Return

Cassie dragged herself out of bed. The mattress felt like a trap, and she wanted to stay there. Just a little longer. But the luxury of time was gone. If she didn't get up right now, Claudia would do it for her—using that shrill, rattling voice she pulled out whenever she wanted to be especially grating. "Sleeping until noon again? Have you no shame?"

Cassie hadn't actually been sleeping; she was just lying there, staring at the ceiling. Her body refused to move, to eat, or even to think—not without Sophia.

But today, Cassie had to go back to the Academy. After months of living in the suffocating vacuum of this house, it was time. She was sick of listening to the same broken record about "family status," especially when the family spent every waking hour pretending Sophia was fine, as if nothing had happened. The hypocrisy was enough to make her gag.

Her bags were already packed, waiting by the bed since last night. 

On the wall hung a photo from a year ago: Sophia, smiling, her arm hooked through Cassie’s, her head just barely resting on Cassie's shoulder. 

She'd been shorter than Cassie by 8 inches. Sofia's chestnut bob had always been perfect—chin-length, shiny, not a hair out of place. She'd worn those rhinestone headbands to keep the right side from falling forward. Without them, she'd tuck it behind her ear every thirty seconds. She’d just turned sixteen then. Claudia had insisted on a portrait in full formal attire, but Sophia refused to take the shot without Cassie.

Cassie looked perfect in the photo, too—long light-brown hair in a tight braid, a crisp, ironed uniform, her back straight as a board. Well, look at her, the pride of the family.

The perfection of it made her want to spit.

Dressing fast, Cassie headed for the door. The goal was simple: get out quick and quiet before running into Claudia in the hallway."Why is your uniform wrinkled? And your hair—what is that? You're going to show up like this?" Claudia appeared right on cue. Perfectly timed. She'd been waiting.

Right now, Cassie's hair was a long, tangled mess. She couldn't bring herself to cut it, and she never saw the point in braiding it anymore. Sophia used to do it. Her fingers were always patient, steady. She'd work through the knots, weaving the strands together without a single snag. Just a slow, rhythmic pull until the weight of it felt right.

Now Cassie looked the way she felt. There was nothing left of that girl in the photo, and she didn't give a damn.

"Is there going to be a ceremony for my return?" Cassie smirked.

"Stop the jokes and don't you dare cause chaos again. If it weren't for your father, you'd have been expelled back then. Be grateful—and walk through that Academy with your head down."

Claudia had always seen Cassie as a problem. A disruption. That one incident had shattered her illusion of a perfect family. Cassie thought about that day often. She savored the memory. Her hand had finally sliced the air—a dull, solid thud as it connected with Eli's face. She'd been wanting to do that for a long time.

The parasite. He'd wormed his way in, played the loyal friend, and let Sophia do all his work. And then, he'd dragged her into that goddamn mission. The one Sophia never came back from.

Eli's father used his connections to bury the whole thing. Quietly. That was why Cassie had been out for three months. That, and the mandatory psych eval. Temporarily psychologically vulnerable. That’s what the report called her. Following a family trauma.

"Cassandra, are you listening to me?" Claudia's voice pulled her back. "You're reinstated. You will raise your academic standing. If anything goes wrong, I'll intervene."

"I will," Cassie said flatly. Reinstatement mattered. Not because she wanted to "fix" herself, like Claudia thought, but because it was the only way to do something for Sophia. Unlike everyone else in this house.I'll find out what happened to you. I promise. The answers were at the Academy.That's where it had all started.

***

The building pressed into the ground under its own weight—a monolith of concrete split by staircases and blind openings. Cassie would be living in the barracks now. Not a single day more in that house of lies.

By all accounts, she was lucky to be born into money. Her family wasn't the elite, but they were close enough to the top. Her father had worked day and night for as long as she could remember to keep them there.

Convincing him to let her move out hadn't been easy. They’d eventually settled on an upgraded barracks unit. The "upgrade" amounted to exactly one thing: half a meter more space than the standard rooms. Enough to walk without scraping a shoulder against the wall.

Still, there were no windows. Just a ventilation grate near the ceiling, clogged with gray dust that looked like it hadn't been touched since the place was built. Cassie dropped her bags on the floor. The linoleum, once beige, was now the color of rusted tap water. The regular rooms were likely even worse—the dull, cracked gray of an old bruise. Unpacking felt like a waste of effort. Instead, she just turned and walked out.

The air in the Academy corridors was dead. It tasted of dust and too many layers of cheap paint—years of covering up cracks instead of fixing them. Students blurred past in steel-gray. The uniforms were heavy, stiff, and always cold against the skin.

With every step, the unyielding leather of her boots bit into her heels, a sharp, rhythmic ache. Cassie kept walking. Classroom 302.

Today was the test. If she passed, she could return to her fourth-year classmates. At least on paper. Truth was, she should have studied while stuck in that house, but she hadn't even cracked a spine. It didn't matter. Three months wasn't long enough to forget.

The office was a hollow box. Just Cassie and the examiner—an older woman with eyes like cold glass. "Greta," the woman introduced herself, and the test began.

When the timer ran out, Greta picked up the answer sheet, skimmed it, and looked up.

"Did you go over the material?" she asked, her tone suggesting she was already expecting an excuse.

