There was something about 3 a.m. at Sinners Academy that felt like a confession. The stone halls no longer echoed with ambition but with secrets. Shadows peeled away from the corners like they had mouths, and the silence wasn't empty—it was listening.
Raven Moreau should've been asleep. Instead, she padded barefoot across the dormitory's cold marble floor, drawn toward the flicker of candlelight coming from under the library's forbidden wing. A warning bell sounded in her spine.
But she'd never been good at walking away from danger.
The library door creaked open with a sound like something exhaling. And there he was. Killian Vale. Sitting in the same spot he'd been earlier, candle casting golden light over the silver ring on his finger—the symbol of Circle Seven loyalty.
He didn't turn around. "Curiosity again, Raven?"
"Paranoia again, Killian?" she said, stepping in.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, eyes glinting with that same detached amusement. "I could say something poetic about night and temptation, but I'm too tired to lie."
She walked past him, dragging her fingers along the old wooden table. "Then don't. Just admit you expected me."
He finally stood. "I always expect you. You're like a storm. Predictable only in your destruction."
Their eyes locked. Something buzzed under her skin—half thrill, half fury.
"You're hiding something," she said.
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he stepped forward. "You're not the only one with secrets, Raven."
---
The next day, the campus buzzed with whispers. A Circle Seven initiation was happening that night—one that hadn't been announced. One that Raven wasn't supposed to know about.
She heard it from Evie, her roommate, who whispered it through the steam of their shower stalls.
"They say it's for a new recruit," Evie murmured, eyes wide. "And they say Killian picked him."
Raven's stomach tightened.
Killian never picked anyone.
---
That night, Raven followed the trail of hooded figures through the underground tunnels of Sinners Academy. She stayed in the shadows, silent as breath.
She watched as Killian stood before a trembling first-year boy with a blade in one hand and a torch in the other. This wasn't a ceremony.
It was a test.
Killian's voice was cold. "Circle Seven is blood and silence. Loyalty above all. Even sanity."
The boy nodded, tears in his eyes.
"Swear it," Killian said. "Or walk away and pretend you never saw this place."
Raven's breath caught. She remembered that night. When it had been her. When she'd refused.
She turned and left before she could be seen, but the echo of his voice chased her.
---
Later, she confronted him in the east wing corridor, the stained-glass windows painting their faces in holy red and gold.
"You're still making monsters," she hissed.
Killian didn't flinch. "You left your throne, Raven. Someone had to keep the legacy alive."
"This legacy is poison."
He stepped close. "And yet you came back for it."
She shoved him. "You think this is some kind of game?"
His mouth was a breath from hers. "No. But if it were, you and I would be the only ones who could win it."
---
That night, a letter appeared under her door. No name. Just the crest of the Circle Seven, pressed in black wax.
Inside it read:
He isn't who you think he is. He's worse.
There was no signature, but she knew that handwriting.
Killian Vale.
---
Raven stayed away from the library for two days. Not because she was afraid. Because she was planning.
By the third day, she was back.
Killian looked up from a leather-bound book like he'd known the exact minute she'd walk in.
"What now?" he asked lazily.
She slammed the letter down in front of him.
"That's not a threat," he said.
"No," she snapped. "It's a trap. You wanted me to find it."
He stood slowly. "What if I did?"
She stepped close. "Then tell me what you're trying to warn me about. What's coming?"
Killian hesitated for the first time.
Then he whispered, "You think you remember everything about that night. But someone else was watching too. And they want you gone."
She went still. "Who?"
His eyes burned. "Someone who knows what you did."
---
The chapel bell rang. Midnight. The hour when Sinners Academy shed its skin.
Raven walked through the quad alone, hair flowing in the cold wind like black fire. Her dress shimmered with velvet shadows. Her heels clicked like clock hands counting down.
She heard it then—laughter. Low. Male.
A figure stepped out from the hedges.
"Raven Moreau. Just the girl I wanted to see."
She didn't recognize him at first, not until he stepped into the light. Mason Crowley. Circle Seven's ghost. Expelled two years ago. Supposedly gone.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said.
"I never really left," he smiled. "Killian thinks he's running the show. But he forgot the rules."
"What do you want?" she asked, spine stiffening.
He leaned closer. "To remind you of the debt you owe. For your silence. For your survival."
Before she could reply, a voice snarled behind her.
"She doesn't owe you anything."
Killian. Face dark with fury.
Raven stepped between them. "Stop it. Both of you."
But Killian wouldn't back down. "He's trying to drag you into a war you don't understand."
Mason smirked. "No. I'm reminding her of who she is."
"You're not the one who gets to decide that," Killian growled.
Raven felt the tension like a livewire snapping.
"What war?" she whispered.
Both men looked at her.
Killian said, "The war that started the moment you stepped back into this academy."