Chapter 8 Riley's POV

The classroom smelled faintly of old paper and pine polish like time had seeped into the walls and stayed there.

I could still feel the weight of a hundred eyes on me even after I sat down on the only available seat, next to Damien, pretending to scribble notes while every nerve screamed don’t mess up, don’t look up, just breathe.

Professor Gideon Rourke started speaking, and the world softened. His voice wasn’t sharp like the others I’d met here; it was gentle, measured, the kind that carried warmth even through the echo of the lecture hall.

“Before wolves claimed dominion, before houses bore names,” he said, “there was the Accord, the blood oath that built our world from chaos.”

The words wove through the air like stories my dad used to tell after too many beers, except this one didn’t end in bitterness. Gideon made the legends feel alive.

I tried to focus, but I could feel them, the heirs, behind and around me. The quiet scrape of a chair. The low murmur of Cassian’s voice. The amused huff of Jaxon’s laugh.

Every sound prickled under my skin, and beside me, Damien Blackthorne.

He didn’t move much. Didn’t need to. His presence filled the space between us like gravity, heavy and impossible to ignore.

I told myself not to look at him, not to even breathe in his direction, but curiosity was a dangerous thing. I risked a glance.

His profile was carved in quiet stillness, sharp jaw, dark lashes casting faint shadows. He looked utterly focused, and yet I had the strangest feeling he wasn’t listening either.

Our eyes met for less than a heartbeat. It felt longer. A jolt, quick and blinding, shot through me. Like every cell in my body had just remembered how alive it was. I looked away so fast I nearly dropped my pen.

Cassian’s voice broke the silence, low and mocking. “Well, well. The stray found her way into our den.”

The others chuckled softly, and my stomach knotted. I kept writing. I didn’t look up.

Then Damien spoke, his voice calm, deep, smooth as smoke. “Depends. Some strays learn to bare their teeth.”

The room tilted for a second. I couldn’t tell if it was an insult or something else. I forced myself to keep my face still, though my pulse thudded in my throat.

Professor Gideon went on, blissfully unaware.

“The Accord was the first step toward order. The wolves who swore it understood, strength without restraint is only destruction.”

My pen moved mechanically. Inside, everything felt too loud.

When the bell finally rang, the sound was almost a mercy. Everyone rose in fluid chaos, chairs scraping, laughter echoing, the heirs moving like a pack through the crowd. I waited, letting the flood of students thin before I dared to stand.

“Miss Walker.” Professor Gideon’s voice stopped me.

I turned, half-expecting another warning. Instead, he smiled, the kind that reached his eyes.m “You did well today. It isn’t easy, walking into a room like that.”

The kindness in his tone disarmed me completely. “Thank you, sir,” I said quietly.

He nodded, gaze knowing. “Be cautious, Miss Walker. Silverwood has long memories, and its wolves” he paused, eyes flicking toward the door “have sharp instincts. Some will test you. Let them see your worth,  but never your fear.”

Fear. Too late for that.

I managed a nod and forced a quiet, “Thank you, sir,” before escaping the warmth of his smile into the cool silence of the hall.

The corridor was mostly empty now. The air smelled faintly of rain and something metallic, like the world itself, was holding its breath.

I hugged my notebook to my chest, using one hand to tug at the edge of the academy’s short plaid skirt. The echo of my boots on the marble floor sounded too loud, too human.

Just get to the stairs. One step, then another.

My thoughts twisted into knots: Professor Gideon’s warning, Cassian’s smirk, and Damien’s voice still lingered in my head like smoke.

Some strays learn to bare their teeth.

Why did it sound like both a warning and a threat? I turned the corner too quickly and slammed straight into someone.

My notebook flew from my hands, papers scattering across the marble like startled birds.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” The words froze in my throat.

Damien Blackthorne.

He didn’t move at first. Just stood there, tall, still, and terrifyingly composed, the kind of presence that made air feel thinner. His shadow spilled across the corridor, swallowing the light like it belonged to him.

When his gaze finally dropped to me, it wasn’t with anger. It was worse. Calm. Measuring.

When he crouched to pick up one of my papers, it was slow, deliberate like a predator lowering itself to examine something fragile and trembling.

“You should watch where you’re going,” he said, voice low and precise, stripped of any hint of warmth.

I swallowed hard. “I could say the same to you.”

One corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a smile, more like disbelief that I’d dared to answer. “You really don’t know when to stay quiet, do you?”

“I’m not trying to start anything,” I said quickly, gathering the papers with shaking hands.

“I think you already did.” His tone softened, which somehow made it worse. “This morning. In the hall. Sitting next to me in class.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” I managed, though my voice came out thinner than I meant.

He leaned closer. The space between us tightened until I could feel the cool brush of his breath against my cheek.

“There’s always a choice,” he murmured. “You just made the wrong one.”

My pulse skittered like it wanted to escape my body. He wasn’t shouting. He didn’t have to.

Power clung to him like a second skin, quiet and absolute, the kind of power that didn’t need to prove itself.

I forced myself to look up, even when instinct screamed to look away. “I’m not afraid of you.”

A slow, deliberate smile curved his lips. It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t even human. “You should be.”

The words landed soft as silk, heavy as stone.

He rose, towering over me, and held out the last page between two fingers. I hesitated before taking it.

Our fingers brushed, his skin cool, his touch light enough to send a chill down my spine.

“Silverwood isn’t kind to strays,” he said, eyes unreadable. “Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“I didn’t ask for kindness,” I said, forcing steadiness I didn’t feel.

He studied me for a moment too long, too quiet. “No,” he said finally. “You didn’t. But you’ll learn to.”

He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall. I stood there, every muscle locked, the air still charged with the ghost of his presence.

When I finally exhaled, it came out shaky. I hated that he’d seen it, that flicker of fear, but beneath the trembling, something else stirred. Something hot and stubborn, the ember of a feeling I couldn’t name.

Anger. Defiance. Something alive.

For the first time, I didn’t know whether I wanted to run from Damien Blackthorne or make him see that I wasn’t going to break as easily as he thought.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, clutching my notebook tighter. “If only Harper were here.”

She would’ve known what to say, but Harper wasn’t here, and for now, I was on my own.