The corridors of Moonstone Academy were restless with the usual morning buzz, though Adam felt like he was walking through an entirely different world. His right leg ached with every step, the limp stubborn and noticeable, a lingering reminder of last night's chaos. He tried to disguise it, but the uneven rhythm of his footsteps echoed faintly against the tiled floor, betraying him.
It was first break, and most students were spilling into the hallways in noisy clusters, laughing, gossiping, clutching books and half-eaten snacks. To them, this Monday was like any other.
To Adam, it was surreal. Only hours ago, he had been fighting for his life against creatures that weren't supposed to exist. Now he was weaving through classmates talking about homework deadlines and cafeteria food. to make things more odd, all the damages that he'd sworn had occured last night was gone. It was as if the school had a magical cleanup service to erase everything they didn't want students seeing.
The memory of the morning assembly played back in his head like a film reel. He could almost hear Madam Bellhart's steady voice as she addressed the students, her eyes sharp and severe. The curfew extension had been the biggest announcement, no student was allowed out after seven until the end of the week. And more than that, a complete exit ban: no one could leave the school grounds without being personally collected by a parent or guardian.
Safety measures, they called it. "Precautions."
Adam thought about the word. Precautions against what? The dhampyrs had been dealt with, he and the others had seen it. But apparently, it wasn't enough. Maybe it never was.
Still, Madam Bellhart's tone carried that same rehearsed calm that made everyone assume things were under control. Adam knew better. Better safe than sorry, she'd said.
He sighed under his breath, shifting his weight onto his good leg as he reached the far end of the hallway.
And then Bryce's voice echoed in his memory, brighter and more commanding than usual. The newly appointed student president had stepped up with an almost theatrical kind of confidence, making his first big announcement as if the title already belonged to him. Midterms begin Thursday.
That was only three days away.
Adam's chest tightened. His brain still felt scrambled from everything, fights, secrets, the gnawing fear of what lurked just outside these walls, and now he had exams hanging over him. He wasn't ready. He could hardly even focus on his notes without his mind drifting to sharper memories: the sound of claws, the gleam of yellow eyes, the weight of survival.
As he limped toward the nurse's office, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, the screen lighting up with a familiar name. It was his dad.
'You okay? Heard what happened. Please tell me you're fine.'
The sight of it caught him off guard, like a sudden light breaking through heavy clouds. He stopped mid-step, staring at the words. For a second, the hallway chatter faded, replaced with a dull ringing in his ears.
Instinctively, Adam's gaze dropped to his ankle. It throbbed beneath his sock and shoe, the skin beneath probably swollen and bruised. He clenched his jaw, then typed quickly:
'Totally fine its nothing serious. Just caught up with classes. Don't worry about me.'
He lingered on the screen for a moment longer, then hit send. A small exhale slipped from his chest.
The last thing he wanted was his dad worrying about a bum leg. Austin Greene had bigger things to carry, command posts, soldiers, responsibilities Adam could hardly wrap his head around. That was the weight of the military. Adam had grown up with it. You didn't pile more onto someone like that.
But inside, he was more relieved than he wanted to admit. Every text from his father was proof he was still alive. Proof he hadn't been swallowed up by some battlefield far away. That fear had haunted Adam since he was a kid, the kind of constant, invisible dread you never spoke aloud. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and forced his feet forward again, though his limp dragged him back into reality with each step.
When he reached the nurse's office, the door was already open.
"Good morning, Adam," a voice chimed before he even crossed the threshold.
Nurse Clara sat at her desk, a clipboard resting lightly in her manicured hands. She looked up at him with those piercing, mischievous eyes that always seemed to hold a private joke. Her lips curved in a smile that was both professional and playful, a mix that made most boys his age lose their composure instantly.
Adam offered a faint nod and stepped in, the faint antiseptic smell of the office filling his nose. The place was spotless, white curtains fluttering slightly from the cracked-open window, letting the morning breeze spill through.
"You're limping again," she said casually, setting the clipboard down. "What happened this time? Trip on a loose step, or did you end up playing against your better judgment?"
Her tone was teasing, but her gaze flicked down toward his leg with a practiced sharpness.
Adam eased himself onto the examination bed, exhaling through his nose. "Something like that," he muttered.
Clara hummed, rising from her chair. Her heels clicked softly on the tile as she moved closer. She bent slightly, her perfume catching him by surprise, something floral with a warm undertone. She was close enough that he could feel the brush of her hair against his arm.
"You know," she murmured, crouching by his ankle, "most boys your age would give me the full story just to keep me entertained. You don't strike me as the type."
Adam blinked at her, unsure how to respond.
Her fingers were gentle but firm as she rolled up his pant leg, her nails cool against his skin. "Relax," she said with a grin, catching his stiffness. "I don't bite. Unless you want me to."
Adam froze. His ears heated instantly.
Clara laughed, a soft melodic sound, clearly enjoying herself. "Ah, there it is. That reaction. I knew you weren't completely immune."
She dabbed disinfectant onto his bruised ankle, watching him carefully out of the corner of her eye. Most boys would already be tripping over themselves, flustered by her attention. She had perfected the art of control, of pulling strings with a glance or a playful word. It was her game.
Except Adam wasn't playing. Not really.
"Does it hurt?" she asked finally, her voice dropping a little lower.
He shifted, meeting her gaze. "Not as much as it looks."
