A Crown of Broken Oaths

Lena

The noise is the first thing that hits me. A hundred conversations crashing into each other, a wave of static and cheap perfume. My roommate, Chloe, grabs my arm, her grip surprisingly strong for someone whose diet seems to consist entirely of iced coffee and gummy bears.

“Isn’t this amazing, Lia? Our first official college mixer!”

I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “It’s a lot.”

An understatement. It’s a tactical nightmare. The university’s grand hall is all high ceilings and marble columns, designed to inspire awe, not to be secured. Too many entrances, too many blind spots behind the ridiculously large potted ferns. My father would take one look at this place and call it a kill box.

“A lot of cute guys, you mean,” Chloe says, wiggling her eyebrows. She points with her chin. “Look, the quarterback. He’s exactly as dreamy as his recruiting photos. Do you think I should go say hi?”

“You should totally go say hi,” I say, my voice pitched with the right amount of bubbly encouragement. My eyes are not on the quarterback. They are scanning. It’s a habit I can’t break. I clock the exits first. Three sets of double doors. Two smaller service doors behind the catering tables. I map the security guards, bored-looking men in ill-fitting blazers, their attention on their phones, not the crowd.

Amateurs.

“Okay, wish me luck,” Chloe whispers, then she smooths her sundress and starts weaving her way through the throng of students. She moves with an open, guileless confidence that I find both fascinating and terrifying. She belongs here. I am an intruder wearing a very expensive costume.

My costume is a pale yellow dress, flowy and innocent. My hair is down. I’m wearing a delicate gold necklace, not the thin, razor-sharp wire disguised as a choker that my instructor, Sergei, prefers. My name here is Lia, just Lia. A girl from a wealthy but obscure family, a little shy, a little naive, here to get a business degree and maybe join the equestrian club.

Lena Romano doesn’t exist at Blackwood University. Lena Romano can field strip a Glock in under thirty seconds and knows three different ways to kill a man with a ballpoint pen. Lia thinks a Glock is a kind of German clock and uses pens for, well, writing. It’s crucial I remember the difference.

“First time away from home?” a voice asks beside me.

I turn to see a guy with a plastic cup of punch and an overly confident smile. He’s wearing a polo shirt with the collar popped. He looks like his name is Chad.

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, injecting a flutter of nervousness into my voice. It’s not hard to summon. I am nervous, just not for the reasons he thinks.

“You’ve got that deer in the headlights look,” he says, leaning closer. “Don’t worry. I can show you around. My name’s Kyle.”

Close enough.

“Lia,” I say, letting him take my hand. His grip is limp. All posture, no substance. “It’s nice to meet you, Kyle.”

“So, what’s your major?” he asks, his eyes flicking down to my necklace and lingering a little too long.

“Undecided,” I lie easily. “Maybe art history? Or literature? Something… beautiful.”

It’s the perfect answer. Vague, romantic, useless. It fits the character. Father sent me here to get a degree in international finance, to learn the legal side of moving money his way. He called this desire for normalcy my “childish rebellion.” A two year vacation, he allowed, before I had to come home and take my place. My older brother, Marco, thinks it’s hilarious. He’s the heir. I’m the asset. The secret weapon. But even weapons need a rest. Surprisingly, Father agreed.

Kyle launches into a monologue about his fraternity, their parties, their legendary tolerance for alcohol. I nod and smile, my gaze drifting over his shoulder. I continue my scan. Clusters of people form and dissolve. I categorize them instinctively. The athletes, loud and physical. The academics, huddled together in tight, anxious circles. The legacy kids, children of alumni, who walk around with an air of effortless ownership. They are the top of the food chain here.

Then my eyes stop. They stop because they’ve found something that doesn’t fit into any of my neat little categories.

He’s leaning against a stone column, half hidden in the shadows cast by a large banner that reads ‘Welcome, Class of 2029!’. He holds no drink. He’s not talking to anyone. He’s not trying to. He’s working.

His gaze moves with a slow, deliberate economy that I recognize. He isn’t admiring the architecture or searching for a friendly face. He’s mapping the territory. He assesses the jocks puffing out their chests, the professors looking bored, the legacy kids holding court. He’s cataloging influence, weakness, power structures. It’s exactly what I was doing a minute ago.

He’s dressed simply. Dark jeans, a plain grey shirt. Nothing that screams money or status. But the way he stands, the stillness of him in this sea of frantic energy, that is a different kind of power. He’s coiled, perfectly at ease, a predator resting in the tall grass. He is dangerous.

And then his eyes find mine.

It’s not a glance. It’s a lock. For a split second, the noise of the hall fades away. His eyes are dark, intense, and they don’t just see the yellow dress and the naive smile. They see the cracks in the paint, the wiring underneath. It feels like a searchlight pinning me against a wall. My heart gives a painful thud against my ribs, a jolt of pure adrenaline. It’s the shock of being seen.

I break the contact first, turning back to Kyle with a small, apologetic smile. It’s a rookie mistake. Never let them know they’ve gotten to you.

“…and that’s when Todd puked in the mascot head,” Kyle is saying, laughing at his own story. I laugh too, a light, airy sound that is pure performance. But my senses are screaming. My skin tingles with the awareness of that stare still on me. Who is he? He doesn’t move like a student. He moves like one of my father’s men. Or worse, one of our rivals.

