If Seraphina Cole had known her new school sat on cursed ground, she might've stayed on the train and vanished into the city forever.
The final stop hissed as the subway doors creaked open. The screeching sound echoed through the dim tunnel, but no one else stepped out. Just her—with a duffle bag, a letter, and a name she wasn't sure belonged to her anymore.
Empire High for the Gifted. Orientation: October 1st. Attendance is non-negotiable.
The wax seal had melted under her fingertips a dozen times from how often she touched it—like her thumb needed to prove it was real. The paper was too thick for any normal school. The signature at the bottom read: Headmaster Aurelius Thorn.
She hadn't applied. She hadn't even heard of the school until the day after her mom disappeared.
Three months ago.
One moment, her mother was sipping tea in the kitchen. The next—gone. Not a trace. Not a call. No body. Just her mother's locket left on the bed, cracked open, showing a tiny photograph Sera didn't recognize. A man with eyes like hers.
Sera climbed the cracked stone steps from the underground and found herself face-to-face with it.
Empire High.
It stood like a defiant monument to secrets in the heart of Manhattan. A towering campus hidden behind wrought-iron gates and illusion spells so deep, most New Yorkers walked past it without seeing a thing. Ivy slithered up its stone walls, and gargoyles perched in each corner of its spires. Some looked down at her. Others didn't. One of them blinked.
She clutched her duffel tighter and approached the gate. A gust of cold wind slashed through her hoodie and wrapped around her ankles like invisible vines.
A voice behind her cut through the air like a blade. "You're late."
Sera turned sharply.
A boy leaned against the brick column beside the gate. Tall. Lean. Raven-haired. Dressed in the school's uniform—black coat over a dark gray turtleneck, with a silver emblem stitched across his chest. His eyes were a stormy gray, almost silver, too sharp for seventeen.
"You're not the welcoming committee, are you?" she asked.
"Elijah Crane," he said, straightening. "Assigned to escort you in. Don't worry, I volunteered."
"Oh. Sweet of you."
"Don't mistake curiosity for kindness," he replied dryly, already walking.
Sera raised an eyebrow and followed, trailing behind his long strides. The gates creaked open at their presence. No one touched them.
Beyond the fence, the courtyard stretched in every direction—ancient cobblestone paths, twisted trees with red-orange leaves, and statues that seemed almost too detailed to be carved by human hands. The school loomed ahead like a cathedral ripped from another world.
"This place feels like a museum got cursed," she muttered.
"It was cursed," Elijah replied without turning. "Twice, actually."
She laughed nervously. "Right."
But he didn't smile.
"Wait—you're serious?"
He paused, letting her catch up. "Empire High trains the gifted, but it was built atop something older. A sanctum from the 1800s, destroyed in a magical duel between two bloodlines. The curse didn't die with them."
She blinked. "And they thought building a high school on top was a good idea?"
"It's New York. We build Starbucks over cemeteries."
Something moved along the edge of her vision. A shadow—too quick, too fluid. She whipped around, but there was only a lamp post.
Elijah noticed. "They've already marked you."
"Who?"
He didn't answer. Just kept walking.
Inside, the air shifted. Warm, thick, like honey poured over bookshelves. The scent of wax, parchment, and cinnamon hung in the air, cut by a low hum—magic. Not loud. Just present. Like a second heart beating underneath the floorboards.
The grand foyer was breathtaking. Vaulted ceilings, stained-glass windows depicting elemental forces—fire, water, earth, wind—and a massive chandelier suspended by invisible wires. Portraits of past headmasters lined the walls. One of them turned its head and followed her.
No one mentioned it.
Sera slowed near a display case filled with cracked wands, runed daggers, and a single red ribbon pinned behind glass with a brass plate:
THE LAST SHADOWBOUND
Est. 1921. Reclaimed, but not broken.
Elijah's voice lowered behind her. "She didn't survive."
"Who was she?"
"A student like you. Marked by the curse. Her shadow turned on her before graduation. They say it devoured her soul during the lunar eclipse."
Sera took a shaky breath. "And what does that have to do with me?"
He looked at her, too closely. "You've felt it, haven't you? The pull. The cold in empty rooms. The dreams."
Her mouth dried.
"You're next."
The dream returned, sudden and sharp. The girl with black eyes. Her voice like smoke.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He said nothing, just stared at her shadow—how it stretched behind her, just a bit longer than it should have in the light.
They passed through a long corridor lined with floating candles and bronze doors carved with sigils. Students milled about, dressed in variations of the same uniform. All wore silver pins on their collars in different shapes—a flame, a leaf, a drop of water, a star.
"House symbols," Elijah explained. "Elemental affinities. Fire. Earth. Water. Aether."
"What about you?"
He held up his pin. It shimmered like smoke. "Shadow."
She frowned. "That doesn't sound comforting."
"It's not."
Before she could ask more, a bell rang—deep, ancient, like it came from beneath the ground. The air pulsed. Every candle flickered.
All students froze, then bowed their heads in silence.
Sera turned to Elijah. "What just happened?"
He stared at the chandelier above. "The Bell of the Bound tolls once a day. For those lost to the curse."
The silence lasted seven beats.
Then everyone resumed like nothing had happened.
Elijah led her up a spiral staircase to the East Wing, then stopped at a tall black door with her name already carved on the bronze plate.
"Your room," he said. "Third-floor dormitory. Girls on this side. Boys across the garden path."
Before he left, she asked, "Why me? Why was I chosen?"
He turned slowly, eyes softer than before. "Some say the curse chooses randomly. Others say it's inherited."
"My mom—"
"—disappeared. I know."
She stepped back, chilled. "How do you know that?"
He didn't reply.
Just walked away, his coat brushing the stone like a whisper.
Inside her dorm, the air was cooler. Cleaner. The bed had black sheets. A window overlooked the city skyline, but the lights outside didn't reach in.
She dropped her bag, sat on the bed, and opened the locket around her neck.
Her mom's photo was still there. But the man next to her—his face had changed.
He had Elijah's eyes.
Before she could react, the mirror above her desk shimmered.
A crack formed across the glass.
Then a voice—whispered, clear, cold.
"You're next."