"How?"
Lucan shakes his head, sighing. "Because the weak ones won’t last in Duskwind anyway. They’ll die off naturally, with or without a labyrinth. But the strong ones?" He gestures toward the looming tower and then toward the shadowed stage wings where the labyrinth’s entrance supposedly awaits. "The strong ones could survive. The strong ones could rise. And maybe... maybe the school thinks there are too many of us. Too many strong wolves mean instability. Power struggles. So they trim us down. Also, since there’s an overflowing number of Moon Blessed, the strong ones will only grow. Too many strong Moon Blessed are a threat to the existing hierarchy. So they reduce them here, before they can tip the balance."
Heidi’s vision wavers for a second. She grips the hem of her dress so hard her knuckles ache. Reduce their numbers. They’re not just students. They’re livestock being thinned out. And suddenly, the room feels smaller. The air is heavier and her breath is too loud in her own ears.
She doesn’t want to admit it, doesn’t want to look weak in front of Nash and the others, but her heart is clawing up her throat. Her eyes betray her. They drift across the aisle, where the Bellamy brothers sit.
For once, they aren’t sneering. They aren’t glaring at Nash or smirking at her like predators waiting for her to trip. No. Their faces—those usually etched masks of superiority, are tight with concern.
And for reasons she doesn’t want to examine, Heidi’s soul leaps toward them. Her body may be pressed into the seat beside Lucan, but something deeper, something raw and unexplainable, reaches for the Bellamys. As if their concern is an anchor in this storm of dread.
It terrifies her. Because she shouldn’t want that. She shouldn’t crave them. But she does. The teacher claps once and it booms like a gunshot. Heidi flinches.
"Moon Blessed," he announces, eyes sweeping over their pale faces. "Rise. The stage awaits."
The seniors roar, stomping and clapping in a mockery of applause that makes Heidi’s blood chill.
Beside her, Nash mutters under his breath, "This is it. The slaughter show begins."
Heidi doesn’t want to move.
Her legs are lead, bolted to the floor, while her stomach churns like a blender full of gravel and regret. She can feel her pulse thudding in her wrists, in her throat, in her temples, like her whole body is a badly tuned drumline. The idea of standing up, of walking to that ridiculous rune-glowing hammer and ringing some magical demon dinner bell, makes her want to slide under the bench and never come out.
But then a hand touches her shoulder.
It’s Lucan. Quiet, unassuming, always in the background Lucan. His palm is warm through the fabric of her dress, grounding her, and keeping her tethered when she feels like she might float away into sheer panic.
He suddenly murmurs into her ears. "Hit it low. Better to survive and be deemed weak than to be strong and led straight into the slaughterhouse."
Heidi blinks at him. Wait, what? Did Lucan Castell, of all people, just give her actual advice? And... he wants her to hit it low? Won’t that be considered cheating if she’s caught?
Before she can respond, Nash leans forward. "Oh, look at this. Our dear Lucan is already teaching his new little sister the fine art of cowardice."
Ace chuckles, shaking his head. "Sneaky little thing, isn’t he? Never talks, and now he’s handing out survival tips. What’s next, Lucan? Gonna knit her a scarf to hide in?"
Lucan’s jaw ticks, but he does
Lucan shoots both of them a flat, unimpressed look but he doesn’t rise to the bait, and that alone tells Heidi more than anything else—he’s not joking. He means it.
Her brain is still spinning. She’s known Lucan as the silent shadow, the one who never joins in his mother and sister’s cruelty but never stands against them either. A ghost in their chaos. And now here he is, breaking his code... for her.
It clicks then, a puzzle piece slotting into place. He’s not quiet because he’s indifferent. He’s quiet because he hates the way his family works. He’s not like them—at least not entirely.
For the first time since she arrived at Duskwind, she sees something in him that makes sense. Something almost... human.
He keeps his eyes fixated on Heidi, the weight of his stare heavier than the hand still resting on her shoulder. "Listen to me. Survive first. That’s all that matters. Everything else comes later."
Her heart stutters. She nods, even though her entire body is trembling like a leaf about to be blown off a branch. But the problem—the massive, ugly, glaring problem is still right there in front of her. That towering High Striker with its glowing runes, waiting to judge her like some magical guillotine.
The Moon Blessed are rising in rows, filing toward the stage like condemned souls marching into hell. Their faces are full of fear and their steps are dragging. Heidi watches them go with wide eyes, her breath coming faster and shallower.
She feels caught like a rabbit frozen in headlights. To go or not to go? Survival whispers one thing, pride screams another.
Her eyes flick to the Bellamy brothers.
Grayson meets her gaze first. He shakes his head slowly, as if warning her not to even think about it. Beside him, Morgan mirrors the gesture, his sharp features are tight with something she’s never seen directed at her before. It’s something called... concern?
Wait. Concern? From them? The same twins who’ve made her life at Duskwind a daily living hell, who’ve laughed at her fumbling and sneered at every misstep? And now they’re telling her not to go like they care about her survival?
What fresh circle of confusion is this?
Before she can process that, her gaze shifts to Amias. He catches her looking and—shock of shocks, he nods. It is not just a casual nod, but one that has a meaning. There’s something steady in his dark eyes, something like... support. Encouragement, even.
It’s as if he’s telling her: Go, I’ll support you.
But how? Support. From Amias. The boy who normally couldn’t care less if she dropped dead at his feet. Her brain is melting. That’s the only logical explanation.
Then there’s Darien. He sits forward with a bland facial expression. But when his gaze locks with hers, she catches the care in it. A subtle warmth in his eyes that doesn’t match the rest of his face. It’s like he’s telling her without words: Put on your big girl pants. Go up there. Show them who the boss is.
Her insides twist. What is this? The Bellamy brothers are confusing enough when they’re tormenting her, but this... this silent flow of gestures and implied encouragement is enough to scramble her entire brain.
Still, something in her chest steadies. Somehow, this confusion that they have to offer gives her strength in waves. She swallows hard, presses her palms against her knees, and forces herself up. Her legs wobble like jelly, but she makes them move.