Dream Academy: No Way Out

I pull open my bedroom curtains, and golden sunlight spills across the room, casting a warm glow on the polished floors. But the moment my bare feet touch the surface, a shiver runs up my spine. I yelp, quickly grabbing my socks from where I left them, nearly toppling over as I slip them on.

The chill jolts me awake, and last night's events flood my mind—the grueling challenge, Marquise’s sharp words, and the tense conversation I had with Sophia about people’s expectations.

I freeze, my stomach flipping. Before I can process it, a soft knock startles me. I swing the door open and nearly jump out of my socks. Standing there, with a warm smile and a neatly pressed uniform, is a young woman who looks to be in her twenties. She carries a fresh set of performance attire, pristine and ready for the day.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Manon,” she says. “Miss Sophia asked me to bring your schedule for the day. And I’ve also brought morning tea with fresh pastries—figured you might need the energy.” Her gaze sweeps over me, not with the cold scrutiny of the trainors, but with quiet curiosity.

I place a hand over my chest, trying to steady my breath. “No, no. It’s not you. I just didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

She gives a quick, elegant nod. “I’m Irene, your and Miss Sophia’s assistant. If you need anything, just let me know,” she adds with a slight Italian accent. She steps inside, carefully placing the outfit over the bench by the window.

Irene. There’s something light and untamed about her energy, like a performer who thrives under the stage lights.

“Thank you,” I say, watching as she smooths out the fabric of my outfit. “You really don’t have to—um, I mean—I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem,” she says, flashing a bright smile before heading back to the common area.

I follow her out, where Sophia is already seated near the window, effortlessly radiant as she flips through sheet music. The scent of warm pastries makes my stomach growl, and for a moment, the tension from last night melts away.

“Oh my god, Irene, you just saved my entire morning,” I say, eyes wide with gratitude.

I slide into my seat, placing my napkin on my lap with excitement.

“I got you the freshest croissant,” Irene says proudly. “Snatched it right as the chef took it out of the oven.”

I break off a piece, and warm steam escapes into the cool morning air. “You might be my new favorite person.”

“Thank you,” Sophia interjects crisply before Irene can respond, her tone making it clear that it’s time for Irene to leave.

“Yes, thank you!” I add, spreading a generous amount of butter onto my pastry.

The door clicks shut, and Sophia watches me with narrowed eyes.

“What?” I ask through a bite.

She sips her tea. “Are you always that friendly with people you barely know?”

“Actually… yeah,” I say. I could tell her she sounds like my dad whenever he warns me about being too trusting, but that would be violating rule number one—don’t let anyone know your weaknesses.

“Well, don’t be,” she says simply.

I wipe my mouth and glance at her. “Irene seems sweet. And don’t you think it sucks to be running around after a bunch of stressed-out trainees, in a high-pressure academy where people are constantly fighting for the spotlight? A little kindness wouldn’t hurt.”

Sophia pauses like she’s studying me. “Everyone in this industry works their way up in one way or another, Manon. No one gets a pass. And besides, Irene won’t be here forever unless she chooses to be.”

I stop mid-bite, something about her words making my skin prickle. “Wait, so Irene’s part of the academy too?” I try to sound casual.

“Yes. Everyone here is—trainers, vocal coaches, choreographers, even the staff handling our schedules and meals. You didn’t think they’d let just anyone into a place like this, did you?” She raises an eyebrow.

“No, I guess not,” I say, though my mind races. If she’s claiming everyone here is handpicked for a reason, where does that leave me? I pour myself some tea, trying to figure out how to ask the right questions without giving myself away. “I noticed there’s barely any talk about social media strategy or digital branding here.” Star power in the modern era relies on that. “Why is that?”

Sophia shrugs. “Waste of time. We only get a few years here to train. We can learn that stuff later. Besides, every top artist has a team to handle their image. What matters is what you do onstage.”

Specialized teams, carefully curated talent, an industry that functions almost like its own world… This academy is more than just a training ground—it’s a system, self-sustaining and designed to create the next global stars.

Sophia gives me an expectant look. “Now hurry up and finish your tea. We’re meeting Dani in the practice room.”

“Do we need to bring lyric sheets or something for class?” I ask as we descend the staircase. Yesterday was a whirlwind—campus tours, skill assessments, and sitting in on different training sessions—but we never actually participated in one.

Sophia shakes her head. “With the exception of music theory, most of the advanced trainees don’t use books or take notes. We learn by doing.”

I follow her through the sleek glass foyer and into the open-air rehearsal space. “What does that mean?”

“Why do you keep asking me what things mean?” she says, still wearing the same suspicious look she gave me over breakfast. “I wouldn’t do that in front of the others if I were you.”

I match her quick steps, the tension from yesterday still lingering. Ever since I sat with Lara at lunch, Sophia’s demeanor has been cooler, more reserved.

Before I can respond, we step onto the performance deck and nearly walk straight into two girls deep in conversation. One of them is the charismatic dancer with platinum hair—the same one who winked at me yesterday. Her friend is TALL, her voice smooth and accented. But unlike her friend, the girl with platinum hair doesn’t exude the same effortless confidence. There’s an unspoken imbalance of power between them, even as they stand side by side.

“So, it’s the new girl,” the platinum-haired dancer says, flashing a grin. Her accent makes her words sound teasing, like she’s always on stage, always performing.

Her friend crosses her arms. “You’re not going to introduce us, Sophia? Where are your manners?” Her voice has a lilting German tone.

“Emily,” Sophia says, gesturing toward the platinum-haired one, then turns to the German-accented guy. “And Adela. This is Manon.” Her tone is flat, like she’s reading a script she’s not particularly interested in. Great. I’m an afterthought.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Emily says with a theatrical bow, but there’s something rehearsed about her charm. She’s nothing like Daniela, who assesses people with quiet precision—Emily’s energy feels like a carefully crafted persona. A lure. “Are you enjoying your first few days at Hell Academy?”

“Hell Academy?” I smirk. “Clever. Well, I’ll say this—the meals are fantastic… when they’re not serving a side of anxiety.”

Adela laughs, but it’s slow, calculated, like we’re all playing a game where I don’t know the rules. I glance at Sophia for guidance, but her face remains unreadable. Still, the stiffness in her posture tells me she’d rather be anywhere but here. If she’s not walking away, that means she can’t.

“Oh, great. The headliners and the underdogs, actually speaking to each other,” Lara says, her British accent sharp as she approaches with Yoonchae at her side. “What is the world coming to?”

“It’s a world where you’re irrelevant, Lara,” Emily replies, her tone light, but laced with something colder beneath the surface.

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Lara retorts, turning away, but Yoonchae gently touches her arm—a silent cue to let it go.

I study Emily and Adela more closely. There’s a dynamic here I don’t fully understand. Sophia’s on edge, and Yoonchae doesn’t want Lara escalating things.

But of course, Lara turns back just before stepping inside. “I don’t matter to you, Emily? However will I go on?”

“Maybe you won’t,” Adela replies, and unlike Emily, her words hold no pretense.

Lara rolls her eyes and walks off like it’s nothing, but Yoonchae frowns.

Sophia doesn’t waste the distraction. She’s already walking away, and I quickly follow.

“They’re all running from us,” Adela murmurs behind us, and the two of them laugh.

I glance over my shoulder before stepping inside the main building, and a chill creeps up my spine. Emily and Adela are staring right at me.

If getting on Lara’s bad side is dangerous, something tells me this is worse.

I look at Sophia with newfound appreciation. She might be guarded and a little too intense, but at least she doesn’t carry the same predatory energy as some of the others here.

“Sophia, about last night… what I said about you being right about Lara,” I say quietly.

Sophia’s gaze flickers across the rehearsal hall’s mirrored walls, scanning the space. The morning rush has settled, and for now, we’re alone.

I keep my voice low. “I just wanted to say that I’m still figuring things out here. And yeah, I probably ask too many questions. But I’m going to do my best to keep up. I get why you thought I was being reckless. And… my loyalty is to you. One hundred percent.”

I mentally wince, remembering what Daniela said about me being impulsively loyal. But this is who I am. I don’t turn my back on my friends, even the ones I’ve only just made.

Sophia studies me, and for a split second, I think I see something unguarded in her expression. A crack in the tough exterior.

“I just want you to know that I am listening,” I add. “And I appreciate you taking the time to explain everything.”

She gives me a quick nod, and I can already tell that some of the tension in her shoulders has eased.

We head toward the dining hall in silence. Then, casually, she says, “Dani told me what happened with Karlee and the fork,” and steals a glance at me.

I smile. I know an acceptance of an apology when I hear one. I step closer to her, lowering my voice. “What are the chances that Karlee knew about the search last night?”

“I want to say she did,” she answers. “Because the timing is suspicious, and if there’s one thing we’re not, it’s random. But the only way she could’ve known is if a staff tipped her off, which is strictly against the rules. Unless she overheard something she wasn’t supposed to. I just don’t know.”

I nod. “What about Yoonchae? How does she fit into this whole thing with Lara and Karlee?”

“Yoonchae is Lara’s roommate,” Sophia says, pausing just outside the dining hall doors. “She’s also one of the best performers in this entire academy, but she doesn’t talk to anyone except Lara and Karlee—mostly Lara. And she’s probably right not to.”

