Cruel Heirs Of The Circle

Chapter 1

Lydia.

“Can you believe it? We’re actually here!”

My roommate, Sarah, spun in a circle, her arms thrown wide. The tiny dorm room barely contained her enthusiasm. It smelled like fresh paint and cheap wood.

“I can believe it,” I said. I dropped my single duffel bag by the door. It landed with a soft, heavy thud.

“This is going to be the best year ever,” she chirped, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I was thinking we could hang fairy lights here. And maybe a tapestry over there to cover up that weird stain.”

I walked to the window, ignoring her decorating plans. I tested the latch. It was flimsy.

“The lock is weak,” I noted.

Sarah stopped bouncing. “The lock? Who cares about the lock? We’re on the third floor. Look at the view of the quad!”

“The third floor is accessible. A drainpipe runs right beside the window. The view makes us an easy target for anyone with binoculars.”

She stared at me, her smile faltering. “An easy target? For what? Rogue squirrels?”

“For anything.” I turned from the window and scanned the room again. The desk chair was solid oak. Heavy enough. The lamp on the nightstand had a weighted base. Also good.

“You’re… really practical, aren’t you?” Sarah said, trying to recover her good mood.

“It pays to be.”

“Okay, well, practical person, we are going to the freshman mixer tonight. It’s non negotiable. I heard half the lacrosse team will be there.”

“I don’t like crowds.”

“It’s not a crowd, it’s a party! Come on, Lydia. It’s our first night. We have to make a good impression.”

“You go,” I said, turning towards the door. “Make an impression for both of us.”

“Where are you going? It’s getting dark.”

“For a walk. I need to know the layout.”

“The layout of what? The campus? They give you a map for that.”

“Maps don’t show you everything,” I said, and closed the door behind me before she could argue further.

The air outside was cool. Students laughed in large, loud groups, their voices echoing off the old stone buildings. They moved like a herd, huddled together for safety and belonging. I walked the other way, towards the quiet perimeter of the campus.

An alley cut between the back of the library and a townie bar. A shortcut. My father always said the shortest path is often the most dangerous.

Good. Danger was the only thing that made me feel less bored.

I was halfway down the narrow passage when a figure stepped out from behind a dumpster, blocking my path.

He was tall, wearing a Saint Aethelgard letterman jacket. A senior, probably. He had the easy confidence of someone who thought he owned the world, or at least this little corner of it.

“Well, look what we have here,” he said, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “A little lamb, strayed from the flock.”

I stopped. I didn’t speak.

“Are you lost, freshman?” he asked, taking a step closer. The alley lights glinted off a championship ring on his finger.

“No,” I said. My voice was flat.

“I think you are. See, this is my alley. And there’s a toll to pass through.” He took another step. He was trying to use his size to intimidate me, crowding my space.

“I’m not paying,” I said simply.

He chuckled, a low, arrogant sound. “Oh, you’ll pay. Give me your phone. Your wallet too. Let’s call it a… welcome donation.”

“Let me guess. You’re the captain of some sports team. Used to being the biggest guy in the room. You think that makes you strong.”

His smirk tightened. “I am strong. And you’re about to find that out if you don’t do exactly what I say.”

“I’ll give you one chance to walk away,” I told him. My hands remained loose at my sides.

“That’s my line,” he growled, his patience finally snapping. He lunged, reaching for my shoulder.

It was pathetic.

I pivoted on my heel, letting his momentum carry him past me. My hand shot out, not to block, but to grip his wrist. I twisted. He screamed as the bone snapped with a wet crack.

He stumbled, clutching his arm, his face a mask of shock and pain.

“My wrist! You broke my wrist!”

I didn’t answer. I just swept my leg out, hooking his ankle. He went down hard, his head bouncing off the grimy pavement with a hollow thud.

He groaned, all the fight gone, replaced by whimpering.

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please, don’t.”

I looked down at him, this supposed predator, now just a boy crying in the dirt. I felt nothing. Not pity, not anger. Only the familiar, crushing weight of disappointment.

“Get up,” I ordered.

He scrambled backward, away from me. “I’m sorry! I was just kidding around! It’s just… freshman hazing!”

“This was you hazing me?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

“Yes! Yes! That’s all!”

“You have two seconds to disappear before I break the other one.”

