Chapter 3 – Entering Dorm 9 for the First Time
Sam's POV
The gates are bigger than I imagined. Black iron, curling upward like claws. The school beyond them looks like something out of an old movie—stone buildings, tall windows, ivy crawling up the walls like veins. It’s supposed to be prestigious. Elite. Safe.
It doesn’t feel safe.
My bus ticket is still folded in my pocket, damp with sweat. I rub it between my fingers like it’s proof I actually made it here.
The guard at the gate squints at me. His coat is pressed, his shoes shine even in the gray light. Everything about him screams discipline. His eyes scan me up and down, and I freeze, heart pounding. Does he see through me already? Can he tell?
“Name?” he asks.
I swallow. My throat is so dry it hurts. “Sam Hale.”
The words scrape against my tongue. They sound foreign and familiar at the same time.
He checks a list on a clipboard, then jerks his chin toward the main building. “Dorm 9. Straight ahead. Welcome to Ashwick Academy.”
That’s it. No suspicion. No second glance. Just like that, I’m in.
My legs move before my brain catches up. The path crunches beneath my sneakers, and I tighten my grip on the strap of my bag. Each step toward the dorm feels like a countdown.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
By the time the looming shadow of Dorm 9 rises in front of me, my stomach is in knots. The building is massive, old brick with tall arched windows and a wooden door heavy enough to keep secrets locked inside. A gold number is mounted above it: 9.
My lungs feel too small for the air I’m trying to breathe.
I press my palm against the door. It’s cold, solid, unwelcoming.
Here it is. The belly of the beast.
When I push it open, the noise hits me first. Laughter, shouting, music blaring from someone’s speaker down the hall. The smell of cologne, sweat, and junk food slams into me next. The dorm is alive, pulsing like a wild animal, and I’ve just stepped into its cage.
Boys fill the hall—tall, loud, confident in ways I’ll never be. Some wear pressed uniforms; others lounge in sweats and hoodies. They shove each other, curse, laugh with mouths too wide.
My pulse spikes.
Keep your head down. Don’t look scared. You’re Sam now.
A tall guy with sandy blond hair almost collides with me as he barrels past. He stops, eyes narrowing. “New kid?”
I nod quickly, forcing my voice lower. “Yeah. Just got here.”
He smirks, his gaze raking over me like he’s measuring. I fight the urge to shrink back.
“Dorm 9’s lucky. We could use some fresh blood.” He claps me on the shoulder, hard enough to sting, then disappears down the hall with his friends.
I let out a shaky breath.
That’s what it’s going to be like. Constant tests. Constant eyes. Constant chances to fail.
I find the stairs and climb to the second floor, counting doors until I reach mine: 214. The key shakes in my hand as I unlock it.
The door creaks open.
Inside, the room is bigger than I expected. Two beds, two desks, two dressers. Clothes already tossed across one side, a duffel bag half-unzipped. Music hums softly from a speaker on the nightstand.
And then he looks up.
My new roommate.
Elias Cross.
I know his name already. Everybody does. His family’s name is on one of the library wings. Old money. The kind of untouchable power that laughs in the face of police reports and grieving families.
But right now he’s just a boy sitting on his bed, black hair falling into storm-gray eyes, staring at me like he can already tell I don’t belong here.
I drop my bag on the empty bed. My palms are sweaty. My chest feels too tight in the binder.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low, steady.
He doesn’t answer right away. He just studies me, expression unreadable. Finally, he nods once. “New roommate?”
“Yeah. Sam Hale.”
There. The name again. Claim it. Own it.
He leans back against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes never leave me.
For a second, the silence stretches so thin it could snap.
Then he shrugs. “Don’t touch my stuff. Don’t snore. We’ll get along fine.”
I nod, my throat dry.
He goes back to whatever he was reading, dismissing me like I’m not even worth the effort. Relief washes over me, sharp and shaky. At least he didn’t pry. At least not yet.
I start unpacking slowly, folding clothes into the dresser, keeping my hands steady even though my brain is screaming. I’m in. I’m here. One wrong move, and it’s over.
Out in the hall, laughter erupts again, followed by the sound of something shattering. My skin prickles. These walls have heard things. I can feel it.
I glance at Elias out of the corner of my eye. He’s still watching me. His book is open, but his eyes aren’t on the page. They’re on me.
My heart stutters. Does he know?
No. He can’t. Not this soon.
I turn away, pretending to focus on stacking my hoodies. My fingers tremble.
A knock rattles the door before I can breathe easy. Loud. Confident.
Elias doesn’t move. “Get that,” he says.
I swallow, forcing my feet toward the door.
When I open it, three boys stand there. Smirking. Predators dressed in school uniforms.
And I know their faces.
They’re the ones from the funeral.