Chapter 4 Damien's POV

The hall drained of voices, laughter echoing off marble before fading into silence. The four of us lingered on the balcony as if we owned the place, because in a way, we did.

Cassian lounged against the rail, his grin all sharp edges and amusement. Jaxon adjusted his cuff, precise and unhurried, the picture of patience that never needed to be tested.

Lucien sprawled in a chair, hood shadowing his face, eyes too sharp, too knowing for someone his age.

And me? I was still replaying the look in Riley Walker’s eyes. The scholarship girl.

Most newcomers blurred together, pawns shuffled onto Silverwood’s board, destined to be bent or broken. But she hadn’t bent. She hadn’t looked away.

That defiance wasn’t loud, but it was steady. My wolf had felt it too, restless and curious. A shift I couldn’t explain. A warning, maybe.

Cassian was the first to break the silence. Of course he was.

“Well,” he drawled, flashing teeth, “our little charity case has claws. Or at least, she likes to pretend she does.”

“She’ll crack before midterms,” Jaxon said smoothly, his voice as calm as a knife pressed to skin. He didn’t waste thought on the weak, humans, especially. “The academy doesn’t forgive weakness.”

Jaxon wasn’t wrong. He came from a bloodline of warriors, heirs forged in steel and fire. People like Riley? They irritated him by existing.

Lucien’s gaze slid to me, unreadable beneath his hood. “You noticed her.”

It wasn’t a question. With Lucien, it never was. He read people like strategies on a board, always two moves ahead.

I didn’t answer at once. Instead, I let my gaze wander back to the stage where her name had hung in the air like a challenge. My jaw tightened. “She didn’t flinch.”

Cassian barked a laugh, tilting his head. “You make it sound like she fought off a pack.” But there was a glimmer in his eyes, the spark of calculation.

He was already planning ways to test her. Cassian always played with new toys until they broke.

“She met your eyes,” Lucien pressed, voice low. “Most don’t.”

He was right. Power bent people. Always. They lowered their voices, shifted their weight, dropped their gaze. Instinct. Survival.

But not her.

“She’ll learn,” Jaxon said, silk over steel. “The academy will grind it out of her. It always does.”

“Unless,” Cassian’s grin curved wider, “our dear Damien takes an interest. That tends to ruin things faster.”

Their laughter rang easy, cruel, the kind born of privilege and boredom. They didn’t see her the way I did. Not yet, because what I’d felt in that moment wasn’t simple defiance. It was rarer. More dangerous.

It was possibility.

“She’s just a human girl,” I said finally, voice flat, dismissive. But the words felt hollow even as they left my mouth.

Cassian shrugged. “South side. Trailer park. Drunk father, missing mother. She’s dirt. And dirt doesn’t last here.”

Lucien’s eyes lingered on me instead of her. “And yet she stood under every stare in this hall without collapsing. That’s something, and I find it… interesting.”

“Stubbornness isn’t strength,” Jaxon said, his tone final. “Silverwood will chew her up. It always does.”

Cassian’s laugh cut through the air, low and delighted. “So our little stray thinks she can meet a Blackthorne’s eyes and survive? Maybe she’s too stupid to know better.”

I let their voices blur, but in my mind, I replayed it again, her gaze, unflinching. Not arrogant. Not submissive. Just steady.

In a place where everything bent, steadiness was rare.

“She’s different,” I said finally, quiet but firm enough to make all three heads turn.

Cassian’s grin sharpened. Jaxon’s brow arched. Lucien’s mouth curved the barest fraction, like he’d been waiting for me to say it.

Different, and that was the most dangerous thing of all.

The last of the students filtered out, their laughter echoing faintly down the marble corridors. Then, through the thinning crowd, she appeared.

Riley Walker. Alone. Her backpack, frayed at the seams, too small for this place, hung off her shoulder like a shield she hadn’t yet learned to set down.

The chandeliers above caught in her hair, but it did nothing to disguise the way she looked out of place, swallowed whole by Silverwood’s opulence.

Still, her spine was straight. Shoulders tight, chin lifted a fraction too high. She knew eyes were on her, and she refused to shrink.

Cassian nudged me with his elbow, a grin already curling at his mouth.

“Speak of the stray.”

She noticed us before we moved, of course she did. Her gaze sharpened, her steps faltered. For half a heartbeat she hesitated, calculating whether she could slip away unnoticed.

Then she chose the harder path: straight toward us.

It wasn’t bravery. Not exactly. It was something else, something that pulled at me, sharp and unwelcome.

The only way to the doors cut through our corner of the balcony. And she walked into it willingly.

“Riley Walker,” Cassian drawled, his voice honeyed with mockery. “Our scholarship star.”

She froze for a breath, then turned her head toward him.

“That’s my name,” she said evenly. “Congratulations on remembering it.”

Cassian laughed, the sound sharp enough to draw stares. Lucien arched a brow, faintly amused. Jaxon’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile, it was sharper, like the ghost of a blade.

And me? I didn’t laugh. I just watched. Closely.

“Bold,” Lucien murmured. His voice carried more weight than it should have. “Rare for someone who isn’t born to this.”

“I’m not a guest,” Riley said quickly, before she could second-guess herself. Her hand tightened on her bag strap, knuckles pale, but her tone didn’t waver. “I’m a student here.”

Cassian circled her slowly, every step a provocation. “Student? Earned?” His grin widened. “That’s a generous word for handouts.”

Her jaw locked. “You don’t know me.”

Cassian tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “I know enough.”

The silence that followed was the heavy kind, the kind that made people stop mid-step just to listen without pretending they weren’t. A dozen ears strained for the next word.

I let it stretch, until Cassian’s voice edged toward cruelty. Then I cut through it.

“Enough.”

It wasn’t loud, but it carried.

Cassian stilled, his smirk faltering for a fraction before sliding back into place. Lucien’s dark gaze shifted to me, curious. Jaxon folded his arms, waiting.

I looked at her.

Hazel-green eyes met mine, steady as before. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t bow. The entire academy pressed on her shoulders, and still she stood like she belonged. Something inside me pulled taut.

“Walk,” I said.

For a heartbeat, I thought she’d defy me. The sharp tilt of her chin promised she wanted to. But instead, she gave the briefest nod, brushing past.

Her shoulder grazed mine, just the lightest touch and heat flared against my skin like a spark catching tinder.

Cassian let out a low whistle as she disappeared into the corridor. “Well, well. Our stray has teeth.”

“More than teeth,” Lucien said softly, unreadable. “Something else.”

Jaxon’s eyes narrowed, arms still folded. “Dangerous. Strays always are. They have nothing to lose.”

I didn’t answer, because even as she vanished, whispers trailing behind her like smoke, one truth burned too clearly in my mind.

She wasn’t just different. She was inevitable.