River's POV
I was supposed to lay low. Keep my head down and mind my business.
But no.
I had to talk back to the most feared student's fiance, thereby drawing everyone's attention straight to myself.
My nerves felt like a tape being pulled out of an old cassette as I jogged back toward the orientation hall, even though it wasn't yet time for another dosage of my suppressant. My pulse was loud in my ears, my hands clammy despite the cold air.
I'd left Cass behind in the cafeteria, his face still frozen between awe and panic, and sprinted to the nearest restroom to calm my nerves – but it didn't work. Splashing water on my face only made my reflection look more anxious.
You're fine. You didn't do anything wrong, I told myself. But the problem with lying to yourself is, you always know when you're doing it.
Taking a deep breath, I scanned the crowd outside the Pavilion for Cassian. The sea of uniforms made it hard to spot anyone. No luck.
I frowned and stepped inside, half expecting him to pop up from behind one of the benches, waving his usual easy grin. But the hall was filled with new faces — all freshmen, all still buzzing from orientation.
Cassian wasn't here.
It took me a second to realize why. Of course.
The second years were gone. They weren't required to attend the rest of the orientation.
I dragged a hand through my hair and exhaled slowly, trying to calm the nerves still crawling under my skin from the cafeteria. The memory of that confrontation — of Raina's shocked face and the silence that followed — kept replaying in my mind.
And worse, that look Micah had given me.
Cold. Assessing. Like he already knew too much.
Whispers floated around the room as I made my way to an empty seat near the aisle.
"That's him, right?" someone murmured.
"The new guy who talked back to Raina?"
"Crazy. Does he even know who she's engaged to?"
I stared ahead, pretending I didn't hear any of it. I just needed this day to end without any more drama.
Then a sharp static sound echoed through the hall's speakers, making a few students flinch. The microphone whined, then settled. A familiar voice followed, firm and authoritative.
"Settle down, everyone." Professor Nyx commanded as she walked onto the stage. "We'll continue where we left off."
The hall obeyed instantly. The room that had been filled with murmurs seconds ago now felt suffocatingly quiet.
She stood on the central stage, sharp-featured and perfectly composed, her dark coat brushing against the polished floor as she moved.
"I trust everyone has found their way here without issue," she said, scanning the crowd. Her eyes lingered on me for half a second before moving on. I couldn't tell if that was good or bad.
"As I mentioned earlier," she continued, "today marks the start of your foundation year at Stormridge Academy. And the formal division of your studies. From this point forward, each of you will specialize in one of the three departments we run. Each department builds a different strength, yet all are vital to your success here at Stormridge."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Professor Nyx gestured toward the stage wings. "To explain further, I'll invite Master Nathan — head instructor for the first-year orientation."
Heavy footsteps echoed as a man emerged from the side. His presence filled the space before he even spoke.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with streaks of silver in his dark hair. His sharp eyes and scarred knuckles gave away the kind of teacher who'd rather throw you into a fight than lecture about one.
"Thank you, Professor Nyx," he said, nodding his head once as he collected the microphone. His voice was low and gravelly.
"Stormridge runs on three pillars," he said. "Strategy. Leadership. Combat. Every Alpha must be trained in all three, but your chosen department will define your area of specialization."
He began pacing slowly, his boots clicking against the marble floor.
"Strategy is clearly for those who use their minds as their weapon. Leadership, for those who can command loyalty and control chaos. While Combat, for those who fight to protect or to dominate.
"I believe each of you knows the extent of your abilities. So I want you to choose one now. But understand this — specialization does not mean exclusion. You will train across all three fields, just at different intensities."
He paused, letting the words settle. Then he pointed toward the wide space ahead of the stage where three large banners hung — STRATEGY, LEADERSHIP, and COMBAT.
"Form your lines beneath the banner of your choice. Do it quickly."
The students began moving immediately, shuffling into lines, bumping into each other and whispering along the way.
Without hesitation, I left my seat to join the Strategy line which was the best option for me. Since Combat and Leadership were out of the question. I had no interest in proving my strength against raging Alphas who would probably snap my spine in the twinkle of an eye. Or controlling a body of people whose pheromones could swallow me whole.
Once the lines were settled, Master Nathan spoke again. "Good. Now that you've chosen, I will introduce your senior mentors. Each of these individuals is a final-year student chosen for their excellence and discipline. They are examples of what Stormridge expects from its Alphas. For the duration of this term, they will act as your student instructors."
The hall erupted in whispers again, excitement replacing tension as students giggled until Master Nathan's sharp "Silence!" cut through the air.
Immediately, the hall stilled. Then he turned slightly, gesturing toward three figures stepping onto the stage.
The first person was a tall and lean guy, with sharp features and a calm, unreadable expression. His hands were tucked into his pockets, posture loose, but his eyes missed nothing.
"This," Nathan said, "is Donovan Vexler, your Strategy mentor."
Donovan gave a small nod, scanning our line with a detached sort of disinterest. His eyes lingered briefly on me before moving on.
"Representing Leadership, we have Leah Creed," Master Nathan went on.
An elegant and confident lady stepped forward with an almost predatory grace. Her aurburn hair shimmered under the light as she regarded the hall with quiet authority. She looked like she'd been born to lead.
"And finally, Combat. Micah Corvinus."
My stomach tightened.
Micah. Of course. What did I expect from a top student?
Micah stepped out from the shadows, tall and effortlessly commanding, his green eyes cutting through the crowd like a blade. He didn't smile. He didn't need to. His presence alone demanded silence.
Although he wasn't looking in my direction, still it felt like the air around me tinned.
"These three," Master Nathan said, "will report directly to me and Professor Nyx. You'll follow their instructions as if they were my own. Understood?"
A chorus of "Yes, Master Nathan!" echoed through the hall.
"Good," he said, giving a curt nod. "You will meet your mentors again tomorrow during practical induction. Until then, remain in your chosen groups and await your schedule forms."
The microphone clicked off, and Master Nathan left the stage, saying goodbye and leaving us with our mentors. The serious part of the session was over, and students began talking softly and moving around their designated banner.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Maybe I could slip away, find Cassian, and—
"Strategy line. Form up. Now."
The voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise with effortless authority. My head snapped up.
Donovan Vexler stood at the front of our group, a stack of datapads in his hand. His gaze was cool and assessing as it swept over us.
I'll be distributing your preliminary training schedules," he said, his tone bored. "When I call your name, step forward."
He began reading names alphabetically. With each one, my pulse hammered a little harder. Soon it reached my turn.
"River Ashford."
I stepped forward, my movements a little stiff.
Donovan held out a datapad. As I reached for it, his fingers didn't immediately release it. His gray eyes crinkled at the corners as they locked onto mine.
"My father always says it's the quiet ones you have to watch," he said, his tone light but his stare anything but that. " I guess he was right. Nice to finally meet the most popular freshman. I'm really glad you're under my mentorship. That has really saved me a lot of energy."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping so only I could hear. "A word of advice, Ashford. Be careful. Micah Corvinus doesn't like sharing the spotlight." A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. "And he really doesn't like when people touch his things."
He released the datapad, his grin widening just enough to be unsettling. "See you tomorrow."
I blinked, momentarily frozen, then turned away, my stomach twisting. His words replayed in my head like an echo that wouldn't fade.
As I walked back toward my dorm, I tilted my head slightly, frowning.
Why did it feel like he wasn't warning me about Micah at all but about himself?