MARKED

The first thing Luna Hart noticed about Blackthorn Academy was that it did not look like a school. It looked like a warning. The iron gates rose higher than the old apartment building she and her mother lived in, twisted into sharp black vines that curled around the academy crest at the center. A silver moon. A thorned crown. A wolf’s head carved so perfectly into the metal that its eyes seemed to follow her as the taxi rolled to a stop. Luna leaned forward in the back seat, her fingers tightening around the strap of her worn canvas bag. “So this is it,” the driver said, whistling under his breath. “Blackthorn Academy. Rich people really don’t know how to be normal, huh?” Luna tried to laugh. It came out thin. Beyond the gates, the academy stretched across the hillside like a private kingdom. Stone towers. Glass halls. Wide gardens trimmed with perfect cruelty. Everything looked ancient and expensive, the kind of place where even the trees probably had better family names than she did. Her phone buzzed. Mom: Did you arrive? Mom: Don’t forget to eat. Mom: And please don’t fight anyone on your first day. Luna snorted. Too late for that, probably. She hadn’t even stepped inside yet, and she already wanted to fight the gates. She typed back quickly. Luna: I’m here. Still alive. Will try not to commit crimes before lunch. Her mother replied with a crying emoji and a heart. Luna smiled, but it faded almost immediately. This scholarship was supposed to be a miracle. A full ride to the most elite academy in the country. Tuition, dorm, meals, books, uniform—everything paid. The kind of opportunity girls like Luna were supposed to dream about. The kind of opportunity that could change her life, get her into a top university, help her mother pay the debts that had been swallowing them whole since her father died. So why did it feel like she was about to walk into a beautiful trap? The taxi driver cleared his throat. “You getting out, miss?” “Yeah,” Luna said. “Sorry.” She paid him with cash she had carefully counted three times that morning, then climbed out with her suitcase. The taxi left too quickly. Coward, Luna thought. The moment the car disappeared down the long private road, silence swallowed her. Not city silence. Not peaceful silence. This was the kind of silence that watched. Luna turned back toward the gates. They opened before she could press the intercom. Slowly. Soundlessly. Her skin prickled. “Well,” she muttered, gripping her suitcase handle. “Not creepy at all.” She stepped through. The road leading to the main building was paved with black stone. On either side, students moved across the grounds in perfectly tailored uniforms. Black blazers. White shirts. Silver pins. Polished shoes that probably cost more than Luna’s entire suitcase. They all looked expensive. Worse, they looked at her like she was not. A group of girls near the fountain paused mid-conversation. One of them glanced at Luna’s shoes—clean, but old—then at her suitcase, then at her face. The girl smiled. It was not a kind smile. Luna lifted her chin and kept walking. She had survived public school, unpaid bills, neighbors who talked too much, and aunties who said things like, “Pretty girl, but poor thing.” A few rich students with perfect hair were not going to make her cry. Probably. The main building loomed ahead, its enormous doors carved with the same wolf crest from the gate. Above the entrance, words were engraved into the stone. Blood. Honor. Order. Luna stopped. “Wow,” she whispered. “Cheerful.” Inside, the academy was even worse. Marble floors. Crystal lights. Portraits of stern-faced men and women lining the walls. Their eyes were cold, their postures regal. Some wore old military uniforms. Some wore gowns. Some had wolves painted beside them, enormous beasts with silver, black, and gold eyes. A school secretary led Luna through the entrance hall. The woman was tall, pale, and severe, with her silver hair pulled into a bun so tight it looked painful. “You are Luna Hart,” she said, though it was not a question. “Yes, ma’am.” “Scholarship student.” “Yes.” The secretary’s eyes flicked over her. There it was again. That look. Like Luna was a stain someone had failed to scrub off the marble. “You are late.” Luna blinked. “The letter said arrival was between seven and nine. It’s eight-twenty.” “You are late,” the woman repeated. Luna pressed her lips together. First day. Don’t fight anyone. Not even terrifying secretaries with funeral energy. “Understood,” Luna said sweetly. The woman narrowed her eyes as if she knew Luna was being sarcastic but could not prove it. “Your dorm assignment, class schedule, campus map, and temporary ID.” She handed Luna a black folder. “Do not enter the East Wing after sunset. Do not leave campus without permission. Do not enter the forest. Do not disturb senior students. Do not ask questions about academy traditions.” Luna stared at her. “That last one sounds suspiciously like something that would make me ask questions.” The secretary did not blink. Luna cleared her throat. “Sorry.” “You will find that Blackthorn values discipline above curiosity.” “That’s unfortunate,” Luna said before she could stop herself. “I have a lot of curiosity.” The secretary’s mouth tightened. Somewhere behind Luna, someone laughed softly. Not loudly. Not warmly. Just enough to make the air change. Luna turned. Four boys had entered the hall. No. Not entered. Arrived. That was the only word for it. The entire hallway shifted around them. Conversations died. Students moved aside without being told. Even the teachers seemed to straighten. Luna knew rich boys existed. She had seen them online, in magazines, in glossy school brochures with fake smiles and perfect skin. These four were different. They walked like they owned the floor beneath their feet. The one in front