He didn’t need a second warning. He clambered to his feet and ran, stumbling and crying, back the way he came.

The alley was silent again, save for the distant hum of campus life. I stood there for a moment, the adrenaline already fading, leaving the boredom in its place.

Then I heard it.

A slow, deliberate clap.

It wasn't loud. It wasn’t mocking. It was… appreciative.

My head snapped up. On a wrought iron balcony on the second floor of the library’s old wing, a figure leaned against the railing. He was cloaked in shadow, but I could see the silhouette of broad shoulders and the faint glow of a cigarette ember.

He brought the cigarette to his lips, the orange tip illuminating a sharp jawline and a mouth curved into a faint, knowing smile.

He wasn’t shocked. He wasn’t scared. He looked amused. He looked like he’d just watched his favorite team score the winning point.

A cold spark ignited in my chest, a feeling I hadn’t had in years. Recognition.

Our eyes met across the distance. In his gaze, I saw the same stillness, the same coiled danger that lived inside me.

This one, I realized with a jolt that was almost pleasurable, was not prey.

Chapter 2

Lydia.

“You will not believe the gossip this morning.”

Sarah burst into our room holding two paper cups of coffee. She kicked the door shut behind her, her face alight with excitement.

“Someone was attacked last night,” she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

I took the cup she offered. It was hot. “I know.”

“How do you know? It just started making the rounds. Troy Lexington, captain of the lacrosse team, got jumped by some townie. Right behind the library. The guy broke his wrist.”

“Did he,” I said. It was not a question.

“Yes! Isn’t that crazy? Our very first night. It’s kind of terrifying. We should definitely not take any shortcuts.”

“Good idea,” I said, taking a sip of the coffee. It was bitter.

Sarah sat on her perfectly made bed. Mine was still untouched from the night before. I had not slept in it.

“Anyway, enough scary stuff. I was thinking we could go check out the activities fair today. I want to sign up for the literary journal. And maybe a dance class.”

“You do that,” I said, turning to look out the window. The campus was swarming with students. A flock of sheep, all bleating about the same things.

“You’re not coming?”

“No.”

“Lydia, you can’t just stay in the room all day. You have to get out. Meet people.”

“Why?”

Her cheerful expression faltered. “Because that’s what you do in college. You make friends. You have fun.”

“I’m not here to have fun.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Before I could answer, a piece of thick black paper slid under our door.

Sarah gasped. She jumped off her bed and scrambled for it, snatching it off the floor like a prize.

“No way,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “No. Way.”

She turned to me, holding the envelope as if it were a holy relic.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice laced with boredom.

“It’s for you,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement. “Look. There’s no name. They just know.”

I looked at the object in her hand. A heavy, black linen envelope. It was sealed on the back with a dollop of silver wax, stamped with the image of a serpent eating its own tail.

“They know what?”

“That you’re here. That you’re… interesting.” She thrust it at me. “It’s from The Obsidian Circle.”

I took it from her. The paper was expensive. The wax seal was perfectly pressed.

“The Obsidian Circle,” I repeated. “It sounds like a book club for teenagers who think they’re vampires.”

Sarah laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. “Don’t let them hear you say that. They’re the most exclusive secret society on campus. Maybe in the country.”

“A fraternity.”

“No, it’s not a fraternity,” she insisted. “It’s different. It’s coed, for one. And they don’t just throw parties. They’re… powerful. The sons and daughters of senators, CEOs, old money. They say the initiation rituals are insane. Real tests of skill and nerve.”

“So it’s a club for rich kids to play make believe,” I said. I balanced the envelope on my finger, ready to toss it into the small trash can by my desk.

“It’s not make believe,” Sarah argued. “They run this campus. Getting an invitation is like being tapped by God. It means you’re one of them. The elite. The predators, not the prey.”

That last word caught my attention. I paused.

“What do they do?”

“Nobody knows for sure. It’s all secret. But there are rumors. High stakes games, psychological tests. They call it ‘simulated organized crime,’ which sounds so cool and scary. They’re looking for the best. The smartest, the toughest, the most ruthless.”

I almost laughed. Ruthless. These children didn’t know the meaning of the word.

“It sounds childish,” I said, and made to throw it away.

“Wait, don’t!” Sarah cried out. “At least open it.”

“Why?”