I want to ask what she means by that, but before I can, she pushes open the door and walks inside.

Breakfast at the academy is nothing like lunch or dinner. It’s almost relaxed. Trainees gather in groups, chatting over fruit and coffee, and there’s even some light laughter—which I now realize is probably because the producers aren’t here yet.

As we weave through the tables, I notice two girls watching us approach. One has black hair and a sharp jawline, the other has long pink hair and an easy smirk. They exchange a few words, and it’s obvious I’m the topic of conversation.

Just as we pass, the black-haired girl pushes her chair back, and it slams into my leg. Across the table, her pink-haired friend smirks.

“Ow. Watch it,” I say, rubbing my shin.

The black-haired girl stands, and she’s at least two inches taller than me. “Not my problem if your reflexes are bad,” she says, her American accent smooth but just shy of threatening.

Sophia must hear it, too, because she looks between me and her like she’s trying to figure something out. Then, with complete calm, she says, “And it’s not her problem that you’re too fidgety for these chairs, Megan.”

My jaw drops. Sophia barely said a word to Lara, Emily, or Adela, but this is where she decides to throw attitude?

Megan, I think. Welsh for “pearl” or, in this case, huge pain in my ass.

She lifts a playful eyebrow at Sophia, but when her gaze lands back on me, it’s anything but friendly. There’s something sharp in her expression, something knowing—like she’s figured something out about me before I’ve even had the chance to prove myself.

“You’re lucky you’re with Sophia,” she says.

“That, I know,” I reply lightly, catching a flicker of approval in Sophia’s eyes.

As she walks past me, her shoulder slams into mine—hard enough that I stumble back.

“She’s all talk,” Sophia says.

“Sure,” I mutter, watching Megan disappear into the crowd of trainees. “But what’s her problem?”

I turn back to Sophia, but she’s already moving, and I have to quicken my pace to keep up.

“Everyone’s testing you,” she says. “Give it a couple of months.”

She stops at a chair across from her sister, who, as always, is unreadable. I let out a slow breath. Months? No way. I remember what Daniela said about no one leaving for the holidays, and my uneasy feeling deepens. I suddenly need air, space—somewhere to just think.

“Is there a bathroom down here?” I ask Sophia.

“Through the door to the right.”

I nod and make my way back between the tables, keeping my gaze down, careful not to give anyone else a reason to test me. I’ve never felt like this before. My hometown is friendly. My old school is friendly. There probably isn’t a person in my hometown that I don’t know by name, address, and go-to karaoke song.

I slip into the quiet hallway, walking a little farther from the dining hall entrance. Leaning my back against the wall, I close my eyes. This is the first time I haven’t wanted to be in the center of things. The first time I’ve felt like maybe blending in wouldn’t be the worst idea.

I could go outside, sit in the garden for a minute. No, that would take too long. And Sophia would probably think I was throwing off her whole schedule.

A door creaks.

My eyes snap open.

“Shit,” I whisper.

Megan steps out from what I can only assume is the bathroom. Her expression darkens the second she sees me. Great. She probably thinks I followed her, and denying it will only make me look guiltier.

“You look like her,” she mutters, voice low enough that the security guard down the hall won’t hear.

My heart skips a beat.

I have no idea who her is. The only person I’ve ever been compared to is my mom—Dad always says I look exactly like her. But how would Megan know that?

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” My voice stays steady, neutral. I channel Sophia’s calm, repeating her words in my head: She’s just testing me.

Megan studies my face like she’s searching for something—hesitation, denial? Whatever it is, she doesn’t find it.

“You’re an idiot for coming here,” she says. “And even more of one for following me into this hallway.”

My hands clench. “I didn’t—”

But before I can even finish my sentence, she’s already pushing me. Hard. Pain explodes across the back of my head as I slam into the wall, sliding to the floor.

For a second, all I hear is the blood rushing in my ears. My hands fly to my head, already pulsing with pain. The sharp sound of footsteps echoes against the marble floors—one of the academy’s security guards rushing over. My head isn’t bleeding, which at least makes me think it’s not broken, but the pain is unreal. Tears spill from my left eye before I can stop them.

Through the haze, I glance up at Megan. She’s completely unfazed. The guard has already grabbed her, restraining her arms behind her back, but she doesn’t resist.

A crowd spills into the hallway from the dining hall, voices murmuring, some excited, some stunned.

Sophia kneels beside me, gripping my arm to help me up. Her expression is unreadable, but I can see the question in her eyes—Are you okay? She doesn’t say a word. I steady myself against the wall, my head pounding like someone’s beating a drum inside it. I want to scream at Megan, but my throat is tight, and I know if I try, I’ll just end up angry-crying.

The crowd shifts, parting to let President Missy through. Her sharp eyes flick between Megan and me, like she’s assessing the scene, picking up every tiny detail in our body language.

“Down,” she commands, and the guard forces Megan to settle down.

Then, she turns to me. “Well, go ahead.”

There’s no Are you okay? No Let’s get you checked out. Just this—whatever this is.

I stare at her in disbelief. “Go ahead?”

“An eye for an eye,” Missy says smoothly. “Only, I didn’t expect it to be quite so soon.”

A sick feeling rises in my stomach. This isn’t just a high-stakes competition with cutthroat rules. The people here are actually vicious, even the ones who are supposed to enforce order.

“You want me to—what? Retaliate?” My voice wavers.

“Do it!” Lara calls out from the crowd, and I catch a glimpse of Emily’s white-blond hair. Her and Adela are watching closely, like this is a front-row show.

Missy lifts a hand, and Lara falls silent.

I look at Megan. She’s calm. Too calm. Like she’s already won whatever game she was playing.

“Uh… um,” I stammer, my brain still catching up.

“Well?” Missy prompts.

“I…” My stomach twists. “I’m not going to do it.”

The energy in the hallway shifts. I can feel the ripple of shock pass through the crowd.

I’ve never pushed anyone in my life, and I’m not about to start now—not over some ridiculous test.

Missy’s eyes narrow. “Do you think the rules don’t apply to you?”

“I didn’t say that. I just…” I swallow. “What will retaliating prove?”

And then it clicks.

“The real problem isn’t that I won’t retaliate. It’s that she pushed me in the first place.”

The words leave my mouth before I can fully process them, but I know I’m right. This whole academy runs on challenges, on tests—but if the system is this broken, then maybe debuting isn’t the point at all.

I want to tell her exactly what I think of this place, these trainees, this game. But my head is still spinning, my emotions are too high, and I can’t think straight enough to do it without sounding like I’m scared.

Even though, deep down, maybe I am.

Missy lifts her chin and raises her voice. “Apparently, Manon believes that retaliation is beneath her. So if any of you need to let off some steam, she’s an easy target. She won’t fight back.”

My breath catches. Did she just give everyone in this room permission to come after me?

Frustration wells in my chest, a lump forming in my throat. Now I know exactly what Dr. Randy meant when he warned me I might not last here. This isn’t just about competition—it’s about survival. I scan the crowd and lock eyes with Sophia. She frowns, but she doesn’t step in.

Megan hasn’t taken her gaze off me. She mutters, “Told you—you’re an idiot.”

Anger bubbles inside me. Anger that I got pushed, that I haven’t understood anything since stepping into this academy, that I’m even here in the first place. This is the most twisted, messed-up excuse for an artist training program I’ve ever seen.

“This is your only chance, Manon,” Missy says, like I don’t understand what she’s offering me.

I step forward. I can’t have people thinking they can walk all over me. There are already at least six onlookers who would love the chance to test me. But I also can’t believe I’m standing here, being encouraged to attack another trainee—by the president, no less. All I want to do is walk out of here, get on a plane, and fly straight back to Switzerland.

I pull back my arm, my fist shaking.

Megan laughs.

And that’s it. The only thing worse than being pushed for no reason is getting laughed at for it in front of everyone.

Screw this.

I step forward, shift my weight onto my left leg, and swing my right one back. Then, with everything I’ve got, I kick her in the shin.

Megan’s eyes widen. A grunt escapes her lips as she doubles over and drops to the floor on one knee.

Missy arches an eyebrow.

“I slipped,” I say, my voice edged with steel.

A flicker of amusement crosses her face. “Well, now you’re even.” She sweeps her gaze across the room. “There will not—and I repeat, there will not be retaliation later. This is it. You walk away with an even score.”

“Understood,” I say, even though I don’t.

And just like that, the tension shatters. The crowd shifts, murmuring, moving as if someone just flipped a switch.

“That was your third mark, Megan,” Missy says. “Meet me in my office after rehearsal.”

Megan slowly stands, and I instinctively take a step back.

“Come on,” Sophia murmurs. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

As we turn to leave, Megan stalks past me, and Daniela mutters something to her under her breath. I don’t catch it.

But I do catch the way she stiffens.

Later that night, I sit cross-legged on the floor of our living room, staring into the dim glow of the lamp. I gingerly press my fingertips to the back of my head. The ice pack the nurse made me keep on all day helped with the swelling. If people weren’t already talking about me, they definitely will be now.

I’ve made up my mind. Tomorrow, I’m finding a way to talk to the producers. There may not be phones allowed in here, but there has to be a way to contact my dad. There’s no chance he’d be okay with me staying in an academy where trainees can just attack me, and the people in charge think the answer is to fight back.