Looking closer at Greta's face, a memory surfaced. Sophia used to help her—acting as a sort of assistant, organizing the office, sometimes even grading first-years' work.

"I know this isn't easy for you right now," Greta said, her voice softening slightly. "What happened... it’s a lot. But don't lose your footing. You'll have another attempt in two weeks. You need to be ready."

She'd failed. Cassie pressed her palm to her forehead, the skin cool against her heat. "I'll try." 

Greta frowned, her eyes drifting for a second. "At my age, I lose track of things. I have a cadet helping me now. He's good with the other students, too—helps them with their studies. Very reliable. Reminds me of Sophia, actually."She said it like she was talking about the weather. As if the name didn't carry the weight of a corpse.

In Cassie’s mind, Sophia's desk was still there, always buried under a huddle of gray uniforms. A low hum of voices, everyone asking for answers Sophia never refused to give. Cassie used to stay in the hallway, leaning against the cold tile and watching through the crack of the door, waiting for the room to clear. Waiting to get her sister back.

"Stop by my office after class," Greta said, offering a small, soft smile—the kind people save for a tragedy. "I'll write you a pass. You can stay late."

At the Academy, students were only allowed to stay an hour past class. Anything longer required a special permit.

The offer wasn't for Cassie. It was a dividend from Sophia's kindness, a debt Greta was paying back to a ghost. In this place, Cassie was a non-entity. Just Hale's eldest. Sophia's sister. On top of that, she was nineteen—the age of a fifth-year—but stuck in the fourth because she’d started the Academy late. That was just the way it was.

Shame stung, quick and hot. She could still hear her own voice, sharp and dismissive: “They don't pay you for this, Soph. Why waste your time cleaning up after some lazy hack?” Cassie had never fully understood her sister’s kindness, but she’d always admired it. People were drawn to Sophia. And not all of them were good.
Cassie accepted the help without hesitation. If she got expelled, she'd never learn what really happened.

***

Greta's office looked the same as always. The heavy desk. The tall shelves. The soft, deceptive lamplight. 

Only the order on the shelves was new. Behind Greta, a slim silhouette shifted. A cadet. He was slotting manuals into place, his movements precise, his spine a perfectly straight line.

He was so rigid he made the air in the office feel tight. Cassie felt a sympathetic twitch in her own back, her shoulders snapping into place before she could stop them.

Greta hovered at the door. "Cassandra. Already here. Good. I have to run." She threw a question over her shoulder toward the shelves. It had the upward lilt of a query but the weight of a command. She didn't even wait for him to look up. "Otto, staying late for those projects again?"

"Yes. If you don't mind."

"Naturally. In that case—help this young lady. She needs to get her standing back."

The cadet turned. His face was a surprise. It was too open. Soft edges, a rounded jaw that hadn't hardened yet. Dark hair with a persistent wave seemed to fight the regulation cut. He reached up, tucking a stray lock behind his ear with a movement that looked almost delicate. A small, uncomplicated smile shifted his features—the kind of smile that didn't seem to want anything. "Sure," he said.

"Good. Then here." Greta slid the test and answer sheet across the desk, nodding for Cassie to sit. Then she left them alone, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

The moment the latch caught, the smile died. It didn't fade—it vanished, as if someone had flipped a switch. The harmless schoolboy was gone.

The boy didn't ask permission. He just sank into Greta's chair and began scrutinizing the test Cassie had failed. The silence in the room grew heavy, clinical. When he finally looked up, his gaze felt like a cold slap.

"You failed the basics," he said. His voice was flat, exhausted. "Seriously?"

Up close, the light was gone from his eyes. Deep, bruised circles hung beneath them. Sleepless. A grind. He was just a tired nerd who lived on coffee and spite.

"I had some bad luck with the questions," Cassie shot back.

"You're fourth year, right?" No answer was expected. Frowning, the boy launched straight into the material. This wasn’t reading; it was a dictation, delivered with the authority of someone who’d been teaching for decades. His pen blurred across the pages of a notebook, moving in a frantic, rhythmic scratch.

Sophia could do that too. Talk, write, explain—all at once. It had come naturally to her. With him, it felt different. Like static in the air. Too controlled. Too tight.

The first session ended quickly. Cassie was already at the door when his voice stopped her. "I don't work for free."

"And... how much?" she asked, without bothering to thank him.

He didn't look well-connected. No heavy name, no shadow of a powerful father. The Academy elite didn't play errand boy for instructors, and they certainly didn't waste time tutoring. That left only one option: a scholarship grunt who'd worked too hard for a spot.

Cassie's family had status. Enough to pay. It was better to pay a cadet than hire a tutor who'd report every breath to her parents. She'd barely dodged that when Claudia pushed for it.

"Not money. I need a runner. Fetch manuals, get books from the library. Deliver them where I tell you. No delays. Agreed?"

Typical nerd habits. Fine. That worked even better; her body needed movement. Sitting still all day would've been torture. "Deal."
"Tomorrow. After third period." He gave her a room number and handed her a list of first-year books—probably for another student. He tucked that wavy lock of hair behind his ear again. A haunting echo of a gesture from a life she no longer had. It made her skin crawl.

She looked at his badge: Otto Vyre. Third year.

So I'm being taught by a junior. Pathetic.