Someone jostles me from behind. A quick, sharp bump. “Sorry,” a voice mutters, already moving away. It’s a classic pickpocket move. I instinctively check my purse. It’s still there, zipped. I check my pockets. Empty, as they were. But my hand brushes against my side, and my fingers find a small, hard rectangle tucked into the waistband of my dress. It wasn’t there before.

My training kicks in. Don’t react. Don’t draw attention to it. I keep the smile plastered on my face as Kyle asks for my number.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, feigning shyness. “I’m still trying to figure out my schedule and everything. It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

It’s the perfect brush off. It makes him feel like he’s too much for me, which feeds his ego, and it gets him to leave. He gives me a charming grin, tells me he’ll find me later, and disappears back into the crowd.

The moment he’s gone, I glance back toward the column.

He’s gone.

Vanished. Like he was never there. The only proof of his existence is the lingering feeling of being X-rayed and the strange card digging into my hip.

Chloe bounces back over, her face flushed with success. “I got his number!” she squeals, waving her phone. “He’s having a party at the football house on Friday. He said I should bring a friend.” She winks at me.

“That’s amazing,” I say, my voice perfectly pitched with excitement for her. “We should definitely go.”

We won’t. The football house is a security black hole. But Lia, the normal girl, would be thrilled. And right now, being Lia is the most important mission of my life.

Back in the dorm room, the chaos of the mixer is replaced by the scent of Chloe’s vanilla bean air freshener and the soft glow of her fairy lights. It smells like a teenage girl’s bedroom. Jarring.

“Okay, debrief!” Chloe says, kicking off her sandals and flopping onto her floral comforter. “Was Kyle as much of a tool as he looked?”

“He was very enthusiastic about his fraternity,” I say diplomatically, sitting on my own bed, which is covered in a plain, functional grey duvet.

While Chloe scrolls through the quarterback’s social media, I pull the card from my waistband. It’s thick, heavy stock. Black, with a single, elegant symbol embossed in gold foil. A shield, with a stylized letter ‘A’ inside it. No words. No numbers. Just the emblem.

“What’s that?” Chloe asks, peering over from her bed.

My mind races. “Oh, just a flyer or something. Someone handed it to me.” I make to toss it on my nightstand, a casual dismissal.

“Wait, let me see,” she says, scrambling over. Before I can stop her, she plucks it from my fingers. Her eyes widen. “Oh my god, Lia. This isn’t a flyer.”

“It’s not?” I ask, playing dumb.

“No! This is The Aegis.” She says the name in a hushed, reverent tone. “They’re like, the secret society on campus. All the most powerful people are in it. Senators, CEOs, that ridiculously hot actor from the ‘Crimson Sky’ movies. They all went here, and they were all in The Aegis.”

“A secret society?” I frown. “That sounds kind of… weird.”

“It’s not weird, it’s exclusive! Getting an invitation is like winning the lottery. It means they’ve been watching you. They think you have potential.” She looks from the card to me, her eyes shining with reflected glory. “They think *you* have potential! This is huge!”

I take the card back from her, turning it over in my fingers. A secret society. A network of power and influence. It sounds like a junior version of the world I just left behind. It sounds like something my father would create to vet new business partners.

It sounds… interesting.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I just wanted to come to college and focus on my classes.”

“Lia, don’t be crazy. You have to do it! This is the kind of thing that sets you up for life!”

Later, long after Chloe has fallen asleep to the sound of a true crime podcast, I sit in the dark, the card cool against my palm. My laptop is open, the screen’s glow illuminating my face. A blank, encrypted message window is open, waiting for my weekly check in with Marco.

*All quiet,* I was supposed to type. *Acclimating to the environment. No threats detected.*

But that’s not true. I close the message window without sending it. There was a threat tonight. The man by the column. He wasn’t a threat to my life, not yet. He was a threat to my cover. He saw something, and a man like that will not stop looking until he understands what it is.

And then there’s this card. The Aegis. Chloe sees a golden ticket. I see a structure, a hierarchy. A system to be understood, mapped, and, if necessary, dismantled. Father taught me that power is never harmless. It’s a weapon, and you either hold it or have it used against you. Letting an unknown power structure operate around me unchecked is a liability.

This whole plan, coming to Blackwood, was about escaping the game, just for a little while. I wanted to sit in a lecture hall and worry about a pop quiz, not about an ambush. I wanted to drink bad coffee in the dining hall and talk about boys with Chloe. I wanted a sliver of the life my father’s choices stole from me.

But maybe he was right. Maybe I can’t escape it. Maybe it’s just in my blood.

I look at the card again. This campus is its own little kingdom, with its own court and its own politics. The Aegis is at the center of it. Ignoring it is naive. Controlling it… that’s a different story.

It’s supposed to be a harmless diversion. A way to understand the campus power dynamics.

I flip the card over. On the back, almost invisible against the black paper, is a single line of text in faint grey print. An address and a time. Midnight. Tomorrow.

A test. An invitation to a pledge.

My father always said, if you’re invited to a game of wolves, you don’t pretend to be a sheep. You show up and you become the alpha.

Maybe my vacation is over before it even began.

A slow smile spreads across my face in the darkness. Fine. Let’s play.