I glance at the sleek, digital clock on the wall: 11:54 p.m. Every instinct in me says sneaking out right now is a terrible idea. But I also just got pushed for reasons I don’t understand, and if I don’t meet Daniela, I may never figure out what’s really going on at this academy.

Sophia’s bedroom door creaks open for the first time all night. She’s barely spoken to me since dinner, and I can’t shake the feeling that she’s decided I’m a liability.

“I didn’t know she was going to do that,” she says quietly.

I turn toward her. “What do you mean?”

She hovers in the doorway but doesn’t step outside. “When I said Megan was all talk… I just want you to know I had no idea she would actually push you.”

My eyebrows knit together, and the movement made my head hurt even more. “I didn’t think you did.”

“Well, I didn’t,” she says, exhaling sharply.

I hesitate. “Do you know why she did it?”

She shakes her head, the light catching in the strands of her hair. “Anyway… good night.”

Before I can say another word, she disappears back into her room.

I stare at her closed door for a moment. In the short time I’ve known Sophia, I can already tell—that’s all the information I’m getting. Maybe it’s all she has.

11:59 p.m.

I drum my fingers against the floor, hesitate for half a second, and then push myself up. I’m not going to sit here and wait for someone else to blindside me. I’m going to get some answers.

I throw on my hoodie, pulling the drawstrings tight. It’s slightly oversized, but it’s black, and that’ll help me blend into the dim lighting of the hallways. Moving as quietly as possible, I lift the lock on the door, crack it open, and slip into the corridor.

The hallway is silent. Empty.

I take off, keeping close to the walls as I make my way toward the main exit. By the time I reach the stairs, my pulse is pounding so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear if anyone’s approaching.

I peer down the staircase. No movement. No sound.

I move quickly, pausing at the landing to listen for guards before slipping toward the side entrance that leads to the rooftop. My fingers brush against the cold metal railing as I peer around the edge of the doorway.

A guard stands directly in front of the exit. Damn it. Did they switch posts already?

I start to pull back—but the moment I shift, I bump into something solid.

Before I can react, a hand presses over my mouth, muffling my sharp intake of breath. My heart slams against my ribs as I’m spun around, panic flooding my body—until I register a familiar face in the darkness.

Daniela.

She’s so close I can smell the faint scent of lavender clinging to her hoodie. She holds a finger to her lips, then gestures toward the entrance.

We both look just as the guard pulls open the door—stepping straight into the rooftop we were supposed to meet in.

Daniela raises a hand, folding down her fingers one at a time. Five, four, three, two, one.

Then she moves—swift and silent—straight for the door at full speed. Oh, this is such a bad idea. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

Midway through the room, Daniela pauses and shoots me a pointed look. A demand. A move now kind of look.

Then—someone clears their throat from a flight of stairs above us.

Shit. Another security guard.

I bolt out of the stairwell so fast you’d think I was being chased. Daniela carefully opens the door, and we slip through just as the other guard steps into the very hallway we were standing in seconds ago.

Daniela grabs my shoulders and yanks me to a stop before I can take another step. I can’t see a thing. Not one thing. I hold my breath, forcing myself to stay completely still.

Then, Daniela takes my hand and lifts it. My fingers brush against thick, heavy fabric—something soft and dense, like the blackout curtains that hang over the dorm windows. Of course.

We stand there for several agonizingly long seconds before Daniela finally pushes the fabric aside.

Moonlight filters through, casting silver streaks across the rooftop. The air is crisp, and the faint scent of air fills my lungs. I exhale slowly, my shoulders loosening just a little.

Then, Daniela takes off, weaving effortlessly between the obstacles. I have to jog to keep up.

She stops in front of a massive block on the far side of the rooftop. It looks like it was used for bouldering. Without a word, she grabs onto a rock and starts climbing. I watch as she moves fluidly, pulling herself farther and farther from me.

Damn. Okay.

I follow, gripping the rocks on the wall and hoisting myself up. Daniela offers me a hand, but I shake my head and pull myself next to her. She watches me closely, then nods in approval.

We keep climbing until we both reach the top of the block. Daniela lets her legs dangle over the edge, swinging them like she’s never been more comfortable in her life.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. If I had ever met someone like her back home—someone who could move like this, who had that quiet confidence, that undeniable star presence—I probably would’ve proposed then and there.

But of course, all the good ones come with some kind of intense, world-weary, secret-keeper energy. A mystery the universe refuses to explain.

Then, Daniela speaks, keeping her voice low.

“We’re in the center of the three buildings, far enough from the dorms, and high enough that no one will hear us as long as we don’t raise our voices.” She leans back against her hands. “Sometimes, I think this is the only truly private place in the entire academy.”

I grin, my heart still racing from the climb. “You were right. That was fun.”

My breath escapes in a cloud, and I realize just how much I needed this little adrenaline rush. After everything that’s happened, this moment—high above the academy, away from prying eyes—feels like the first time I’ve been able to breathe all day.

Daniela watches me for a beat. “You grew up near the forest?”

I hesitate. The moonlight reveals just enough of my expression that she’d probably catch a lie. And besides, telling her my childhood home was near a forest doesn’t really give anything away. There are forests everywhere. “Yeah. Just past my backyard.”

She nods. “Sophia told me the only thing you seemed interested in during the tour was the acrobat room and the courtyard.”

Figures Sophia told her that. “I mean, sure, but just because I grew up near the forest doesn’t mean I could make a climb like that. What made you think I could?”

She tilts her head slightly, like the answer should be obvious. “For one, you’re at this academy. Physical stamina is a given. And I heard about how you outmaneuvered Marquise.”

Sophia really does tell her everything.

“All right,” I say, leaning back against the wall. “Since you already know so much about me, why don’t you tell me a few things?”

She rests her elbows on her knees, turning toward me lazily. “What do you want to know?”

I catch myself smiling, trying to figure out how to ask my questions without revealing just how much I don’t know. It’s obvious that being clueless at this academy is the same as being vulnerable.

“Tell me about the industry here,” I say.

Her lips twitch, like she’s amused by my question. At least it makes sense to her.

“That’s a broad topic.”

“Then tell me how this whole system started,” I say, recalling the bits of information I overheard in my meeting with Dr. Randy.

Daniela chuckles. “You sneak all the way out here at midnight, risking getting kicked out, just to ask about history? You sure this is how you want to use your time?”

I shrug, playing it off like it’s nothing. “Look, I have plenty of other questions. Plenty. But when I was in Randy’s office, he made me feel like I didn’t know nearly as much as the other trainees. And if I want to keep up here, I need to learn.” I shift my tone slightly, using the same persuasive voice I use when I want to convince someone to do something. “So just humor me.”

Daniela watches me carefully, like she’s trying to read between the lines of what I’m really asking.

Finally, she exhales, leaning back against the wall with her hands behind her head.

“Fine. A deal’s a deal,” she says. “The original two companies formed during the year where influence and spectacle were everything. It started with advisors—people behind the scenes who controlled the image of pop.” Her voice turns slightly amused, like she enjoys telling this story.

“But of course, the moment people knew how much influence they will have, they became a threat. Other companies wanted to eliminate them. What better way to weaken a king than to take down the people pulling the strings?”

She pauses, looking at me with a knowing glint in her eye.

“So,” she continues, “the smartest ones did the only thing they could: they disappeared. They worked from the shadows, hidden but powerful. And soon, secrecy became their greatest strength.”

Daniela smiles to herself, as if this is all completely normal.

I watch her carefully, my mind racing with questions. And for the first time since I arrived at this academy, I realize just how much I don’t know.

“Go on,” I say, trying to process the idea that if what Daniela is saying is true, then some of the trainees at this academy could be traced back to those people. Nepotism.

She leans back slightly, her voice taking on a rhythm like she’s told this story a hundred times before.

“Over the next few years, these advisors became more than just strategists. They adapted, evolving with the times. They built reputations, manipulated public perception, and ensured their clients stayed on top. And for their work, they were rewarded—wealth, estates, even symbols to represent their legacy. The only thing they lacked was an official title, but behind the scenes, they were known as The Charms.

“Over time, they stopped working solely for their clients and started shaping the industry for themselves,” Daniela continues. “They built their own entertainments, formed alliances across countries, and subtly dictated the course of global pop culture. Every trend, every shift in the music industry—most of it wasn’t accidental. It was all part of a bigger design.”

As she speaks, I can’t ignore the energy in her voice. She likes this. Loves it, even. Like this isn’t just history to her—it’s something she believes in.

I catch myself leaning in and force myself to relax. “Are you saying they became independent from the industry, or that they decided they were smarter than the people they worked for?”

Daniela smirks. “Probably a little of both. Executives and labels still thought they were in charge, but let’s be realistic.” She shrugs. “Vincit qui se vincit.”

“Beauty and the Beast,” I say instinctively.

She blinks. “What?”

“Vincit qui se vincit—‘He conquers who conquers himself.’ It’s on the stained-glass window in the Beast’s castle.”

Daniela stares at me for a beat, then sits up, pulling her hands from behind her head. “You’re quoting a fairy tale right now?”

