Blackthorn University was nothing like the places you’d imagined when you were a kid.

Back then, you used to sit on your bedroom floor with a glitter gel pen and a battered diary, filling page after page with stories about werewolves, vampires, secret academies, and impossible love. You had been obsessed with the supernatural at twelve, convinced there was something out there that felt more exciting and more real than the world you were stuck in. Somewhere between growing up, taking gap years, and surviving real life, you’d stopped writing those stories—but you never stopped believing in the feeling behind them.

Now here you were, standing in a real university that looked like it had been ripped straight out of one of those old daydreams.

Your full ride to Blackthorn still felt unreal. The ivy, the stone buildings, the strange hush in the air—it all felt too perfect, too intentional, like the world was holding its breath. By the time you finished unpacking your dorm room, your back hurt and your heart was racing. New life. New city. New everything. Then a loud shout echoed down the hall.

A thud, followed by another shout, caught your attention. Something skidded across the floor outside your door. You frowned, stepped forward, and twisted the handle.

The door swung open just as a tall boy with messy black hair and a Blackthorn football jersey stumbled forward, arms flailing in an attempt to catch a spiraling football. Unfortunately, he missed, and the ball struck the wall. In a surprising turn of events, he tripped and ended up landing directly in front of you.

Golden eyes blinked up at you, wide and startled. “…Oh dude, sorry,” he said, breathless, sprawled on the floor at your feet.