CHAPTER ONE — ASH & MORNING LIGHT

Dante Reid woke to the sound of his boiler threatening to explode again.

The old machine clanked, hissed, and rattled like it was fighting demons in the pipes. He lay still for a moment, staring up at the cracked ceiling — the thin, splintering lines creeping across the plaster like a roadmap of mistakes he hadn’t patched up yet. Morning light leaked through the blinds in broken stripes, painting the room in uneven gold.

His shoulder throbbed first. It always did. A dull, deep ache that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. A reminder of the life he’d escaped, the life that chased him even now. He swung his arm slightly, testing the stiffness. The joint protested immediately.

“Still moving like an old man, I see.”

The voice drifted in softly, almost lazy. Dante didn’t look toward it. He didn’t have to.

LD sat at the foot of the bed like he had every morning since the day he’d died — hoodie up, curls messy, leaning back on his palms as though he hadn’t been gone for over a decade.

“You early,” Dante muttered.

LD grinned. “I’m dead, fam. Time don’t apply to me.”

Dante pushed the duvet aside and sat up. His abdomen tightened, the scars stretching faintly — thin, pale lines across dark skin. Marks that had stories. Marks he still hated.

“It’s your first day as a teacher, big man,” LD said. “You gotta make an entrance.”

“Teaching…” Dante rubbed his face. “That’s still mad to say out loud.”

“Madness? Bro, the court had you choosing between community service or jail. You picked kids. Which, somehow, is the braver option.”

Dante shot him a look. LD just shrugged, a ghost with attitude.

He stood slowly, aches waking up with him. Grabbed a clean black shirt from the chair. Dressed simply — the good jeans, the least-worn trainers, the jacket with the stitching coming undone near the sleeve.

His reflection in the dusty mirror looked like a man trying to outrun his past while pretending he wasn’t out of breath.

LD slid beside him. “You look serious. Scary serious. Students gonna behave out of pure fear.”

“Good.”

“Nah, bro, lighten up. Smile a bit. Show the dimples.”

“Don’t have dimples.”

LD smirked. “Exactly. Terrifying.”

The city greeted him the way it always did — with noise.

Bus brakes screeching. Car horns arguing. Corner shop shutters slamming open. Rain from the night before clinging to pavement cracks. The air was cold, sharp enough to wake him properly.

LD walked beside him, hands in pockets, as if he weighed anything at all.

“You excited?” LD asked.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you love it.”

A bus splashed through a puddle, missing Dante by inches. LD laughed.
“You still got that luck, I see.”

Dante ignored him and kept walking.

When St. Peter’s Academy came into view, he stopped without meaning to.

The building was old, tall, tired. Faded brickwork, metal fencing bent in places, windows clouded from years of grime. The sign at the front was missing two letters so it read:

“ST. PETER’S ACADEMY.”

LD whistled. “Bro… you’re really about to teach at Gotham High.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. The principal’s warning echoed in his mind: These kids will test you.
Like he hadn’t already been tested by life.

“You ready?” LD asked.

“No.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

The front office smelled like cheap lemon cleaner and cold coffee. A receptionist with purple reading glasses looked up at him over her mug.

“Name?”

“Dante Reid.”

She blinked. “Ah.”
The kind of ‘ah’ that meant she’d been warned about him. Lovely.

“The principal is waiting,” she said. “Straight down the hall.”

Dante nodded once and walked.

LD lounged across the reception counter like a cat. “She thinks you’re trouble.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“Fair.”

Principal Hale had the posture of a man who ironed his socks.
Balding, stern, thin-framed glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He didn’t stand when Dante entered. Didn’t smile. Didn’t offer a handshake.

“Mr. Reid.”

“Sir.”

Hale opened a beige folder labelled REID, D.
“A… colourful background.”

“That what it says?”

“That’s the polite interpretation.”

Dante remained silent.

Hale folded his hands. “You come to us under very specific circumstances.”

“Court order is a specific circumstance, yeah.”

Hale didn’t flinch.
“Ms. Clarke will be observing your performance. Everything you do will be noted.”

Dante nodded. “Understood.”

“If you make it through the week…” Hale paused. “…we can discuss a permanent position.”

