Dinner that night felt like being dropped into a shark tank.
The cafeteria was buzzing with quiet chatter, just the first-years and second-years at this slot, but it still felt like every single one of them had decided to stare directly at me.
The smell of broth and spices filled the air, bowls of ramen topped with soft-boiled eggs and scallions steaming on every table. My stomach growled, but I barely tasted the food.
"Stop hunching," Freya muttered beside me, slurping her noodles like she didn't have a care in the world. "You look like you're trying to hide. It makes them think they're winning."
"I am trying to hide," I whispered, keeping my eyes down on my chopsticks. "Everyone's staring."
"Not everyone," she said, glancing around. "Just the ones with nothing better to do."
I risked a peek across the room.
The Silver Circle girls sat two tables away, their coordinated outfits like some twisted girl-band uniform, matching pastel sweaters, high-waisted skirts, and designer handbags perched on their laps like trophies. They were all beautiful in that intimidating, flawless way that screamed money.
And all four of them were looking right at me.
One of the blondes whispered something, and the others started giggling behind perfectly manicured hands. The black-haired girl's sharp gaze swept over me like a blade.
"Who does she think she is?" the pink-haired one said, loud enough for me to hear. "Scholarship girl showing off like she belongs here."
Freya froze mid-slurp. I saw her hand tighten on her chopsticks.
"Just leave it," I muttered, shaking my head before she could say anything.
Freya sighed and went back to her food. "Ignore them. Seriously. I mean it. They're just bored and desperate for drama. Don't give them any."
I exhaled and tried to focus on the ramen. The broth was surprisingly rich, with a hint of sesame and garlic. I could almost pretend I wasn't the center of some weird, silent battlefield.
By the time we left the cafeteria, the sky was dark, the full moon hanging like a silver coin above the towers of Moonveil Academy. The air was crisp, and the shadows on the courtyard stretched long and eerie across the cobblestones.
Back in our dorm room, Freya crashed onto her bed, scrolling through her phone. I tried to get comfortable, but my mind was restless. Even after brushing my teeth and sliding under the covers, I couldn't sleep.
Something about this place felt… heavy at night. Like the walls were holding their breath.
I tossed and turned for another half hour before giving up. Sliding my feet into slippers, I grabbed my hoodie and stepped into the hall.
The air outside the dorm was colder, sharper. The full moon lit the campus in ghostly silver. I walked down the path toward the courtyard, telling myself I just needed a little fresh air. Maybe some time to think.
I stopped near the fountain, watching the water ripple under the moonlight. For a second, everything was quiet. Too quiet.
Then there was movement.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow shift near the edge of the courtyard. My breath caught. I turned, but there was nothing, just the line of trees, their branches swaying slightly in the breeze.
I took a step forward, heart pounding.
Nothing.
"Get a grip, Maeve," I muttered under my breath. "It's just a tree. Or a bird. Or…"
A cold shiver crawled up my spine.
I stayed there for a moment longer, scanning the shadows, but whatever I thought I'd seen was gone. It was probably just my nerves.
When I got back to the room, Freya was fast asleep, snoring softly. I slipped into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. But as I closed my eyes, I swore I could still feel it, that prickling sensation, like someone was watching me from the dark.
~
The next morning, I dragged myself to class with Freya, clutching my notebook like it was the only thing holding me together. I still hadn't slept well after last night's… shadow incident. Not that I'd tell Freya. She would probably laugh or say something like, "Oh yeah, Moonveil's haunted. Didn't anyone tell you?"
The classroom was a wide lecture hall, sunlight streaming through tall windows. A few students were already seated when we walked in, their polished shoes tapping against the hardwood floor. The air smelled faintly of old books and coffee.
Freya led me to a row in the middle, where we slid into our seats. I fiddled with my pen, trying not to notice the whispering behind us.
Then, the door at the front of the room opened, and in walked the lecturer.
He was tall, sharp-looking, with salt-and-pepper hair and glasses that glinted under the lights. He wore a dark gray vest over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up like he was ready for battle.
"Good morning, class," he said in a deep, even tone. "I'm Professor Reed. Welcome to Global Cultures & Power Structures. This course is about understanding how the world works, not just who holds power, but why. Why do some groups dominate while others struggle? What cultural values shape authority? What does history teach us about modern systems of influence?"
He paused, scanning the room with sharp chestnut eyes that seemed to pin us to our seats.
"This is not a class where you memorize facts and regurgitate them on a test. No." His lips curved into a thin, amused smile. "This class will teach you how to think. How to challenge what you believe to be true. And how not to embarrass yourself when discussing these ideas beyond these walls."
A ripple of laughter moved through the students. I smiled faintly, fiddling with my pen.
He glanced around the room, his gaze sweeping like a radar. Then, his eyes landed on me.
"You," he said, pointing slightly with his pen. "Name?"
My stomach flipped. I cleared my throat. "Maeve Sinclair, sir."
"Sinclair…" He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if rolling the name over in his mind. "Scholarship student?"
I stiffened but nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Hmm." He hummed like he was filing that away for later, then turned to address the rest of the class. "Right. Today, we're going to talk about group work. Your first project will be a collaborative research paper. Five students per group. Topic?"
He turned to the board and wrote in bold, precise strokes:
'How Globalization Shapes Cultural Power and Identity.'
"This isn't a Wikipedia summary," he continued, turning back to us with sharp eyes. "I want analysis. I want you to dive into real-world examples, how cultural identities shift under global influences, how power moves between nations, corporations, and people. You can pick any country or cultural dynamic you want. Be critical. Be daring. Impress me."
He clapped his hands once. "Groups are as follows…"
Great. I could already tell this was going to be a mountain of work.
Professor Reed started reading out names, grouping us alphabetically.
"Sinclair, Maeve… you'll be with Chen, Rory. Hudson, Lila. Devon, Marcus. And… Valeria Devereaux."