Chapter 2 Morning Realizations (Vivienne POV)
I wake up with a gasp, my heart pounding against my ribs as if it is trying to escape. The dream clings to me, with silver eyes, moonlit woodlands, and the impression of sprinting on four legs rather than two. But the most distinct memory is of a voice calling me "little wolf" in tones so familiar that they hurt my chest.
"Morning, sunshine!" Sophie's joyful voice breaks through my bewilderment. She's already dressed and made her bed. "You tossed and turned all night. Bad dreams?"
"Something like that." I sit up and run my fingers through my knotted hair.
"First day nerves," Sophie explains sympathetically. "Completely normal. I didn't sleep much throughout my first week here."
But this is not typical.
I check my phone. Father sent a text message at 5:47 a.m. saying, "Remember what I taught you." Trust your intuition. Stay vigilant.
What if he is right? What if there is actually anything dangerous here?
"Come on," Sophie replies, taking her backpack. "Breakfast finishes in twenty minutes, and you do not want to start your first day of lessons hungry."
The dining hall is less busy than last night, with largely early risers getting coffee and pastries before first period.
The football team's table is vacant save for one member.
Declan sits alone, holding a cup of coffee and an untouched muffin, gazing out the window at the moors beyond the university.
"He's been there since six," Sophie tells me, following my gaze. "Sarah from down the corridor provides breakfast service. She said he comes in early every morning, sits alone, and seldom eats anything.
"That's... sad."
"Or mysterious." "Some girls go crazy for the strong, silent type." Sophie nudges me with her elbow. "Not that I'm suggesting anything."
Heat creeps up my neck. "I don't even know him."
"Yet." Sophie grinned. "But really, Vivienne, he couldn't stop looking at you last night. That is not regular for him."
Before I can react, Declan's head shifts towards us. Our gazes meet across the dining hall, and the electric energy from yesterday smacks into me.
He stands abruptly, leaving his untouched breakfast behind, and walks for the exit. But he does not glance away from me until the doors close behind him.
"Okay," Sophie says softly. "That was definitely odd."
My first lesson is British History with Mr. Patterson in Room 204.
Students stream in as the bell rings, and I'm beginning to relax when the door opens and Declan walks in.
Of course, he's in my classroom.
When he sees me, he freezes in the doorway and tightens his jaw. For a moment, I believe he may turn around and leave. Instead, he goes to a desk in the back corner, as far away from me as possible.
"Good morning, class," Mr. Patterson says as he enters with an armload of papers. "I hope you're all prepared to discuss the Highland Clearances, because we have considerable ground to cover."
But I can't concentrate on Scottish history while Declan's attention feels like a physical force pressing against my skin.
"Mr. Hartley," Mr. Patterson says abruptly. "Perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts on the Clearances with the class, since you seem more interested in our new student than the lesson?"
Several students snicker. My cheeks are burning.
"I apologize, Mr. Patterson. Could you just repeat the question?
"I asked about the impact of the Highland Clearances on indigenous Scottish communities."
Declan says, "Devastating," without hesitation. "Entire communities were displaced or destroyed. Their native lands were confiscated and removed to make way for sheep farming. Families who had lived there for centuries were forced away with no concern for their survival."
The venom in his voice draws my attention. There's a genuine anger there, as if he's talking about something personal rather than eighteenth-century history.
"Very good," Mr. Patterson remarks, looking slightly astonished by the enthusiastic response. "Can anyone elaborate on the specific policies that led to these displacements?"
The lecture continues, but I'm acutely aware of Declan behind me. I can feel his gaze on the back of my neck, intense and unyielding.
When class finishes, I immediately gather my books, trying to avoid another awkward situation. But, as I approach the doorway, a familiar voice stops me.
"Vivienne."
I turn around, and he's right there, close enough that I can see how his gray eyes have amber specks that catch the sun.
"I'm Declan," he adds, despite the fact that we both know what his name is.
"I understand. Mr. Patterson mentioned your name." God, I sound like an idiot.
"You're new here."
"Yes. "I just transferred yesterday." My heart is fluttering again.
"From where?"
"The Lake District." Close to the truth. "My father's work moves us around quite a bit."
"What kind of work?"
"Research. Wildlife patterns and... behavioral studies." Close enough to the truth.
"Wildlife." He says it as if he were tasting and testing the word. "Dangerous work, depending on what kind of wildlife."
Something about his tone makes my skin tingle. "Not really. Father is very careful."
"I'm sure he is." Declan walks by me and into the corridor, his shoulder almost touching mine. The brief proximity causes my breath to catch.
Then he's gone, leaving me standing at the doorway, perplexed and terribly bereft.
Weird.
Freya discovers me in the garden eating a sandwich at lunchtime.
"Mind if I sit?" she asks, without waiting for an answer before seating down on the bench near me.
"Of course not."
"You look troubled."
"Just thinking."
"About Declan Hartley, by any chance?"
I almost choked on my lunch. "Why would you say that?
"Because half the school witnessed him cornering you following Patterson's lesson. And because you've been staring at nothing for ten minutes with that shell-shocked expression that comes when you realize the world isn't what you thought it was."
"I don't know what you mean."
Freya leans back against the bench and looks at me with those knowing eyes. "My grandma used to tell stories of people who could perceive things that others couldn't. She stated that they were either blessed or cursed, depending on your perspective.
"Your grandmother sounds like she had quite an imagination."
"Perhaps. Perhaps she knew something that the rest of us had forgotten." Freya stands, carrying her bag. "Either way, Vivienne, I'd be careful if I were you."
"Careful of what?"
"Of trusting what you believe you know about the world. Sometimes the reality is stranger than we are willing to admit. She pauses. "And sometimes the most dangerous things are the ones that call to something deep inside us."
She walks away, leaving me alone with my half-eaten sandwich and the growing conviction that everyone at Blackthorn Academy knows something I don't.
That evening, I called Father from my room while Sophie was at the library.
"How was your first full day?" he inquires promptly.
"Fine. I made it through all of my lessons. Teachers appear competent.
"Good. Are there any problems? "Is anyone making you uncomfortable?"
I recall Declan's focused glare, Freya's warnings, and how the other football players looked at me in the dining hall as if I were something they'd been waiting for.
"No problems," I lie.
"Good, girl. Remember, Vivienne, if something feels off..."
"I understand, Father. "I'll be careful."