“Because no one throws away an invitation from the Circle.”

I sighed and tossed it onto my desk instead. “Fine. I won’t throw it away. I’ll just ignore it.”

I turned back to the window, dismissing the conversation. I scanned the quad below. Students were throwing a frisbee. A couple was kissing under a large oak tree. It was a portrait of nauseating normalcy.

Then I saw him.

He walked alone, cutting a path through the scattered groups. He moved with a purpose the other students lacked. His shoulders were broad under a simple black Henley, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. It was the man from the balcony.

He didn’t look like the other students. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t wander. Every step was deliberate, efficient. He moved like he owned the ground beneath his feet.

As I watched, another student approached him. This one was taller, broader, with the polished look of old money and the arrogant posture of a campus king. He was saying something to the man from the balcony.

“Hey, look,” Sarah said, coming to stand beside me at the window. “That’s Braden Croft. He’s the president of the Obsidian Circle. He’s a total god on campus.”

Braden held up an identical black envelope.

He offered it to the dark haired man.

The man didn’t seem impressed. He took the envelope without a word, his expression unreadable from this distance. He didn’t look excited. He didn’t look grateful. He looked… burdened.

He glanced down at the black paper in his hand. Then, as if he felt my eyes on him, his head lifted.

His gaze swept across the face of the dormitory. It was a casual, searching look. But when his eyes passed over my window, they seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second.

It was impossible. He couldn’t see me. The distance was too great, the angle too severe. But I felt it anyway. A jolt. A flicker of the same recognition I felt in the alley.

The only person on this entire campus who had seen a glimpse of the real me. The only one who hadn’t looked at me with fear, but with something that looked disturbingly like approval.

And he was being invited into this ridiculous game.

A slow smile touched my lips. The boredom that had been my constant companion for years began to recede, replaced by a spark of genuine curiosity.

Maybe this little club wasn’t just for children playing games after all.

Or maybe it was, and it would be amusing to watch him tear it apart from the inside.

Either way, it was the most interesting thing to happen all day.

I turned away from the window.

Sarah was still looking at me, her expression hopeful.

“So,” she said timidly. “Are you going to ignore it?”

I walked over to my desk and picked up the black envelope. The wax seal felt cool against my thumb.

I broke it with a decisive snap.

Inside was a single card. The script was elegant, the message simple.

*The Obsidian Circle requests your presence. The Old Observatory. Midnight.*

I slid the card back into the envelope.

“No,” I said, meeting Sarah’s ecstatic gaze.

“I’m going.”

Chapter 3

Lydia.

The Old Observatory sat on the highest hill on campus, a skeletal dome against a moonless sky. I arrived three minutes before midnight. The door creaked open before I could touch it.

A figure in a black robe and a silver mask gestured me inside. He didn't speak. The air inside was cold and smelled of dust and old paper.

About a dozen other freshmen were already there, huddled together in the center of the circular room. They shifted their weight, their nervous whispers echoing in the vast, dark space above.

“Did you hear what happened to Troy Lexington?” a girl with a blonde ponytail whispered.

“Yeah, a townie broke his wrist,” a boy in a ridiculously expensive jacket replied. “That’s why Braden’s on edge tonight. He hates when things look bad for the Circle.”

I found a spot away from them, near the wall, my back to solid stone. I scanned the faces. He wasn’t here yet.

The heavy doors slammed shut, making everyone jump. The lights died.

Girls screamed. Boys cursed.

Then, the room was flooded with red emergency lights. More robed figures burst in from side doors I hadn't noticed. They moved with theatrical aggression, shouting.

“On the floor! Now!” one of them yelled. His voice was artificially deep.

“Hands behind your backs! Do not speak!” another commanded.

The freshmen scrambled to obey, whimpering.

I simply knelt, placing my hands behind me. It was all so performative. So loud.

A robed senior grabbed my wrists. He fumbled with a length of thick rope. “This one thinks she’s tough,” he grunted to his friend, pulling the knot tight. “Let’s see how tough she is after a few hours in the dark.”

I felt the knot against my skin. A simple, clumsy square knot. A child could escape it. My father taught me how to tie a slipknot that could choke a man before I learned long division.

The senior gave it one last tug. “There. Not going anywhere.”