“An animated movie,” I correct, watching the way her expression shifts like I might actually be from another planet. “But I didn’t mean to interrupt. Keep going.”

She studies me for another second before clearing her throat.

“So, as you know, the old entertainments eventually became too big and too complicated to sustain themselves. Labels merged, contracts got messier, and the industry began shifting globally. But by then, they had already adapted. As the traditional music empires started breaking apart, The Charms saw the opportunity for true independence.”

Daniela stretches out her legs, looking completely at ease. “Over time, the entertainment world has been divided into territories. Of course, these days, The Charms are everywhere. We’ve gone global, as it were.”

She smiles, and I realize—this isn’t just history.

It’s the playbook.

And I have no idea where I fit into it.

I focus so hard on what Daniela’s saying that I’m sure my face looks strained. So every trainee has a designated charm?

“What about Lara?” I ask, cutting in.

Daniela raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Thought I was going to miss a detail, did you?” Her tone turns teasing before she leans in slightly. “No one knows exactly when or where the Keys emerged. They’re the rebels of the industry. Unlike the others, they didn’t come from a single legacy; they built their own coalition, independent of bloodlines. And they prefer to operate in small groups, thriving in chaos rather than structure.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to process all of this. So, “industry elites” wasn’t exactly wrong, but it wasn’t right either. These Charms aren’t just entertainment territories—they’re an entire underground system, a secret network shaping the music world from the shadows.

But the part I really can’t wrap my head around is why my family would put me in a place like this. I’m from Switzerland. I can drive but still never got my license. The most complicated decision I make on a daily basis is whether to bring lunch from home or grab pizza after school.

“Something on your mind?” Daniela asks, and I realize I’ve been frowning.

“Right. Yeah. Thanks, that helps,” I say, forcing my face to relax. “It’s just… Stupid Randy, trying to mess with my head.” I press my thumb into my palm, grounding myself.

Daniela’s eyes flick down to my hands. “Something else you want to ask?”

I quickly stop and casually rub my palms together instead. “Tell me whatever will keep me from getting pushed again.”

Her expression shifts, turning serious. “See, that’s the thing. Sophia and I aren’t sure why that happened. You Tiaras always have your internal rivalries, sure. I’ll admit it gets dramatic sometimes, but at the end of the day, you all look out for each other. I tried to get Megan to talk, but she wouldn’t say a word. The only thing I can gather is that it was personal.”

My stomach twists. “But I’ve never even talked to her!” I say, frustration bubbling up. Another unspoken rule of this place—how could it be personal when Megan is literally a stranger to me?

Daniela just shrugs. “Yeah, but that doesn’t exactly matter. All members of a Charm are connected, whether they want to be or not.” She pauses, watching my reaction. “Tiaras especially.”

I meet her gaze, and suddenly, I get the feeling she’s saying something important.

She’s talking about the Tiaras, sure. But what I don’t get is why she’s implying that I belong to that Charm.

Do I?

My heart starts to race.

When I don’t respond, Daniela fills the silence. “All I know is that Megan was seething. Her fists were clenched the entire time Missy was talking to her.” She pauses, glancing off toward the sky like she’s replaying the moment in her mind. “But the interesting thing is… I think she respects you.”

I take a slow breath, trying to steady myself. “Why would you think that?”

“Because she lifted her chin,” Daniela says simply. “Classic sign of acknowledging an opponent. Even in rivalry, there’s recognition.”

I choose my next words carefully. If Daniela thinks I’m off balance, she might start questioning me instead of the other way around. “So besides Megan, are there any other trainees I should avoid?”

Daniela raises an eyebrow, like something in my wording catches her attention. “That’s for you to decide. But as Sophia’s already warned you, trusting a Key is risky—especially coming from an influential group like the Tiaras.” She leans forward slightly. “There aren’t many Keys here, but the ones who are always make their presence known. And their alliances?” She shrugs. “Unpredictable.”

I keep my voice even, though my mind is racing. The only thing worse than the upside-down realization that I might be part of some elite, industry-shaping legacy is letting these trainees—who have been playing this game their entire lives—figure out that I have no idea what I’m doing.

“What about Karlee?” I ask.

Daniela’s lips twitch, amused. “Ah. Moon. Her family used to be a big deal, but they lost their standing a while back. She’s been looking for ways to climb her way back up ever since—hence her alliance with Lara and that Shell.”

“Yoonchae?”

Daniela leans back, resting an arm casually behind her head. “Right. Those three aren’t exactly by the book. No one really knows what their long-term goal is. But if you ask me? Karlee’s been in love with Lara for years, even though that’s never going to happen. And Yoonchae? She uses Lara as a mouthpiece so she doesn’t have to deal with the rest of us.”

“Makes sense,” I say, even though none of this makes sense.

I need time to think.

“And what about your  Charm?” I ask.

Daniela gives me a quick look, like I just asked something obvious. “You know I’m a Shield.” Then she pauses, studying me for a beat. “But look, let me simplify this for you. Instead of going through every trainee here, why don’t you just tell me where you stand?”

I blink. “Stand?”

“For, against, or neutral?” she says, emphasizing each word carefully. The way she says it—like it’s a test, like the answer matters—sends a shiver up my spine.

I hesitate. “You’re going to have to spell it out.”

Daniela watches me, her gaze sharp. “Are you really trying to convince me you’re not involved in Charm politics?” Her posture is relaxed, but her focus is razor-sharp.

“I’m not,” I say carefully. “I mean… not that I know of.”

I try to keep my tone neutral, but I can’t shake the feeling that I just gave the wrong answer. Or worse—that there wasn’t a right one to begin with.

Daniela’s voice is smooth, steady. “It doesn’t add up. You transferred in midsemester. Lara sought you out. Emily tested you. Megan pushed you.”

“See? Your guess is as good as mine,” I say, keeping my voice light.

She studies me in silence for a beat. “Either you’ve suddenly become an excellent liar… or you’re telling the truth. I don’t know which is more unbelievable.”

It’s better if she thinks I’m just uninvolved in industry politics rather than catch me lying about what side I’m on—especially when I don’t even know what the sides are. I force an easy smile. “Believe what you want.”

Daniela shakes her head. “No, there’s something else going on. Something you don’t want me to know… And don’t think I missed that part of the history lesson that bothered you.” She watches me closely, her gaze sharp enough to make me want to hide.

Then, out of nowhere, she asks, “What are the core traits of the Tiaras?”

My shoulders tense. I throw the question back. “What about the Shields?”

“Confidence. Strength. Courage. Loyalty,” she answers without hesitation.

I smirk to keep the moment from turning too serious. “Loyal to who, though?”

Daniela grins, tilting her head like I just turned the conversation into something interesting. “Ah, isn’t that always the question?” She leans in slightly. “Now… what about the Tiaras?”

I hold her gaze even as my heart pounds. “Royalty. Beauty. Elegance. Wisdom.”

She hums like she’s weighing the answer in her mind. Something about me is making her suspicious, but at the same time, she seems convinced I know far more than I actually do—which, ironically, makes it easier to keep her from figuring out the truth.

I take a breath, trying to shift the focus. “Look, the whole history thing was really just a test—to see how you handled it. The reality is, I came in late. Missed two and a half years of industry background. I just want to make sure I’m keeping up.”

Daniela tilts her head, intrigued. “Well, now, that makes things interesting. Are you asking me to tutor you in Charm history?”

“You’re a strong academist. A good storyteller,” I say honestly.

Her lips twitch into a smirk. “Flattery will get you everywhere. But what do you have to trade?” For the first time since we climbed up here, she looks relaxed—like this is the most fun she’s had in a while.

I hesitate, not just because I don’t know what to offer, but because I almost don’t want to break the moment. “What do you want?”

“Information,” she says easily. “What else is there?”

Great. That’s exactly what I don’t have. And if I did have something worth trading, would it even be safe to give away?

“Like, for starters—how you got into this academy so late,” Daniela says, tilting her head expectantly.

I stay still, forcing a neutral expression, hoping she reads it as hesitation instead of ignorance.

After a long pause, she simply smiles. “Look, you were assigned as my sister’s roommate. That’s not an accident. Nothing here is random. It’s likely we’re more alike than not.”

No wonder everyone keeps telling me to keep my mouth shut. I suddenly think Yoonchae might be the smartest person at this entire school.

Daniela lets the silence stretch before shifting gears. Her tone turns light again. “You’re probably wondering where the academy is located, right?” She adjusts her position, now looking directly at me.

“Everyone does,” she continues. “No matter how much we were trained to never mention it. Curiosity is human instinct, especially for people like us. Dream Academy knew that. And after a few failed attempts at keeping the school hidden, they settled on this location. They also created a sophisticated cover system that has kept this place hidden for over a thousand years. Can you even imagine?” She shakes her head.

“The most common guess is Korea—based on the seasons and the surroundings. But if you start paying attention, the details match too many places. It’s so deliberate, it’s almost funny. It’s entirely possible that the school was designed to look like it’s in Korea because that’s exactly where it isn’t.”

She tilts her head slightly. “Sure, everyone here speaks English now. But that wasn’t always the case. And eventually, you’ll notice—no one asks about it anymore. It’s a waste of time. If some of the smartest minds in the past years haven’t figured it out, you won’t either.” She gives me a pointed look. “And besides, what would you even gain by knowing? All it does is put you—and everyone else here—at risk.”