She tilted her head, lips tugging into a smirk. "Strong one, huh?" then she paused, glancing at Adam almost methodically, "Don't like what you see?" Her eyes flicked upward, locking onto his with deliberate challenge.
Adam blinked, caught off guard. He opened his mouth, then shut it. His heart thumped. For a second, he thought about dodging the question, letting her win the game like she probably expected.
Instead, the words came out different.
"You're… beautiful," he admitted, his voice steady but measured. "But you look a lot like my mom. Same face shape, same hair color. Same name, even."
The smirk fell from Clara's lips. Her eyes widened a fraction.
For the first time since he walked in, she seemed genuinely thrown off balance. The sultry edge in her expression faltered, replaced with something almost vulnerable.
"Oh," she breathed softly, sitting back a little. "Well… that's… unexpected."
Adam gave a small shrug, trying to soften it. "Yeah. So, it's kinda… hard to think of you that way."
Clara blinked, then laughed, nervously this time, not the confident melody from before. A hand brushed through her hair, her cheeks touched with the faintest color. "You really know how to kill a mood, don't you?"
Adam chuckled lightly, the tension loosening in his chest. "Sorry. Just being honest."
She shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she finished wrapping his ankle with professional precision. Yet she kept glancing at him, her usual confidence cracked.
By the time she tied off the bandage, the mood in the room had shifted completely.
Adam leaned back on the examination bed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. For once, it wasn't him who was flustered.
***
The dormitory was unusually quiet that evening. Moonstone Academy had the kind of silence that felt heavier than it should, not the peace of a school settling into study hours, but the lull of a community recovering from shock. The air outside Bryce and Adam's window carried the faint, smoky tang of fires that had burned over the weekend, a reminder that the world beyond the school's fences was anything but calm.
Adam sat on his bed with his history notes spread across his lap, the dim desk lamp across the room casting an amber pool of light that only made the shadows around the walls seem thicker.
He tried to read, tried to force dates and names into his brain, but his eyes kept drifting to the window where the branches of the old oak outside shifted restlessly against the glass. His ankle still ached under the bandage Clara had wrapped around it earlier, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, distracting him from any hope of focus.
Across the room, Bryce sat curled on the cushioned window seat, a textbook open but mostly ignored, his pencil tapping rhythmically against the page. For a while, the silence between them had been companionable, two boys buried in their own anxieties about midterms, the school, the chaos outside the gates.
But then, without warning, Bryce's phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced down, read something, and his whole expression lit up like someone had flipped a switch inside him.
He shot to his feet so suddenly that Adam almost dropped his notes.
"Adam!" Bryce's voice rang sharp in the stillness, full of an energy that seemed foreign in the heavy atmosphere. He crossed the room in three long strides, waving his phone like a flag. "You're not gonna believe this!"
Adam blinked, eyebrows rising. "What—? Did you just win the lottery or something?"
"Better," Bryce said, breathless with excitement. He leaned in close, the glow of his phone reflecting in his eager eyes. "Sebastian Thorne… dropped out of the mayoral campaign."
For a second, Adam just stared, unsure if he'd heard correctly. "Wait… what?"
"He's out," Bryce repeated, a grin spreading across his face. "He released a statement an hour ago. Said he's withdrawing from the race. Effective immediately."
Adam sat back, trying to process. The name landed with weight. Sebastian Thorne, the sharp, charismatic challenger who had been plastered all over posters, whose speeches had carried half the town into fervor. The same Thorne who, from the way people spoke, seemed like he'd crawl over broken glass before giving up the campaign. And now… he was gone?
"That's… huge," Adam said, forcing his voice into an echo of Bryce's excitement. He raised his brows, gave a half-smile. "I mean… that basically hands the win to your dad, doesn't it?"
Bryce laughed, running a hand through his hair, still practically vibrating. "Exactly! With Thorne out, there's no one left strong enough to challenge him. Dad's campaign is solid, this is it, Adam. He's got it."
Adam nodded, matching the grin, but his chest tightened with something else entirely. Why? The thought pressed harder than the ache in his leg. He wasn't into politics, not really. But even he could see it didn't add up. Thorne had been relentless. Every rally, every poster, every line in the newspapers screamed determination. For him to suddenly fold now, days before the election? It didn't smell right.
"Kind of weird though, isn't it?" Adam said carefully, trying not to dampen Bryce's mood outright. "For him to drop out now. I mean… after pushing so hard?"
Bryce hesitated for half a beat, the grin faltering as though the thought had only just been allowed to catch up to him. Then he shrugged, brushing it aside. "Maybe. But honestly? I don't care. Let him be weird. This is everything Dad's been working for, and nothing's stopping him now." His voice carried conviction, but Adam noticed the quick way Bryce avoided his gaze, burying himself in the phone again.
Adam leaned back, letting the conversation drop, though the unease clung to him like a shadow. He remembered the way Bryce had burst into the room, eyes shining, full of life for the first time in days, it wasn't the time to crush that with paranoia. Still, he couldn't shake the thought: people like Thorne don't just quit.
Outside, the wind pressed against the glass, rattling it faintly. The lamplight flickered as if in response. Adam found himself staring into the dark beyond the window, his pulse quickening with an inexplicable chill. Somewhere in the silence of the room, a truth was pressing close, one Adam couldn't name.