He moved on to the next pledge. I waited until his back was turned. I flexed my wrist, twisted my hand, and the rope fell loose. It took less than a second. I slipped my hands back inside the loop, feigning captivity perfectly. This game was more amusing if you played along, just a little.

My eyes adjusted to the dim red light. I began to watch.

The pledges were all tied, sitting in a miserable circle. Some were crying silently. Others were trying to look brave and failing.

But the room wasn't right. There was a pocket of stillness in the far corner. A disruption in the pattern of forced chaos.

I saw him then. Dante Thorne.

He was sitting calmly in a straight backed wooden chair, not on the floor with the rest of us.

He was not tied up. His hands rested on his thighs, perfectly relaxed.

And on the floor around his chair, three of the robed seniors were groaning. One clutched his wrist, his whole body trembling. Another was curled on his side, gasping for breath. The third was just staring at the ceiling, his silver mask askew, his expression one of pure shock.

“What happened over there?” a pledge near me whispered, his voice shaking.

“I don’t know,” his friend hissed back. “They went to grab him, and then… they were just on the ground. He didn't even seem to move.”

The main doors opened again. This time, two figures entered without robes. The first was Braden Croft, his blond hair perfectly styled even in the red gloom. His face was a mask of cold arrogance.

The girl beside him was beautiful, with sharp features and a bored pout. Chloe, I guessed. The socialite Sarah had mentioned.

Braden surveyed the scene, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Welcome, pledges. Your first test is one of submission. To prove you can follow…”

His voice trailed off as he saw the scene in the corner. His smirk vanished. “What is this? What the hell happened?”

He strode over to the downed seniors. “Get up! What is wrong with you?”

The one clutching his wrist looked up, his face pale. “Braden, we couldn't… he wouldn't let us.”

“He wouldn’t let you?” Braden snapped. “There are three of you! He is one pledge!”

Chloe laughed, a sound like tiny, sharp bells. “Looks like your boys aren't as tough as they look, Braden.”

Braden’s jaw tightened. He ignored her and turned his furious gaze on Dante.

Dante hadn't moved. He simply watched Braden approach, his expression unreadable. He looked like a king observing a minor squabble in his court.

“You,” Braden said, stopping a few feet from Dante’s chair. “You think you’re above the rules?”

Dante didn't answer. He just tilted his head slightly, a silent question.

“I gave an order,” Braden said, his voice rising. “All pledges were to be restrained. You were supposed to submit.”

“They tried,” Dante said. His voice was low and calm, yet it cut through the entire room. It held a rough, gravelly texture that sent a strange shiver down my spine.

“They tried, and you put them on the floor,” Braden shot back. “Who do you think you are?”

“He’s the guy who just took out three seniors,” Chloe said, looking at Dante with a new, hungry interest. “I’m impressed.”

“Shut up, Chloe,” Braden snarled without looking at her. He took another step toward Dante. “This is my house. My society. My rules. You will get on the floor and you will let us tie you up, or you can get out.”

I watched, fascinated. This was the first interesting thing that had happened since I arrived at this university. Braden was a bully who relied on numbers and status. Dante was something else entirely.

Dante slowly rose from the chair. He was taller than Braden, broader. He didn't move aggressively, but the sheer presence of him made Braden take an involuntary step back.

“You want me on the floor?” Dante asked, his voice still quiet, still dangerously calm.

Braden’s bravado was cracking. He glanced at his downed men, then back at Dante. He was trying to calculate his odds and realizing he had none.

“Fine,” Braden finally spat out, forcing a laugh. “A little fight in you. I can respect that. Consider this part of the test. You passed.”

It was a pathetic attempt to save face. Everyone in the room knew it.

Dante just gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod and sat back down in his chair, a silent victor.

Our eyes met across the room. There was no smile on his face, no flicker of triumph. There was only the same cold, assessing look I had seen on the balcony. A look that said he saw me, truly saw me, sitting here with loose ropes around my wrists.

A look that said he knew I was playing a game, just like him. Only our game was infinitely more dangerous than this childish charade.

Braden, clearly shaken, turned away from Dante, needing to reassert his dominance. His eyes swept over the rest of us, the compliant, tied up sheep.

His gaze landed on me.

“Alright,” he announced, his voice tight with frustration. “Let’s move on to the next phase. The interrogation.”

He pointed a finger directly at me. “We’ll start with her.”