Her words send a chill through me. Because for the first time since I arrived here, I realize—

This isn’t just an academy.

And I have no idea what I’ve walked into.

Daniela pauses, making sure she has my full attention. She definitely does.

“The same ambition that drives us to figure out where this academy really is—that curiosity, that analytical instinct—it’s the same thing that changes how we learn about the industry here,” she says. “We don’t just study the history of music and entertainment. We analyze the greatest successes and biggest failures of our seniors. And not in some surface-level, documentary-style way. Every lesson is broken down into strategy, decision-making, and long-term impact. At first, you don’t think much of it, but then”—Daniela snaps her fingers—“it clicks. You start seeing the patterns—how one event leads to another, how a single move shifts the entire industry.”

She leans forward, her gestures becoming more animated. “Take the rise and fall of ‘manufactured’ pop stars in the early 2000s, for example. Labels were churning out artists, controlling their images, forcing them into rigid contracts. Then, social media changed the game. Suddenly, artists had direct access to their fans. The power dynamic flipped. Those who adapted thrived. Those who didn’t?” She shrugs. “They disappeared.”

I nod, vaguely remembering case studies about this from media classes.

“But here’s the thing,” Daniela continues, eyes gleaming. “When you study this industry here, you realize that these shifts weren’t just random. The most powerful Charms saw them coming before they happened—and in some cases, they engineered them. The rise of independent artists? The collapse of major labels? These weren’t just trends. They were moves on a chessboard.”

She shakes her head, as if in disbelief. “People on the outside think history moves in a straight line. But when you look at it from here, you realize it’s a web—every decision affecting the next. If you can predict not just the next move, but five steps ahead, you don’t just survive in this industry. You control it.”

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and before I realize it, I’m nodding along.

How can sisters be so different?

Sophia follows the rules to the letter. She keeps her thoughts guarded.

Daniela? She breaks rules like it’s second nature. And somehow, she makes it look easy.

“For my part of the deal, I’ll give you the highlights—help you avoid embarrassing yourself so much,” Daniela says with a smirk.

“I’ll think about it,” I reply, even though I already know I won’t get a better offer. The only problem? I have no idea what I can offer in return.

“Hey, look, it could be worse,” Daniela adds, flashing a grin. “You could’ve been stuck with a different roommate and missed out on the privilege of talking to me.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s impossible not to smile back. “Is that so?”

She leans in slightly. “Who else in this academy would actually tell you the truth?”

“And who else would encourage me to break all the rules?” I fire back, matching her playful tone.

“Speaking of which, it’s time to go.” Daniela starts climbing down with effortless grace.

“You’re kinda good at that,” I say, following her down. “I mean, I’m better, but you’re still decent.”

Daniela nods approvingly. “That. Exactly that, and you’ll survive here.” Then she swings down to the adjacent rock below.

I mimic her move, but with one hand instead of two—just to show off.

She laughs, and I can’t help but laugh too.

“Race you down?” She challenges.

Before she even finishes the sentence, I’m already moving.

In no time, we reached the ground. I land a split second before her, shooting her hand guns and a smug, victorious look.

Since talking this close to the ground is out of the question, she simply grabs the hand that was doing the finger guns and pulls. I throw out my other hand to stop us from colliding and—

My palm lands against her shoulder.

She leans in, her breath warm against my chilled skin, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “The guards are about to make their rounds again. Just before they do, we’ll stand on either side of the doorway and slip behind the curtain. When the guard parts it to exit, we’ll move along the wall into the recessed doorway. As long as you don’t make any noise or pull the fabric, we’ll go undetected.”

Just like that, all my thoughts about her—her proximity, her confidence, the way her voice dips when she whispers—vanish.

I drop my hand. “That’s a terrible plan,” I whisper back. “Why don’t we just wait for the guard to clear the courtyard and then sneak behind the curtain?”

“If we do that, we won’t have enough time before the next guard rotates into position.”

“I thought you said they cut the number of guards after midnight.”

“They never cut the number of guards,” she whispers. “That’s just when they rotate. There are fewer stationed at one time because they’re in motion, not because they’re off duty.”

I pull back slightly so she can see my expression clearly—the one that says, Oh, so you misled me on purpose?

She winks.

Then, without another word, she starts walking silently.

I sigh, then follow her. Because, unfortunately, I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I let Daniela pull me into something reckless.

Daniela and I take our positions—her on one side of the doorway, me on the other. I mirror her movements, tucking myself behind the heavy stage curtain, pressing my back flat against the cool wall. I try to make myself as small as possible, every muscle tensed.

A minute ticks by. My breath slows, but my heart doesn’t get the memo—it’s still hammering against my ribs. Then I hear it. The faint creak of a door opening. Every hair on my body stands on end. The door clicks shut, and the curtain shifts as the guard brushes past it.

I move quickly, slipping into the shadows of the entryway. I don’t dare breathe. If I so much as blink, I swear he’ll hear me. Not that I’ve ever seen them with weapons, but still.

Five agonizing seconds crawl by before Daniela opens the door on the other side. I practically trip over myself getting inside. The moment the door shuts, I start to make a run for the stairs, but Daniela grabs my wrist, yanking me to a stop.

She pushes my hair back and cups a hand over her mouth and my ear. “You’ll get caught that way. Take the far-right hallway, go all the way to the end, then take the staircase up. Stay against the left wall.” She pulls my hood up and lets me go.

I don’t hesitate. I take off down the corridor, my boots barely making a sound against the floor. The hallway Daniela pointed me toward is almost completely dark, forcing me to slow to a jog.

I keep close to the left wall, just like Daniela said. But even in the cold, my hands are slick with sweat, adrenaline still pumping through my veins.

Then, about halfway down, something shifts. The darkness ahead of me looks different. Thicker, somehow.

I hesitate, glancing over my shoulder. The hallway behind me is empty, silent. But something ahead isn’t right.

Squinting, I try to make sense of the shadowy shape on the floor. It’s long, still. My gut twists.

There was nothing here earlier—no furniture, no rugs, nothing. Sophia took me through this exact hallway earlier today, and it was completely empty.

I inch forward, slow and deliberate. The closer I get, the more certain I am that something is wrong.

For the last couple of steps, I hold my breath. Carefully, I nudge the shape with the toe of my boot. It gives slightly, but makes no sound.

I bend down, heart pounding, and that’s when I realize—

Feet.

My boot just touched someone’s foot.

No.

No, no, no.

I rub my eyes, willing the image to disappear. But it doesn’t.

My pulse is a frantic drumbeat in my ears as I force myself to move along the figure, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

A girl. Dressed in the standard academy uniform. Lying on her back.

And then I see it.

A knife.

Lodged deep in her chest.

The realization slams into me like a truck. The academy uniform shirts are white, but the entire front of hers is dark.

Blood.

I barely manage to whisper, “Oh my god.”

My throat is bone-dry.

I kneel beside her, my knees threatening to give out. My hand trembles as I stretch my fingers toward her neck. Her skin is cold. No pulse.

And then, my stomach drops.

Her long hair clings to her cheeks, damp with something I don’t want to think about.

No. No, no, no.

It’s Megan’s friend from the dining hall.

I look around frantically, searching for someone—anyone.

There’s no one.

Just me.

And a body.

My vision blurs.

My mind loops the same terrifying thought, over and over again—

She’s dead.

I open my mouth to call for help—but freeze before a single sound escapes.

There’s no one to call.

If I run to get a staff member, there’s every chance they’ll think I did it. And with the academy’s brutal eye-for-an-eye system, that’s a risk I can’t take.

I take another frantic look around, like the shadows might suddenly hand me an answer.

Nothing.

I shake my head, trying to snap myself back to reality.

I can’t stay here.

Being caught with the body would be a hundred times worse than calling for help. And worse? There’s no guarantee that whoever did this isn’t still nearby.

A sick feeling creeps up my spine, the same one I used to get as a kid when I swore something unseen was chasing me up the basement stairs.

I stand up, swallowing against the nausea building in my throat. Leaving her here, alone, drenched in blood, makes me sick.

But staying? Staying could get me killed.

I need to find someone.

Sophia.

She’ll know what to do.

I take off, pressing myself against the wall as I sprint toward the stairwell, fear propelling me forward faster than caution should allow. Every detail of my surroundings locks into my memory—the worn third step, the odd shape of the stone near the ceiling, the absolute silence pressing in on me.

I force myself to move carefully up the stairs, straining my ears for the slightest sound, scanning every shadow for movement.

I peek around the corner at the entrance to the third floor—empty.

Good.

Bad news? I’m as far from my room as I could be.

But I don’t care. I have to go.

I squeeze my eyes shut, take a steadying breath, and bolt.

I tear through the hallway, sliding in front of my door, fumbling to get it open. My hands are shaking so badly it takes two tries to twist the knob. I duck inside, my heartbeat thundering, and as I push the door shut, I see it—

A guard.

The one with the X-shaped scar.

Coming up the other stairwell.

And worse?

He sees me.

His gaze locks on mine.

Shit.

I slam the door shut.

Leaning against the wall, breathing hard, I stare at Sophia’s door.

I need to tell her.