had black hair, sharp eyes, and the kind of face that looked carved instead of born. Beautiful, yes, but not softly. Not kindly. His beauty had edges. It made people look twice and regret it. His uniform was the same as everyone else’s, but somehow it looked like armor on him. The secretary lowered her head. Actually lowered her head. Luna frowned. The boy’s gaze passed over the hall with bored cruelty. Then it landed on her. For one second, nothing happened. Then his eyes narrowed. Luna stared back. She knew she should look away. Everyone else had. But something about the way he looked at her irritated her immediately. Like he was deciding whether she was worth stepping over. The boy stopped. The three behind him stopped too. The hallway went so quiet Luna could hear the soft tick of the clock above the entrance. “Who are you?” the boy asked. His voice was low. Cold. Used to being obeyed. Luna smiled without meaning it. “Usually people start with hello.” A collective breath moved through the hallway. The secretary went pale. One of the boys behind him—a golden-haired one with lazy eyes and a dangerous smile—looked delighted. “Oh,” he murmured. “She’s funny.” The black-haired boy did not look amused. “Name,” he said. Luna’s grip tightened on her folder. “Luna Hart.” Something flickered across his face. Not recognition. Interest. That somehow felt worse. “Scholarship,” he said. It was not a question. Luna glanced down at her folder, then back at him. “You read minds or just make obvious guesses?” This time, the golden-haired boy laughed outright. The secretary hissed, “Miss Hart.” But the black-haired boy only stepped closer. He was tall. Too tall. Luna had to tilt her head back slightly, which annoyed her even more. “You don’t know where you are,” he said. “Blackthorn Academy,” Luna replied. “Pretty sure it’s on the giant gate outside.” His eyes sharpened. A strange pressure filled the air. Luna felt it before she understood it. Her heartbeat stumbled. Something inside her body screamed at her to step back, to lower her gaze, to apologize. She did none of those things. She had spent her whole life being looked down on by people with more money, more power, more everything. She was tired. So Luna smiled. And said, “Are you done being dramatic? I’m late, apparently.” The hallway went dead. The boy stared at her. For one terrifying second, Luna thought he might actually do something. Instead, his mouth curved. Not a smile. A threat pretending to be one. “Interesting,” he said. Then he walked past her. The others followed. The quiet boy at the back glanced at Luna as he passed. His hair was pale silver, his expression unreadable. Unlike the first boy, his gaze did not feel like a blade. It felt like a question. Then they were gone. The hallway breathed again. The secretary turned to Luna with horror and anger fighting across her face. “Do you have any idea who that was?” Luna looked toward the corridor where the boys had disappeared. “No,” she said honestly. “But I’m guessing he thinks very highly of himself.” Someone nearby made a choking sound. The secretary looked as if she had aged five years. “That,” she said, voice low, “was Damien Blackwood.” Luna waited. The name meant nothing. The secretary seemed offended by her lack of fear. “Future head of the Blackwood family. Heir to one of the oldest and most powerful bloodlines in the world. Leader of the Alpha Circle.” Alpha Circle. Luna almost laughed. Of course they had a name. Rich boys always needed branding. “Good for him,” Luna said. The secretary’s stare became glacial. “You would do well to remember your place here, Miss Hart.” Luna’s smile faded. There it was. Her place. People loved that phrase. They said it softly or sharply, with pity or disgust, but it always meant the same thing. Below. Less. Not enough. Luna took the folder from the secretary’s hand. “I know my place,” she said quietly. “I earned it.” Then she turned and walked away before the woman could answer. Her first class was History of International Relations, held in a lecture room with arched windows and dark wooden desks polished to a shine. Luna slipped into the back, hoping to disappear. She failed immediately. Whispers followed her. “That’s her.” “The scholarship girl?” “She talked back to Blackwood.” “No way.” “Is she stupid?” “Maybe she has a death wish.” Luna opened her notebook and pretended not to hear. The teacher, Mr. Vale, began discussing old treaties between influential families. He never used the word royal, but everyone seemed to understand it that way. Luna took notes quickly. She could survive this. She would study, keep her head down, avoid Damien Drama King Blackwood, graduate with honors, and leave this creepy rich-person castle with a future. Simple. Then lunch happened. The dining hall looked like a five-star hotel had married a cathedral. Long tables, vaulted ceilings, silver chandeliers, glass walls overlooking the forest. Luna stood near the entrance with her tray, scanning for an empty seat. Every table fell silent as her gaze passed. Wonderful. She spotted a small empty space near the windows and walked toward it. Before she could sit, a girl placed her designer bag on the chair. “Taken,” the girl said. Luna looked at the empty table. “By ghosts?” The girl’s smile sharpened. “By people who belong here.” Luna inhaled slowly. First day. Don’t fight anyone. She moved to another table. Same thing. Then another. And another. By the fifth rejection, Luna’s ears burned. She could feel everyone watching. Waiting. Enjoying. Fine. She would eat standing. She turned toward the side wall, but a sudden crash split the room. A boy had fallen near the center table. His tray lay overturned at his feet, soup spilling across the floor. He was small, pale, and shaking. Above him stood Damien Blackwood. The dining hall went