Chapter One: Contained.
I didn’t look at her. I didn’t need to. I could hear her shallow breaths, the sound of a girl whose world had just collapsed on the cold floor of the hallway. Around her, my ‘friends’ were laughing—a sound like breaking glass. To them, this was a game. To her, it was a nightmare.
I lingered at the back, my usual spot, the space I guarded so fiercely. As the group finally walked away, bored of their prey, I paused. I looked at the wall, not at her tear-stained face, and spoke in a voice as cold as the winter air:
‘Why don’t you speak? Are you so afraid of what they’ll do next? They won’t do shit.’
I didn’t wait for an answer. I walked toward the shadows where the others were waiting, unaware that today, the rules of our group had just begun to break.
But that was later. Before the breaking, there was the silence...
I sat back in my favorite chair, letting its familiar comfort settle around me. The warmth of my coffee seeped through the mug as I took a slow, deliberate sip. From my balcony, I gazed out at the world beyond my room—a view painted in shifting shades of gray, with clouds hanging low and the chill of the air brushing my skin. It was the kind of day I loved most: cloudy, cold, and quietly beautiful.
I go by Vesper. That’s not my real name, just an alias I use. It suits me—fitting for someone who prefers to keep a piece of themselves hidden, even in moments like this.
My past is complicated—messy in ways I don’t always want to explain—but I refuse to let it define who I am now. I’m a student Vesperia Heights Academy. It sounds fancy, I know. Just to be clear, when I say my background is complicated, I don’t mean I’m broke. Either way, it was my brains that got me here, not my family’s money.
When I turned eighteen, I made a conscious choice: I wouldn’t use my family’s last name anymore. I want to do things my way, on my own terms. Not out of rebellion—out of relief.
There are seven of us at campus. My so-called friends. We don’t announce it, but everyone knows about us.
People sense it in the way conversations die when we enter a room. In the way footsteps hesitate in hallways. In the way eyes slide past us like we’re something sharp.
Since the very first day, we have shared a special bond. Our differences are what make our group unique and interesting. Each of us brings something distinct to the table, and together, we create a vibrant dynamic. Or perhaps a chaotic one.
I am usually the one who lingers at the back, quietly observing. Although we move together most of the time, there are moments when I choose to step away and spend time alone. It is not because I dislike their company; rather, sometimes I simply need space to be with my own thoughts. My friends understand and respect this about me.
They even have told me that, out of all of us, I am the most intimidating. This amuses me, because I believe I am actually the softest among them. Yet, to outsiders, I might appear cold, my gaze indifferent.
I wear black—it’s never felt like a choice so much as a constant. My leather jacket is second skin, worn enough to know my shape, heavy enough to remind me I’m real. I let my dark, wavy hair fall loose, unrestrained. Jewelry doesn’t matter to me—just a choker, nothing else. And I never leave without my boots. They’re scuffed and broken in, marked by late nights, empty hallways humming with music, and long walks through the city when my thoughts got too loud. They’re not just shoes. They’re armor.
I live by a simple rule: fuck it.
I don’t waste energy worrying about things I can’t control. Most of the time, I stay calm—even when everything inside me feels close to coming apart. It takes a lot to make me angry. Not because I don’t feel it, but because I do. And I don’t trust what might happen if I let it loose. I know my limits. I make sure I never cross them.
...
My days at Vesperia Heights Academy rarely go the way I plan. I wake up intending to keep my head down, stay invisible, avoid unnecessary drama. In a place like this, surrounded by people desperate to prove something, that kind of intention never lasts.
Even when I try to disappear into the background, attention finds us anyway.
There’s something about our group that pulls eyes without permission. Some people respect it. Others fear it. I’ve stopped caring which. Either way, it keeps distance intact, and distance is useful.
Loyalty runs deep between us—deeper than blood. That kind of bond doesn’t leave room for outsiders.
Still, I steal peace where I can find it. Quiet corners of the library. Empty stairwells. Late walks through the city when the lights blur and no one asks questions. In those moments, I remembered why I chose this path. Why I left a name and a past behind. It’s where I piece myself together, one thought at a time.
That day started like any other. Same classroom. Same routine. Nothing worth remembering.
Until the door opened.
A new girl stepped inside.
Her name was Elara—a name that suited her far too well. There was light in her, soft and unguarded, like she hadn’t yet learned how quickly that kind of thing draws attention. She stood at the front of the room with her hands twisting together, eyes scanning faces that had already decided what to do with her.
I noticed Onyx and Echo before I noticed myself watching.
Elara introduced herself in a quiet voice. Brown eyes. Brown hair. A pale blue dress that made her look even more out of place among black jackets and sharp stares. She was nervous in a way that didn’t try to hide itself.
I smiled before I realized I had.
By the time class ended, the room emptied faster than usual. Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Students took one look at Onyx and Echo moving toward Elara and decided they had somewhere else to be.
They always do.
Soon, it was just us.