I have to tell her.

But how the hell do I even begin to explain what just happened?

I want to scream at myself for not telling her I was sneaking out to meet Daniela in the first place. And now—now that someone’s dead—what if Daniela denies meeting me at all? Sophia will believe her over me.

My stomach turns.

Wait.

It was Daniela who told me to take that hallway. She was the one who said to stay to the left.

My breath catches in my throat.

Could she have set me up?

Did she send me the long way around on purpose?

That guard would have caught me if I hadn’t decided to run the last few feet.

And Daniela? She knows their schedules to the second.

I sink to the floor, pressing my forehead into my hands.

I’m so, so screwed.

A door creaks open, and my head snaps up from where I’ve been curled against my knees.

Sophia steps out of her room—not groggy, not blinking away sleep, but fully awake. Alert.

Her sharp gaze flicks to my tense posture, the way I’m practically folded in on myself on the floor. “You went out.”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation.

“I did,” I admit, my voice too fast, too unsteady.

She stares at me, and I know exactly what she’s thinking: You went out when I warned you not to.

I swallow hard. “I met Dani in the courtyard.”

For a split second, her expression shifts—eyes widening, lips pressing together like she’s fighting back a reaction. Then, steady as ever, she says, “You got caught.”

I drag my hands over my face, pressing my fingers into my temples. “No. Well… kind of. Not with Dani.”

I push myself to my feet too fast, and the room tilts. Blinking away the stars in my vision, I focus on Sophia. “We climbed up to the rooftop—the ones that was built for bouldering. We just talked. About the academy, about… nothing, really. Then, on my way back, Dani told me to take the long route to avoid the guards. And I…”

My throat tightens.

Sophia’s gaze flicks to the door, then back to me. “Manon.” There’s something new in her voice now—an edge of urgency.

“My foot—” I swallow hard. “It hit something. In the shadows. A body.”

I slap a hand over my mouth, the words barely holding their shape. “I think it was Megan’s friend. The one with the pink hair.”

Sophia goes completely still.

I step closer, the words tumbling out of me. “She was dead, Sophia. Cold. I—I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to just leave her there, but I panicked. I ran. I think a guard saw me shutting our door.”

Sophia’s voice drops to something impossibly small. “How did she die?”

“A knife,” I whisper. “In her chest. And there was so much—”

“Stop.”

She closes her eyes and takes a slow, measured breath.

And I do.

When she speaks again, her voice is steady. Controlled. “You know the rules.”

I nod, fingers digging into my palms.

“If a guard saw you, they’re going to question you. Then they’re going to question me.” Her jaw tightens. “We need to go to our rooms. Now.”

“Oh god, I left her there, Sophia.” My eyes dart to the door.

“Go to sleep, Manon.” Her tone is sharp, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “If they catch us right now, talking about a dead student, they’ll throw us in the basement.”

“Basement?” My voice spikes, and I immediately clamp down on it. “Shouldn’t we at least—”

“There is nothing we can do right now that won’t make this worse,” she spits, her voice dropping into a furious whisper. Her eyes blaze, her fingers curling into fists. “You left the room. You took the risk. And now you’ve dragged me into this.”

I step back, her anger jolting me into stunned silence.

I try again. “Dani—”

“Daniela nothing.” She cuts me off, voice sharp as glass. “I don’t want to hear her name. And I don’t need your tearful confessions, either. You didn’t even know Celeste.”

With that, she spins on her heel, disappearing into her room before I can say another word.

I stand there, my pulse pounding in my ears, my palms slick with sweat.

But no matter how hard I try to shove it away, the image flashes behind my eyes—

Celeste. Her shirt drenched in red. Her lifeless skin. Her hair sticking to her face.

A wave of nausea crashes over me.

I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m sick.

My eyes snap open at the sound of my bedroom door creaking.

I jolt upright so fast that Irene flinches as she steps inside. Her hair is neatly tucked under her cap, and she’s carrying a set of freshly pressed clothes on hangers.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

“Hi,” I croak, my voice raw from crying. The word feels foreign in my mouth, like I barely recognize my own voice.

I’m sweating even though the room is freezing, and I don’t think I slept more than a few restless minutes at a time.

Then Sophia breezes in, looking effortlessly composed. When she sees me, she laughs.

“Trouble sleeping again? You look awful. Don’t worry—you’ll adjust to the bed soon enough.”

I blink at her. Who is this friendly, upbeat person pretending to be Sophia?

“You can put the clothes anywhere,” Sophia tells Irene, her tone carrying an unspoken and then you can leave.

Irene sets the outfit down over the trunk, barely sparing Sophia a glance before turning back to me like I’m some puzzle she’s trying to solve.

“Breakfast is served in your living room. Apparently, they’re cleaning the dining hall, but if you ask me—”

“That’s lovely, thank you,” Sophia cuts in before she can finish.

Irene’s expression flickers with disappointment at the lack of curiosity. Normally, I’d give her a big, grateful thank you and tell her how much I appreciate everything she does. But today? I can’t summon the energy.

All I can think about is Celeste’s cold skin under my fingers. Her shirt soaked in blood.

Irene curtsies quickly and leaves.

The second the door clicks shut, Sophia’s friendly expression vanishes.

“You might as well walk around with a guilty sign on your back if you’re going to act this emotional,” she snaps. “Did you think they wouldn’t question our assistants about our behavior?”

There’s a flash of disgust in her eyes as she turns and strides out of my bedroom.

I throw off my covers and follow her into the common room, where the small breakfast table is set near the window. Everything looks so normal—white linen napkins, fragile-looking china, plates of eggs and fruit. It makes my stomach turn.

“I wasn’t expecting—”

“I don’t care what you were expecting,” Sophia interrupts, already sitting, calmly unfolding her napkin. “There’s already a bull’s-eye on both of our backs.”

I take a seat too, struggling to reconcile the fact that I found a dead body last night with Sophia’s expectation that I just… act like nothing happened.

“If we’re supposed to be acting normal, then why did you say I look terrible in front of Irene?”

Sophia barely looks up from her plate. “Because by calling it out, I normalized it. I made her think your demeanor is nothing more than a bad night’s sleep on an unfamiliar mattress. And by smiling, I sent the impression that I approve of you.” She stabs a piece of fruit with her fork. “Irene knows I don’t trust people easily. If I accept you, then to her, you must be trustworthy.” She lifts her gaze, eyes sharp. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? This is basic deception.”

The frustration from last night is gone—replaced with her usual cool detachment.

I push the potatoes around my plate, my stomach too twisted to eat.

How am I supposed to just move on like nothing happened?

All night, I replayed Daniela’s words in my head. Take the long way around.

And I can’t ignore the fact that Celeste had a knife in her chest.

When Lara and Daniela were just talking about a missing knife at lunch.

Lara even accused her of stealing it.

Not that I’d put it past her to lie about that—for exactly this reason.

“The dining hall is ‘being cleaned out’—” I start to say.

“They don’t want us gathering,” Sophia cuts in, stabbing a roasted potato wedge with her fork. “They’re watching to see who seeks out who.”

My stomach tightens. “Is that why they didn’t question us last night after that guard saw me?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, and for the first time, I see tension in her normally composed expression. “There’s a strategy here… I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

I set my fork down, my appetite completely gone. I wish I could erase everything that happened last night. “Okay, tell me—what do I do if they question me? I haven’t been trained for this like you have. I don’t know the rules.”

Sophia meets my eyes and hesitates.

“Exactly.”

I frown. “What?”

“Play dumb,” she says simply. “The whole I don’t know what’s going on act. You’ve been selling it well so far. At least it’ll be consistent.”

That’s all she offers.

I swallow hard. If I can’t even fake my way through a conversation with Sophia and Daniela, how am I supposed to handle an interrogation with Missy? They’d see right through me in seconds. But I also can’t tell them I found a dead body.

“…Do I say anything about what I saw?” I ask carefully.

Sophia’s grip tightens around her fork. “If that’s a joke, it’s not funny.” There’s anger in her voice again, sharp and direct.

I exhale slowly. I have no idea how I’m going to get through this day—how I’m supposed to walk into a room and pretend like I didn’t step over a body last night. The image of Celeste lying in the dark flashes in my mind, and my stomach lurches.

I shove my plate away.

Sophia watches me, her expression unreadable.

“I suggest you eat,” she says. “You’ll need the energy for whatever comes next.”

I follow closely behind Sophia as two lines of silent trainees, all dressed in sleek black performance gear, file through the stage doors and onto the practice area.

It almost looks like we’re walking into a funeral.

“Grant,” Sophia whispers in warning.

Suddenly, an image of Celeste’s blood-soaked shirt flashes through my mind. My stomach twists. I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second, but when I open them, Grant is looking directly at me.

“I’ve been told you’re skilled in choreography and will be able to keep up,” Grant says, scrutinizing me. “I have no intention of wasting time reviewing techniques already mastered by the elite trainees.”

A ripple of interest runs through the group. I feel their eyes on me—some curious, most doubtful. One thing is very clear: falling behind in this class would be humiliating.

“I’ll keep up,” I say, but my voice comes out weaker than I intended.

Sophia shoots me a disapproving look.

Standing in this elite training ground, I have no room for error. I unfasten my hoodie and hang it beside Sophia’s on the racks lining the studio wall.