LD drifted behind Hale, mocking the man’s posture.
“Bro thinks he’s running MI5.”

Hale snapped the folder shut.
“You may go.”

Outside the office, LD grinned. “Man’s just waiting for you to slip. We love a hater arc.”

The noise hit him first — loud, sharp, chaotic.

A shove.
A shout.
Metal crashing as someone slammed into lockers.

Dante’s instincts kicked in before thought.

Two boys were squared up in the centre of the hallway, a crowd surrounding them.
One had the other pinned by his collar, knuckles white with tension.
Kids filmed on their phones.
Egged them on.

LD stepped forward, amused. “Ah yes. Children.”

Dante raised his voice, low but commanding.
“Hey.”

The hallway quieted instantly.

The aggressor turned, jaw clenched. “Who’re you?”

“Let him go.”

“Nah, fam, he—”

Dante stepped closer. Not rushed. Not threatening. Just… present.

“You wanna swing at someone on your first period?” he asked. “Hit me. See how that works out.”

A few kids gasped. One whispered, “Bruv is he dumb—?”

The boy’s grip loosened by instinct alone. He dropped the collar.

Dante nodded once. “Good. Now shake hands.”

The boys looked like he’d asked them to sacrifice goats.

“Shake,” Dante repeated.

Reluctantly, they did.

“Cool,” he said. “Now bounce before I give you both detention on a day I don’t even work here properly.”

The crowd scattered like pigeons.

And that’s when she appeared.

Aaliyah Clarke stepped around the corner, tablet in one hand, pen tucked behind her ear. She wore a soft cream blouse and black trousers, hair pinned up neatly. Her eyes were sharp, wide, observant — eyes that didn’t miss much.

She stopped when she saw Dante.

“You must be Mr. Reid,” she said, breath a little short from rushing.

“Yeah.”

“I heard shouting. I was just about to—”

“Handled,” Dante said simply.

Aaliyah glanced at the boys walking away.
At the locker dents.
At the crowd dispersing.

Her gaze returned to him, curious, almost impressed.
“That was… efficient.”

“Just talked to them.”

“That wasn’t just talking.”

LD floated behind her, whispering to Dante,
“She’s clocking you, bro. Look.”

Dante ignored him.
Aaliyah turned, gesturing for him to follow.

“Come on. I’ll show you around.”

“You’ll mainly work with Year 10 and 11. Behaviour is… inconsistent.”

“Inconsistent how?”

“Depends on the day. And the teacher.”

“I’ll manage.”

“We’ll see.”

Dante’s shoulder twitched again — a sharp stab beneath the scar tissue.
He inhaled through the pain. Aaliyah noticed.
“You okay?”

“Old injury.”

“You should get it checked.”

He didn’t respond.
He wasn’t the checking type.

Aaliyah stopped outside a door marked SUPPLIES — STAFF ONLY.

“This room,” she said, “you’ll use a lot for equipment. Just so you’re familiar—”

She opened the door.

Dante stepped inside… and froze.

A small space.
Dust.
Concrete smell.
Dim light.

Four walls closing in.

A place too similar to that tragic abandoned building.
The night that ruined everything.
The night that still trapped him.

His breathing tightened.

The door behind him creaked.

Someone — a student — slammed it shut as a joke.

Click.
Locked.

Darkness swallowed him.

LD’s voice cut through the shadows, low and steady.
“Breathe, bro. You’re not there. You’re here. With me.”

Dante pressed a hand to the wall, grounding himself.

Aaliyah’s voice shouted faintly from outside, “Hold on, Mr. Reid — I’ll get it open!”

A shuffle.
Another teacher muttering.
Keys fumbling.

When the lock finally clicked, light flooded back in.

Dante stepped out fast.

Aaliyah’s face softened. “Are you okay? You look—”

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him.
But she didn’t push.

LD hovered at his shoulder, expression more serious than usual.
“Yo… that shook you bad. You gotta tell her eventually.”

Dante didn’t answer him.

He straightened his jacket, nodded to Aaliyah.

“Let’s continue.”

And as he walked down the hall, LD lingered… and slowly faded behind him.

For the first time in a long time, LD’s absence felt like a warning.

Not a comfort.