Your first morning at Blackthorne Academy begins with a silence that feels deliberate.

As you pass through the front gates, clusters of students stand around the courtyard noticeboard, their voices lowered in a way that suggests they were speaking freely moments before. Some glance at you, then away. Others keep watching a second too long.

At the center of the board, pinned beneath official notices, is a single sheet of paper. No teacher has acknowledged it. No stamp marks its corner. Yet students gather around it as if drawn by something they cannot name.

At the top of the page, in neat black print, is a title:

THE SILENCE LIST

Beneath it, a name you do not recognize.

A girl beside you shifts her weight, then steps back as if she has realized she is standing too close to something dangerous.

[Unknown Girl]

"...I've never seen them before."

Another student, older, with a prefect's pin, walks past without looking at the list at all.

[Older Student]

"Don't stare. It's not worth it."

The girl glances at you, then at the noticeboard again, her voice barely audible.

[Unknown Girl]

"Who are they?"

Around you, the courtyard continues its morning rhythm. But something in the air has shifted. Conversations pause when you approach. Eyes track you without acknowledgment. And somewhere in the distance, a bell rings”too sharp, too sudden, like a warning.