She leans in, her voice a low whisper. “Unless you want to explain why you didn’t report a dead body last night and get kicked out of the academy, you need to stop showing your emotions.” There’s an edge to her words, even as she keeps her expression neutral.

I inhale deeply, forcing my shoulders to relax, and step forward to join the other trainees.

Of course, the one day I’m expected to perform at my best is the morning after I stumbled over a dead body.

And just to make things even more fun, the worst people to be around right now are also here—Marquise, Emily, and Adela on one side, Lara and Yoonchae on the other.

For once, though, none of them are whispering, smirking, or making cutting remarks.

Which can only mean one thing.

They already know about Celeste.

I glance toward the studio doors, half expecting security to burst in at any moment, haul me out, and banish me from Dream Academy before I can even defend myself.

Grant taps a rolled-up paper against his palm.

“In 522 BCE, during the rise of the Persian Empire, a pretender stole the throne,” she begins. “The rightful ruler, King Cambyses II, gathered an army to reclaim his position. But he never succeeded. And why is that?”

He pauses dramatically.

“Because he stabbed himself with his own weapon and bled out before the battle even began.”

A few people scoff under their breath.

Grant smirks. “It may sound absurd, but this story perfectly illustrates the ruthlessness of precision. Timing is everything. Execution is everything. One misstep, one mistake, and the same weapon that was meant to secure your victory becomes your downfall. Now, tell me—what does that mean in performance terms?”

Emily cracks her knuckles, stepping forward slightly even though no one asked her to.

I’ve only seen her a few times, and already it’s so obvious that she likes to dominate a room.

“If you time your execution perfectly, you own the stage—you control the moment,” she says. “But if your timing is off by even a fraction? You give away your momentum. And that’s the difference between winning and fading into the background.”

“Exactly,” Grant says. “It’s one thing to nail a routine when you’re in a studio, when there’s no pressure. But in the real world, you’ll be performing in front of thousands—spotlights blinding you, cameras tracking your every move, judges analyzing your timing down to the millisecond. You need to be so locked in that even if the music skips or the stage malfunctions, you still deliver flawlessly.”

She turns to Emily with a knowing nod. “Step forward. Show them how it’s done.”

Emily smirks and steps up with the confidence of someone who’s done this a hundred times before. Across the floor, I see three challenge zones marked with X—different difficulty levels, each requiring a specific combination of technique, speed, and execution. The first is straightforward: a clean double spin landing into a smooth wave. The second is more complex, demanding control over footwork and upper body isolations. The third? A full pass across the floor, incorporating a dynamic jump into a freestyle sequence.

“Adela, you too,” Grant adds, as if he had already planned this. It’s obvious these two are her go-to performers when he wants to prove a point.

Adela smirks, rolling up her sleeves. She casts a glance back at the group, making sure we’re all watching.

Grant cues the music. A beat drops—sharp, rhythmic, pulsing.

Emily wastes no time. She steps into the first challenge, smoothly transitioning from a controlled spin into a fluid wave, her movements crisp and precise. Perfect execution. Without pausing, she attacks the second challenge, quick footwork syncing perfectly to the beat, her body riding each musical accent with ease.

For the final section, she makes a show of exhaling dramatically, rolling her shoulders before launching into a controlled leap. Her freestyle that follows is strong, calculated—but her landing is just slightly off-balance. Not noticeable to most, but given Grant’s high expectations, it’s not flawless.

Adela steps forward next, her expression unreadable. Her first two sequences are just as clean as Emily’s—perhaps too clean, like she’s spent years perfecting each motion. But I wonder… could she keep up under real pressure? When the stakes are unpredictable?

Before her final pass, she steals a glance at Marquise. She doesn’t react, but I catch the barely-there smirk. A silent message. A shared confidence. Are they a thing?

Adela launches into her final move. Her leap is controlled, her freestyle sequence sharp, but she hesitates just before her finish. The tiniest break in flow.

I shift my gaze back to Grant, only to find him staring straight at me.

“Judging by your expression, you think you can do better,” he says, like it’s a statement rather than a question.

My breath catches. Next to me, I can feel Sophia stiffening, silently begging me to shut up and stop drawing attention.

“Well?” Grant presses.

I clear my throat. “Better than their last sequences?” I say, voice steady. “Yeah. Definitely.”

A murmur runs through the group as heads turn toward me.

Lara smirks. “Oh, I need to see this,” she says, before quickly covering her comment with a fake cough as Grant shoots her a sharp look.

Adela tilts her head, studying me with quiet amusement. “We welcome the challenge,” she says smoothly.

By the way Adela and Emily eye me, it’s clear they don’t welcome the challenge at all.

Grant gestures toward the center of the dance floor, signaling for me to step up. Emily doesn’t budge, forcing me to brush past her to take my place. Maybe it’s the overwhelming emotions from the past twenty-four hours, or maybe I just hate egos like theirs, but suddenly all my frustration channels into a single goal—outshining these two.

I catch Emily’s gaze and smirk. “I was going to take it easy on you, just to be nice. But now? I think I won’t.”

I glance at Sophia, who looks torn between horror and relief—probably just glad I’m not breaking down in front of everyone.

Adela scoffs, unimpressed. I shift my focus to the dance floor. The beat drops, heavy and commanding, and I roll my shoulders, centering myself. As soon as the first beat lands, I launch into a sharp, controlled isolation sequence, hitting each move with pinpoint precision. My transition is seamless as I spin into the center of the floor, perfectly syncing with the tempo.

Adela and Emily exchange glances, clearly unsettled. I smirk.

“Oops,” I say, stretching out my arms. “Let’s try that again. Maybe I’m just warming up.”

I bounce lightly on my toes, shake out my hands, and as soon as the music kicks back in, I go even harder. This time, I execute a clean triple spin, stopping exactly where Adela just finished her freestyle—effortlessly outmatching her. A few murmurs ripple through the watching students.

“I don’t know why I’m suddenly not performing well today,” I say innocently, placing a thoughtful hand on my chin. “Oh, wait. I know what it is.” I shake my head, grinning. “I’m not even left-foot dominant.”

There’s a smattering of barely contained snickers from the students, but they shut up as soon as Grant casts them a sharp look.

For the final move, I take a deep breath, slide back into position, and execute a leap, landing flawlessly in a controlled freeze. Right in exactly the same spot where Adela and Emily slipped up.

Emily clenches her fists. Adela’s jaw tightens. They’re not happy.

Across the room, Lara laughs out loud, and when I glance at Sophia, there’s even the faintest flicker of amusement on her face.

Grant’s expression remains unreadable, but his voice is firm. “Impressive. But let’s see how you do when the stakes are real.” He scans the crowd. “Yoonchae, step forward.”

My stomach drops. Lara abruptly stops laughing. Adela and Emily, however, do look entertained now.

Yoonchae walks to the center of the floor, standing completely still. “Land your final move exactly two inches in front of her without touching her,” Grant instructs. “Since you’ve been showing off, this should be no problem for you.”

Every ounce of bravado I had fifteen seconds ago vanishes, replaced by a wave of stomach-churning panic. My breath catches as I glance at Yoonchae, who remains perfectly calm. I can’t even look her in the eye.

What if I mess up? What if I miscalculate and actually hit her? The thought makes my skin prickle. And worse—if I fail, Lara will personally make sure I regret it.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Adela taunts, tilting her head with a mocking frown.

Emily chuckles. “Maybe she only shines when there’s no real pressure.”

I glare at them. “You think this is funny? If I misstep by even an inch, I could hit her.”

“Yet they have a point,” Grant says, folding his arms. “Under pressure, you can’t perform. Are you refusing to take the challenge?”

Damn it. I’ve backed myself into a corner. “I’m not doing it,” I say firmly.

“Very well, then. Emily?” Grant turns to her, and my stomach twists. He’s actually giving her the shot? She’s even cockier than Adela.

“Obviously,” Emily says with a smirk, already stepping forward.

Before I can think twice, I step in front of her. Gasps ripple through the group, but I don’t wait for objections. The beat drops, and I execute the move immediately—a powerful leap into a controlled aerial spin, landing perfectly two feet in front of Yoonchae.

Silence.

Grant studies the distance, unimpressed. “You missed the mark,” he says flatly. The class I was looking forward to just turned into my personal nightmare.

After a long morning spent anxiously waiting for the moment guards might escort me out of class, I take a seat next to Sophia in the dining hall. The usual setup is gone—no long tables, just rows of high-backed chairs facing the raised platform where the producers sit.

Three rows ahead, Emily glances at me with a knowing smirk before settling beside Marquise and Adela. I don’t like it.

“About what happened in dance class—” I whisper to Sophia.

“Not now, Manon,” she cuts me off sharply, keeping her eyes locked on the front of the room.

President Missy steps onto the platform, surveying us like a hawk sizing up its prey. Even though the hall is already silent, she clears her throat, commanding even more attention. The tension reminds me of school assemblies back home—except this time, I’m not surrounded by chatty students waiting for an excuse to skip class. Here, everyone is on edge. My stomach knots.

