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.”
