The scent of smoke still clung to the hallway.
It curled beneath the heavy oak doors of the headmaster's office, winding through the polished floors and into the grand corridor where portraits of ancient scholars hung crookedly—some scorched around the edges. Glass from shattered windows sparkled like spilled diamonds, and whispers chased one another from corner to corner, trying not to be heard.
Inside the office, Headmaster Callahan's fingers trembled slightly as he closed the file on his desk. A thick manila folder, its spine warped from how many times it had been opened—how many schools had contributed to it.
He looked across the desk at the girl seated calmly before him, her posture a study in rebellion. Legs crossed. Back straight. Arms folded. Eyes—unblinking silver—watching him like she already knew what he was going to say.
"Sera Vale," he said, voice thin as a blade, "you've now been expelled from three institutions in less than two years. I have never—never—seen a file like yours."
Sera said nothing.
The silence between them was heavy, as if the room itself was holding its breath.
Callahan tapped the folder. "Saint Honoria's—disruptive behavior and an unexplained chemical reaction that turned every fountain on campus to ink. Arkwell Prep—a flooded library, every book shredded from the inside out. And now, Ebonridge… You set the gymnasium on fire."
"I didn't start the fire," Sera said quietly.
"No?" he said, standing slowly. "Then explain to me how a ten-foot wall of flames erupted around you during gym class? Or why every security camera blacked out for six minutes while three senior boys ended up in the nurse's wing with broken ribs and concussions?"
Sera's eyes flickered.
"I didn't touch them," she said. "They tried to corner me. Then… something stopped them."
"Something?" he repeated, incredulous. "You mean, you don't even know?"
"No," she said honestly. "And I think that scares you more than if I did."
The headmaster's lips thinned. She wasn't wrong. There was a storm in her—the kind you could feel before it ever made landfall. The kind that didn't follow the rules of nature. Or reason. Or even magic.
Because Callahan had done his research. And Sera Vale didn't register on any magical spectrum. No aura. No lineage. No spellprint. As far as the arcane world was concerned, she was a blank slate.
But the world around her didn't act like she was.
Animals followed her. Shadows bent toward her. Fire listened to her. It was unnatural. Unexplainable.
It was terrifying.
"There's no point in continuing this farce," he said at last. "Your guardians have been contacted. They agreed to a transfer."
Sera arched a brow. "That was fast."
"This time, they didn't bother to negotiate."
That stung more than she expected. Sera kept her expression neutral, but her fingers curled slightly where they rested on her knee. Her aunt and uncle had raised her since she was seven. They weren't cruel, but they'd never hidden the fact that she wasn't their child. Just a responsibility.
A responsibility they were now ready to hand off.
"To where?" she asked flatly.
Callahan opened a drawer and retrieved a thick envelope. Black paper. Silver wax seal shaped like an open eye. He placed it on the desk between them like it was radioactive.
"Duskmoor Academy."
The name sent a ripple through her chest.
She had heard that name once—whispered in the back corner of a forgotten forum when she was digging through supernatural rumors. A school that didn't appear on any map. A place where the impossible went to learn how to hide.
"They specialize in difficult cases," he said. "You'll be transferred immediately. Tonight."
"Tonight?" she repeated, frowning. "That's a little extreme."
"Not for you."
He stood, walking to the tall window behind him. The sky beyond was choked in red and violet as dusk pressed against the clouds. He didn't speak for a moment, then said quietly, "Whatever you are, Miss Vale… I hope they know how to handle you."
Sera stood too. "Maybe they'll actually ask why strange things happen around me, instead of punishing me for surviving them."
He didn't respond.
She slung her backpack over her shoulder and turned toward the door. But before she left, she paused, hand on the brass knob.
"You know what's funny?" she said, her voice light but sharp. "People keep calling me dangerous. But no one ever calls out the people who try to hurt me first."
The door clicked shut behind her before he could answer.
Outside, the school grounds were eerily quiet. Emergency vehicles lined the road, their lights casting slow, pulsing shadows. Firefighters were still hosing down the smoldering remnants of the gym, while the three boys who had tried to corner her were being wheeled into ambulances, moaning and cursing.
She didn't look at them.
Instead, her eyes locked onto the car waiting at the curb.
It wasn't the beat-up taxi she expected.
It was a long, sleek vehicle—blacker than black, like it drank the light around it. The driver wore gloves and a cap, face shadowed. He didn't say a word, only nodded when she approached and opened the door.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of sandalwood and ink. The seats were plush, the glass tinted, and a soft hum filled the cabin as they pulled away from the school gates.
The envelope sat heavy in her lap.
She stared at it for a long moment, then finally broke the seal.
Inside was a letter—handwritten in silver ink. No name. Just a symbol at the top: the open eye.
To Sera Vale,
Welcome to Duskmoor Academy.
You've been watched for some time.
Your presence has been requested by the Head Council, effective immediately.You are to arrive before the moon reaches its peak.
Be warned: Duskmoor is not a sanctuary.
It is a crucible.
You will either be forged…Or broken.
Do not run.
We are already expecting you.
She stared at the signature-less letter, skin prickling.
Forged or broken?
She didn't like ultimatums.
Outside, the scenery had changed. The car was no longer driving through the familiar suburbs of town. The trees grew denser, older. The sky, darker. The air had that peculiar stillness of places untouched by modern noise.
Sera glanced out the window—and realized the road behind them had disappeared.
There was no path. No street signs. No GPS.
They were traveling into the unknown.
And for the first time in months—maybe years—Sera didn't feel trapped.
She felt something else.
Curious.
They arrived at the gates of Duskmoor just before midnight.
Massive wrought-iron doors, wrapped in thorned vines, loomed out of the fog. A stone archway overhead bore the school's name, but it was written in a language she didn't recognize—yet somehow, she understood:
"Through Fire, Truth. Through Shadow, Strength."
The gates creaked open without a word.
As the car rolled forward, the school emerged from the darkness like a cathedral torn from a nightmare—gothic towers, glowing windows, gargoyle statues perched at every corner. Trees older than time lined the grounds, their roots tangled like the fingers of sleeping giants.
And in the highest tower, something watched her.
She felt it—a presence brushing against her skin like frost.
She met its gaze. Unflinching.
The car stopped in front of the main hall. The driver opened the door. Sera stepped out.
No welcome committee. No grand announcement.
Just silence.
But she didn't need a fanfare.
She was here.
And if this school thought it could swallow her like the others, it was in for a surprise.
Let them come.
Werewolves. Vampires. Witches. Ghosts.
Let them try to break her.
They'd all underestimated her before.
And now?
They'd learn why they should never do it again.