“Some of you are wondering why you’ve been called from your training sessions this morning. Some of you are not,” Missy says, letting her words settle over the room. A few staff stand against the walls, their eyes not on Missy, but on us. Among them is Randy, wearing the same scrutinizing expression he had when assessing me on my first day. I resist the urge to shrink in my chair, knowing that any sign of discomfort will be read as guilt.

“A student was killed last night,” Missy announces, her tone disturbingly flat. A wave of murmurs sweeps through the hall. “Celeste.”

The moment Missy says her name, students exchange startled looks, whispering behind their hands. The air is suddenly thick with tension. I feel Sophia’s sharp gaze on me, and I do my best to mirror her shock. She’s so good at this.

Missy clears her throat again, and the whispers die instantly. “I am severely disappointed that we find ourselves in this position yet again,” she says, irritation lacing her words more than grief. “Some of you have become far too comfortable here, too sure that you are untouchable. Let me assure you—you are not. Our investigation will not follow conventional methods, so do not assume anything. The guilty party may believe they have escaped suspicion, but rest assured, we will find them, and when we do, they will be made an example of.”

For the briefest second, her eyes land on me. My entire body goes cold.

The day I first arrived, Missy mentioned that accidents happened at the Academy—but not for one second did I think she meant murder. My stomach churns. I fight the urge to shift in my seat or rub my hands over my face, afraid that even the smallest movement will betray me.

“Effective immediately, your privacy is revoked. You will be subject to observation and testing at any time, in any place, as Dr. Randy and I see fit. And just because you can’t see the security detail watching you, do not assume they aren’t there.” Missy smooths a wrinkle in her blazer like this is just another routine announcement. “For the time being, all meals will be delivered to your rooms. Dismissed.”

I glance at Sophia, hoping she’ll offer some kind of explanation for Missy’s cold, clinical approach. There was no concern for the fact that we just lost a fellow student—no reassurance that we’re safe. If anything, she made it clear that we aren’t. We’re all suspects. But Sophia, like the rest of the students, simply rises from her seat and walks toward the door, as if this is just another routine announcement. No one speaks. No one even exchanges glances.

A light tap on my shoulder nearly sends me flying out of my chair. My heart plummets when I spin around and see Randy standing right behind me.

“Follow me, Manon,” he says, and as I stand, I catch Daniela’s gaze from across the room. She’s watching me.

Randy leads me back to Missy’s office. I sink into the chair in front of her desk, while Randy takes a seat near the wall, his folder open and pen poised.

For a long time, none of us speak. The tension is so thick that it feels like time itself has stalled.

Then Missy finally breaks the silence. “You left your room last night after curfew, Manon.”

My pulse pounds in my ears, and my stomach twists into knots. I’ve always been able to hold my own in conversations with authority figures. I’ve been called to the principal’s office before, dealt with irritated directors and strict mentors. But those moments never came with the possibility of being labeled a suspect. Or worse—facing this academy’s punishment system.

“Yes, I did,” I say carefully.

Missy folds her hands on the desk. “And a student is dead.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

I pause. “You just told us at the assembly.”

“Hmmm.” She makes a small, thoughtful noise, and Randy's pen scratches against the paper.

I immediately regret my answer. My skin feels hot, like every thought in my head is visible to her. I try to remember Sophia’s advice and force myself to stay calm. “Wait… You don’t actually think I had something to do with this, do you?”

Missy tilts her head slightly. “Oh, don’t I?”

“You’re both analysts, right?” I motion to include Randy. “I know I’m new, but if you really read people as well as you claim, then you must know—without a doubt—that I didn’t do this.”

Missy’s expression hardens. “Don’t assume what I do or don’t know, Manon.”

I press forward. “You saw what happened with Megan. I didn’t even want to push her. You had to practically force me to retaliate. If I was uncomfortable with that, then killing someone is completely out of the question.”

Missy leans back, studying me with unsettling patience. “Interesting,” she muses. “Because if you had planned to attack Celeste, the first thing you might do is stage a scenario to make yourself look nonviolent.”

A wave of panic rolls through me. I shift in my seat, but there’s nowhere to go—I just end up looking more tense. “That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t even be able to think that far ahead, let alone—”

“Enough,” Missy snaps, the single word hitting like a slap. The irritation in her voice is the only thing keeping me from completely spiraling. Maybe my confusion is convincing her.

“What were you doing out of your room last night?” she demands.

My heart pounds. There’s no avoiding this. “I was meeting Dani,” I admit.

“Where?”

“The rooftop.”

She studies me for a moment. “Why?”

I wince. I’m treading dangerous waters here. “To learn more about the academy.”

“You were told that anything you need to know, you could ask Sophia.”

“I…well…”

“Unless, of course, you meant learning more about the trainees—which, as I’ve already stated, is strictly prohibited.” Her voice sharpens as she leans forward.

“I just wanted to understand what the academy is really like,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“By breaking the rules?”

“No,” I say carefully. “I’m not saying it’s good to break the rules, but if I’m going to be here, surrounded by performers who have trained together for years, who understand how this place works, I have a lot of catching up to do. And I’m the only new advanced trainee. Fifty percent of me was just curious.”

“And the other fifty percent?”

“I didn’t mean that literally.”

“But you did mean there was another reason.”

Fantastic. I keep stepping deeper into this trap. “Dani is…interesting. And, well…she’s cute.” It’s true, but completely irrelevant. And it makes me sound clueless, which—at this point—might be my safest bet.

Missy leans back in her chair like she’s wondering how far I’ll dig myself in. Honestly, I’m wondering the same thing. “Romantic relationships are prohibited,” she states flatly.

“But looking isn’t, right?” I say, pushing my luck. If I don’t sell this excuse, she’ll go searching for another.

For a long moment, she doesn’t move. Then she says, “I’m going to lay this out for you as plainly as possible, Manon, because otherwise, I fear you’ll continue rambling about nonsense, and I do not have time for nonsense. Last night, you broke curfew. Last night, one of our trainees was murdered. If there is any evidence or reason I shouldn’t consider you a suspect, I suggest you share it now.”

“I…” My throat tightens. “I know I shouldn’t have left my room. I made a mistake. But I did not hurt anyone. I wouldn’t.”

“Did Sophia know you were gone?”

I fight the urge to press my fingers to my forehead. I can’t let them see how shaken I am. This is bad. Really bad. “No. But she heard me come back.”

“Did you speak?”

I nod. “I told her I was out with Dani, and she got angry.”

“Did she report you?”

“I told her she didn’t have to. A guard had already seen me.”

Missy’s gaze sharpens. “Which hallways did you take that night?”

It takes everything in me to stay still. “The staircase closest to my room.”

“Was Daniela with you?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“But you were with her.”

“I was too focused on not getting caught myself to notice which way she went.”

“But she arrived and left when you did?”

“I assume so.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

I need to say something that keeps Daniela out of suspicion. The last thing I want is to turn her into an enemy. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t think of anything. “No, I don’t.”

“Whose idea was it to go to the rooftop?”

I tense. “Dani’s. Well… both of ours, really. It’s my favorite spot on campus.”

“And Dani was kind enough to break the rules just to show it to you?” There’s something sharp in her voice, and I realize I’ve just made things worse.

“We just thought it would be fun.”

“And what was her incentive in this arrangement?”

Missy clearly knows her. I force a shrug, trying to look casual. “I can’t be sure, but my guess? She wanted to be the first to figure out the new girl.”

Missy glances at Randy, but her expression gives nothing away.

Randy locks his eyes on me. “Did Daniela tell you which way to go?”

The image of Celeste’s lifeless body flashes in my mind. What exactly is Randy fishing for? “Like I said, we were both in a rush to get to our rooms. We didn’t talk much.”

By the way Randy watches me, I know he sees right through that. And he’s not going to let it go.

I turn back to Missy. “The real question is why any student is dying here at all. Because based on what you told me the day I arrived, Celeste isn’t the first. You’ll figure out I had nothing to do with it—I have no doubt about that. And once you do, I want you to contact my dad. I’m not staying in some isolated academy where people attack and kill each other.” I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted to say that until the words just tumbled out.

Randy shifts his gaze to Missy. Her cold stare doesn’t waver.

“That’s not for you to decide,” she says.

My voice rises. “Like hell it’s not—”

“No.” Her tone cuts through the air. “Your family, like every other, signed a waiver upon your admission, granting the Academy full authority over what happens to you while you’re here. I will decide who is guilty. Just as I will determine how much freedom you have during this investigation. And I will decide if and when you leave. So if I were you, I’d stop talking before I decide you’re being disrespectful and give you a night in the basement to think it over.”

I swallow hard. The realization crashes down on me: I am trapped. Under Missy’s control. Stuck in this academy with trainees who have their own deadly agendas and no way out.

Missy holds me in her gaze. “You may return to your schedule, Manon. But this conversation is far from over. Also, you’ll have to manage without Sophia escorting you to classes for the time being.”

I freeze, instantly worried about Sophia and whatever Missy is planning for her. I want to ask, but I know I won’t get an answer.

“And congratulations,” Missy adds, a chilling smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re the first trainee in history to earn three marks in their first week. Stay tuned for your punishment.”

My stomach drops. I stand so fast my chair nearly tips over. I have to get out of here.

She pauses. “Unless, of course, you are guilty of Celeste’s murder… in which case, your punishment has already been decided.”