She stepped inside.

The air felt… thicker. Not stale, just dense. A low hum sat under the silence, like a held breath.

Her shadow spilled across the floor and up the far wall. It stretched a little too far, touched the ceiling, then snapped back to normal shape.

She gripped the strap of her bag until her knuckles whitened.

“You okay?” Lila asked.

“Fine,” Ayla lied.

She dropped her duffel on the nearest bed. The springs creaked. The welcome packet slid from her hand, landing upside down. Something small and metallic skittered out and rolled across the floor.

Lila pounced before it could disappear under the dresser.

“Ah,” she said, holding it up between finger and thumb. “The fun part.”

It was a thin silver pin, shaped like the Blackridge crest. Or almost. The mountain was there. The crescent moon. But etched so faintly you’d miss it if you weren’t looking was that broken ring again, the spill of tiny stars.

“What is it?” Ayla asked.

“Provisional seal,” Lila said. “Every first-year gets one. You’re supposed to wear it on your lapel or whatever to show the world you belong to Blackridge now. They track you with it.”

Ayla stared. “Track me?”

“It syncs to your keycard,” Lila said. “Doors, attendance, meal logs. Makes it harder to fake being in two places at once. Some people ‘forget’ theirs.” She slipped it into Ayla’s palm and closed her fingers around it. “Don’t be some people. At least not this week.”

The pin was cold. So cold it almost stung.

When she opened her hand again, there was a faint mark in her skin, like the metal had bitten her. A tiny drop of blood welled up.

“Damn,” Lila said. “Sorry. It’s not supposed to be that sharp.”

The drop of blood slid along her lifeline, glossy and dark.

Then—

It turned.

Not bright red.

Not the dull brown she’d seen a hundred times when she cut herself on paper or knives.

For a heartbeat, it glinted silver.

Then black.

Then both, swirling together like a tiny galaxy.

The room seemed to tilt.

Ayla blinked hard.

When she looked again, the blood was just blood—red, ordinary, a smear on her palm.

“Bathroom’s down the hall if you want to wash up,” Lila said, oblivious. “Trust me, get in first before the other girls claim the decent shower.”

“Right,” Ayla said slowly. “I’ll… do that.”

Lila took a step toward the door, then paused.

“Hey, Rowan?”

“Yeah?”

Lila’s smile faded, leaving something more serious. “If Kade tells you not to do something… don’t do it. He’s annoying, but he isn’t wrong.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ayla said.

After Lila left, the room felt much larger.

And much emptier.

Ayla sat on the bed, staring at the smear of blood on her palm.

“You’re imagining things,” she told herself quietly. “You’re tired. Freaked out. That’s all.”

Her phone buzzed.

This time, she didn’t hesitate.

She pulled it out.

Unknown Number: You’re not imagining anything.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She typed back before she could overthink it.

Ayla: Who is this?

Three dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.

Unknown Number: Someone who remembers the fire.

The floor might as well have dropped out from under her.

Her throat went dry.

Ayla: How did you get this number?

A pause.

Unknown Number: You gave it to me. Once. Before the flames took everything.

Her breath turned shallow. The memories she didn’t have suddenly felt like a pressure behind her eyes.

A soft chime from her laptop on the desk—already set up, university-issued—made her flinch. The screen, dark until now, lit up on its own.

WELCOME, AYLA ROWAN, it read.

Blackridge University is pleased to claim you.

For a second, the text blurred.

WELCOME, LAST NIGHTBORNE.

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them.

The screen said only: WELCOME, AYLA ROWAN.

Someone knocked twice on her open door.

“May I come in?” a smooth voice asked.

She looked up.

Damian Vesper stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black coat, leaning against the frame like he’d been there a while.

The corridor behind him buzzed with noise, but none of it seemed to touch him. The air around him felt… insulated. Still.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, echoing Kade without meaning to.

A faint smile touched his lips. “Everyone keeps saying that about you today,” he replied. “It’s almost like they’re afraid.”

“Of me?” she scoffed.

His gaze flicked to her hand. To the smear of blood.

Something sharp and hungry flashed through his eyes before he masked it.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Of you.”

He stepped into the room without waiting for permission.

Her shadow recoiled along the wall—

—and then curled toward him, like it was reaching.

Ayla’s pulse roared in her ears.

Whatever she was afraid of…

It had just walked into her room.