Chapter 94: Fresh Starts and Fake IDs

The first morning at Northridge University was chaos. Not the kind I was used to—blood, claws, fire—but a different kind. The kind where hallways smelled like burnt coffee and cheap perfume, where students carried stacks of books that looked ready to collapse, and where the loudspeaker blared announcements no one listened to.

And somehow, we had to blend into it.

“Okay,” Ethan said as we all stood awkwardly in the student commons, pretending to check the map on the wall. “Rule number one of undercover college life: act casual. Don’t stare at people like you’re hunting them. Don’t sharpen your knives in public. Don’t—”

He stopped and turned slowly. “Elena. Is that a throwing knife in your back pocket?”

Elena rolled her eyes and yanked her hoodie lower to cover it. “Relax. It’s college. Everyone’s carrying something illegal.”

“That’s not how college works,” Ethan hissed.

“That’s how my college works,” Elena shot back.

I sighed. “Can you two at least argue somewhere quieter? We’re already sticking out.”

Rhea was the only one who didn’t look nervous. She sat on the edge of a bench, staring at the stream of students filing past. Her eyes tracked every move, every laugh, every shove. “They’re so loud,” she whispered. “How do they learn anything like this?”

Echo stood behind her, arms crossed. “By ignoring most of it.”

“Good advice,” Aidan murmured, glancing at me. His eyes softened, like he could see the weight pressing down on me. I tried to smile back, but my stomach was still knotted.

I had faced Gregory, Ravenna, hunters, hybrids, even shadows of myself. And yet somehow, stepping into a college hallway felt just as terrifying.

\---

Our first class was Sociology 201.

Which, of course, I was signed up for.

I clutched my new student ID like it might burn a hole in my hand. The name “Roxanne Devlin” looked so ordinary on the plastic, so far from everything else I’d been called. Luna. Hybrid. Harbinger. Alpha. And now… sophomore sociology major.

The classroom was buzzing with chatter when we walked in. A dozen students scattered across rows of desks, some scrolling on their phones, others scribbling in notebooks. The professor hadn’t arrived yet.

“Act normal,” Ethan whispered again.

“Define normal,” Elena whispered back.

“Not you,” he muttered.

We split up, trying to avoid looking like a suspicious clump of new transfers. Rhea sat near the back, Echo near the window, Aidan beside me. Elena plopped herself in the front row, legs kicked out, daring anyone to notice her. Ethan ended up somewhere in the middle, already pulling out his laptop.

A girl with curly hair leaned toward me. “New here?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Transfer.”

“Cool.” She smiled, chewing gum. “I’m Jess. What’s your major?”

“Sociology,” I said quickly.

“Same.” She grinned. “Professor Carrow’s chill. Just don’t bring up politics. He’ll talk for hours.”

I nodded, forcing a smile. For once, I wasn’t trying to interrogate someone. I was just… talking. Like a normal student. It felt strange, like wearing shoes that didn’t quite fit.

Beside me, Aidan leaned back in his chair, whispering, “You’re good at this.”

“At what?” I murmured.

“Pretending,” he said.

I didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment.

\---

Meanwhile, Elena had already made an impression.

The professor, a tall man with glasses sliding down his nose, walked in and set down a pile of papers. “All right, class. Let’s begin with introductions. Name, major, something about yourself.”

When it was Elena’s turn, she grinned like a cat. “Elena Grant. Psych major. Something about me? I can hit a moving target from a hundred yards away.”

The class laughed.

The professor raised a brow. “Do I want to know how you discovered that talent?”

“Field trip,” Elena said sweetly.

Ethan, two rows back, groaned into his hands.

\---

By lunchtime, we’d survived our first few classes without blowing our cover. But “survived” didn’t mean it was easy.

We gathered at one of the outdoor tables, trays of cafeteria food in front of us. Rhea poked suspiciously at a pile of fries. “Are these… edible?”

“They’re potatoes,” Ethan said.

“They don’t look like potatoes.”

“They’re fried potatoes.”

Rhea frowned. “Then why do they taste like cardboard?”

“Because it’s college,” Elena answered, already on her second burger.

I leaned closer to Ethan. “Any luck with The Circle?”

He lowered his voice. “I got into their mailing list. It’s small. Exclusive. They meet off-campus in some old fraternity house. Next gathering is tomorrow night.”

“Invitation only,” Echo added.

“Which means we need to find a way in,” Aidan said.

Elena leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Leave that to me. If there’s a secret college party full of cult wannabes, I’ll get us in.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Without stabbing anyone, right?”

She smirked. “No promises.”

I sat back, the chatter of the campus buzzing around us. For a second, it almost felt real—like we were just another group of students complaining about food and planning a night out.

But beneath it all, the shadow of The Circle loomed.

And tomorrow night, we’d step into it.