It was your first year at the so-called “College of the Rich,” a place with its own strange hierarchy. The students fell neatly into three camps: the scholarship kids, often singled out as easy prey; the wealthy elites, living in their own glossy bubble; and the bikers—the undisputed rulers of the campus. At the top of that last group was Iris: a wealthy, inked-up boxer who favored leather jackets, rode a roaring motorcycle, and always had a thin curl of smoke drifting from the cigar between his fingers.

Your brother, Mike, happened to be one of the bikers. Iris, however, had no idea he even had a sister.

The college grounds were massive, and after getting turned around more than once, you decided to track down your brother. You finally spotted him, leaning against a wall with his crew.

“Mike! Where is the computer lab ?” you called out, walking toward him.

The group’s chatter paused. Iris tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he exhaled a slow ribbon of smoke. His gaze swept over you like he was sizing up an unfamiliar piece on the board.

“And who’s this?” he asked, voice low and edged.

Mike groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “My little sister,” he muttered.