silent. Damien looked down at the boy like he was something unpleasant stuck to his shoe. “I asked you a question,” Damien said. The boy swallowed hard. “I—I’m sorry.” “That wasn’t an answer.” The boy’s hands trembled. Luna stood frozen, her tray gripped between both hands. Nobody moved. Not one student. Not one teacher. Damien crouched slightly, his voice dropping. “You thought I wouldn’t find out?” The boy shook his head quickly. “I didn’t mean—” Damien grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up. Luna’s breath caught. The boy looked terrified. Not embarrassed. Terrified. “I hate liars,” Damien said. Something in Luna snapped. Maybe it was because she knew what fear looked like. Real fear. The kind that made your body small. The kind that made a person apologize even when they had done nothing wrong. Maybe it was because she was hungry, humiliated, and already sick of this academy. Or maybe Luna Hart had simply never been good at staying quiet. She set her tray down with a loud clatter. “Hey.” Every head turned. Damien looked over his shoulder. Luna walked toward him. The room seemed to hold its breath. “Let him go,” she said. Someone whispered, “Oh my God.” Damien slowly released the boy and turned fully toward her. His expression was calm. Too calm. “Excuse me?” Luna stopped a few feet away from him. “I said let him go.” His eyes darkened. Up close, they were not simply black. There was something strange in them, something almost silver beneath the surface. “You don’t know what he did,” Damien said. “I know what you’re doing.” The air shifted again. That same pressure from the hallway slammed into her body, colder this time, heavier. But Luna had already crossed the line. No point tiptoeing now. Damien took one step closer. “You really don’t understand anything, do you?” “Then explain it.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. “No.” The word was soft. Final. Infuriating. Luna reached for the nearest thing on the table. A glass of water. She did not think. She simply moved. The water hit Damien Blackwood square in the face. For one second, the world ended. The entire dining hall froze. Water dripped from Damien’s hair, slid down his cheek, soaked into the collar of his perfect uniform. Luna’s hand still held the empty glass. Her brain finally caught up. Oh. Oh no. The golden-haired boy from earlier slowly leaned back in his chair, eyes wide with something like admiration. The silver-haired boy stared at her like he had just watched lightning strike indoors. The smiling one covered his mouth, but his eyes were bright. Damien did not move. Not at first. Then, very slowly, he lifted his hand and wiped water from his jaw. Luna’s heart pounded so hard it hurt. But she refused to step back. Damien looked at her. Really looked. And for the first time, his expression changed. The cruelty remained. The arrogance too. But beneath it, something else stirred. Something wild. Something awake. His pupils widened. Luna saw it. A flash of silver. Impossible. Then it was gone. Damien leaned closer until only she could hear him. “You should have stayed invisible.” Luna’s voice shook, but she forced the words out. “You should have been less awful.” Behind him, the boy Luna had defended scrambled away. Nobody stopped him. Damien straightened. His face became unreadable again. Then he smiled. This time, everyone in the dining hall lowered their heads. Everyone except Luna. “Fine,” Damien said. He turned and walked away. That was it. No shouting. No punishment. No dramatic revenge. Somehow, that made it worse. The moment he disappeared from the dining hall, the noise returned in broken whispers. Luna stood there with an empty glass in her hand, her pulse roaring in her ears. The golden-haired boy passed her on his way out. He bent slightly and murmured, “Brave little human.” Luna turned sharply. “What did you say?” He only smiled. Then he was gone. Human. The word stuck to her skin. Cold and strange. She looked around the dining hall. Everyone was staring at her now. But not with disgust. Not only that. They looked afraid. For her. Luna swallowed. For the first time since arriving, she wondered if maybe Blackthorn Academy was not just strange. Maybe it was dangerous. That night, she found out how dangerous. Her dorm room was small but beautiful, with dark wood furniture, a narrow bed, and a window overlooking the forbidden forest. Luna unpacked quietly. Her hands still shook when she folded her clothes. By ten, she convinced herself everything would be fine. Rich boys hated embarrassment. Damien Blackwood probably had too much pride to admit a poor scholarship girl had humiliated him with a glass of water. He would ignore her. She would ignore him. Perfect. At midnight, something scratched against her door. Luna sat up. Her room was dark except for the moonlight spilling across the floor. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Her mouth went dry. Slowly, she climbed out of bed and walked to the door. “Hello?” No answer. She opened it. The hallway was empty. But something had been carved into her door. A black wolf’s head inside a thorned circle. Beneath it, written in dark red paint, was one word. MARKED. Luna stared at it. Her heartbeat slowed. Then thundered. From somewhere far beyond the dormitory walls, deep in the forbidden forest, a wolf howled. Another answered. Then another. Until the whole night seemed full of them. Luna stepped back, her hand trembling around the doorknob. She did not know what the mark meant. She did not know why the sound of wolves made her blood run cold. And she definitely did not know that, somewhere across campus, Damien Blackwood had woken from a nightmare with silver eyes and claws digging into his own palms. All Luna knew was this: Blackthorn Academy had noticed her. And it was not going to let her go.