Chapter 3 Silvergrove City

I learned three things in my first week at Silvergrove Academy.

One, the breakfast pastries are suspiciously good and I mean like "sell-your-soul-for-a-cinnamon-roll" good. Either there's a secret pastry mage in the kitchen, or they're lacing the croissants with crack, there had to be something.

Two, I am woefully underprepared for whatever this school is actually about, and I'm just actually realizing that gradually.

And three, my existence is a mildly offensive mystery to some people who probably have nothing better to do with themselves.

"Hey, new girl!" someone called, interrupting my thoughts as I passed the dueling courtyard on my way to an accidentally chosen class. "You lost, or just slumming it with us, Vein-bound?"

I paused, turning just enough to spot the speaker, who was blonde and over-accessorized. She had the kind of smile that said, "I know who my parents are and so does the headmaster cause she owes them money."

"I don't know what that means," I said, "but it sounds like something I should ignore."

Her smirk faltered. "It means you don't belong here. That uniform doesn't make you Vein-linked either, sweetheart."

I turned back without replying, but my spine prickled from hearing the word "Vein-linked" again. I'd heard the term a few times already, always whispered or wrapped in reverence. Something about magic that ran through bloodlines like old money, power was inherited, not earned.

So the rest of us? We were just charity cases, I guess.

Still, I found my classroom. "Introduction to Applied Vein Theory." I sat down near the back and tried to blend in, which went about as well as using glitter for camouflage. My uniform didn't quite fit, I didn't have a family crest patch on my shoulder like the others, and I was staring at the stained-glass ceiling like a tourist in a cathedral.

Across the aisle, someone was levitating a pencil with their fingers, and it glowed faintly with a blue tone.

I tried not to stare, but okay, I stared.

"Don't worry," said a voice behind me. "You'll get used to that."

I turned to find a boy with wild curls and half-moon glasses smiling at me like we were already in on some joke. "Name's Kerrin," he said. "I'm in my third year, and you honestly look like a 'dropped-in-from-a-different-dimension' type, so let me guess, late bloomer?"

I blinked. "What gave me away? The confusion or the crippling self-doubt?"

He grinned. "Neither, it's the way you're holding that syllabus like it might bite you."

He wasn't wrong, so I had nothing to say to that, which made me decide to switch topics, but before I could ask him what "Applied Vein Theory" actually was and why he was in this class, the professor entered.

She was a tall woman with hair like a storm cloud and runes tattooed down both arms. She also looked like she could summon lightning with a raised eyebrow.

"Welcome," she said, her voice calm and echoing slightly. "This course will cover the foundational mechanics of the Vein, its flow, fractures, and the way it responds to bloodline signatures. So if you don't know what yours is, you shouldn't be here."

Half the class snickered, but I didn't because I really shouldn't be here, and still I sat where I was, waiting for what would happen next.

We moved straight into a demonstration as a student stepped onto the central platform, a marble disc etched with silver veins that pulsed faintly as he approached.

"Name," the professor said.

"Cassian Weller," he said proudly.

And of course it was Cassian.

She nodded. "Begin."

He held out his hands and closed his eyes. And a few seconds later, the air shimmered, as silver threads danced up his arms, spiraling into an orb above his palm that pulsed like a tiny moon. It was beautiful, controlled, and cold.

"Vein manifestation, lunar core formation," the professor noted. "Controlled and predictable. You may take your seat."

Cassian bowed, and everyone clapped like it was a magic recital for royalty. I sat back in my chair, half-hoping I could melt into it.

But then someone called my name.

"Wren Alden."

And I froze. "What?" I questioned, very confused and taken aback, since I didn't volunteer, I wouldn't dream of it any time soon.

"Your turn," the professor said, not unkindly, and I held onto the hope that she wouldn't purposefully disgrace me.

But my knees still wobbled as I stood to step onto the platform, and for a moment after I did, nothing happened.

Then the ground hummed.

The silver veins beneath me twitched, like startled snakes, and the runes on the floor flared a hot, blinding white. I felt something pull inside me like a hook in my spine.

And then I panicked.

I stumbled back, the light flashing once more before cutting off like a snuffed candle.

Silence permeated the air, and I desperately wished to disappear, but couldn't, as I stood rooted to the floor, unable to move.

"Interesting," the professor said, squinting. "Uncontrolled feedback, very rare."

Cassian snorted. "Or she just short-circuited the platform."

I opened my mouth to reply, but Kerrin gave me a look that said "don't take the bait," so I didn't.

I just walked back to my seat, ears burning, hands shaking.

The rest of the class passed in a blur as I took notes I didn't understand and watched as people who knew what they were doing summoned power like it was a birthright, because it was.

By the time I got out, the halls had emptied, and the sun was dragging shadows long and thin across the stone floors.

I wandered toward the dorms, but my feet dragged me elsewhere. Past the east wing, where ivy choked the windows, past the closed-off archways, students avoided like bad memories.

And I didn't mean to find it, but I did.

The sparring ring.

A wide, sunken courtyard surrounded by tiered stone benches. The air buzzed with raw energy like a lightning storm trapped underground. Students stood across from each other, fists clenched, eyes glowing faintly with power, while runes pulsed under their feet, amplifying each step.

There were no teachers around, which meant no supervision, so that allowed students to test each other and themselves.

I slipped onto the edge of a bench and watched as a boy summoned a blade of silver fire, and the girl across from him bared her teeth and shifted, just a little, with her hands turning clawed, and her teeth sharpened.

My breath caught in my throat. She wasn't a full wolf, but she was something close.

A half-shift.

I'd read about them once in a foster home library no one else touched. Old myths, dangerous bloodlines, creatures born of moonlight and magic.

And here they were, casual and controlled. Until one of them, Cassian, of course, noticed me watching.

"Hey, it's feedback girl," he called. "You here to take notes or catch a fireball with your face?"

Laughter echoed.

And I stood, ignoring them. "Neither, but if I wanted to throw one, I'd probably aim lower."

It wasn't my best line, but it shut him up long enough for me to leave.

That night, back in the dorm, I lay awake in bed. Callie was already asleep, or pretending to be, based on the even rise and fall of her breath. And I turned the invitation letter over in my hands, the silver wax seal had faded slightly since I last touched it.

But it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, and my fingers trembled as I opened it. There were no new words or a secret code.

Just the same message:

"You are invited to Silvergrove Academy. A place for those of rare lineage and uncommon potential."

But now I was starting to believe there was more to it than just a fancy offer.

Something in this place recognized me, and if I wasn't careful, it might eat me alive.