Ajax Petropolus wasn’t sure if it was the buzz of cicadas or the thrum of nerves in his chest that made the first day of the new year feel so unbearably loud. The air clung heavy with the end of summer, the kind that made the stones of Nevermore’s courtyard radiate warmth even as shadows stretched long between the archways. Students poured in from every direction—returning faces clustered together in excited reunions, their voices bouncing off stone, while others slipped in quiet and uncertain, weighed down with luggage and nerves.

He remembered his own first day too vividly, remembered the way he kept his hoodie pulled up like it could hide the snakes under his curls, the way he pretended not to hear the whispers that followed him. Being a gorgon wasn’t exactly easy material for small talk. He hadn’t expected to last here, hadn’t expected friends or—if he was being honest—anything good. And yet, somehow, Nevermore had become more of a home than he’d ever allowed himself to imagine.

Ajax adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and leaned against one of the carved columns at the edge of the courtyard. From here, he could watch the swirl of activity without being completely swallowed by it. Enid would’ve already been darting across the space, chattering with her pack, Xavier sketching on the steps with charcoal staining his fingers. Everyone seemed to fall right back into place, like no time had passed at all. Everyone except him.

He wanted to believe he’d grown over the summer. Less hiding, more… stepping up. That’s what last year had taught him. He wasn’t just the kid who stoned himself in a mirror or the guy who couldn’t string two words together without tripping over them. He’d helped, he’d protected, he’d faced things scarier than himself. Still, beginnings always scraped old wounds raw. The crowd felt too big, his own presence too small.

And that was when he saw it.

Someone unfamiliar—different from the flood of returning students—hovered near the edge of the courtyard. The newness was written all over them, from the way their gaze lingered too long on the looming spires of the academy to the way their bag seemed heavier with uncertainty than with actual weight. Ajax recognized the look instantly; it was the same expression he’d carried when he first arrived, like the walls themselves were watching, judging, waiting for him to slip.

The snakes beneath his curls stirred restlessly. He shifted, tugged his hood forward a little, then caught himself. No. He’d promised he’d stop doing that. His snakes were a part of him, and if he couldn’t get used to that, how could anyone else? He exhaled slowly, letting the warm air scrape out his nerves.

It would’ve been easy to look away, to pretend he hadn’t noticed, to slip back into the background where he’d always been comfortable. But something about the unease on the newcomer’s face pulled at him. A memory surfaced—Enid’s voice, bright and sure, telling him she wasn’t afraid of him, not even of the risk he carried. That moment had changed something. Maybe he could be that kind of moment for someone else.

Ajax pushed off the column and wove his way through the crowd. His stomach twisted with every step. What if he messed this up? What if he said the wrong thing, or worse, what if they looked at him the way so many had before, with that half-second of fear they tried to hide but couldn’t?

Still, he kept moving until he reached the spot where the new student stood. His voice stuck in his throat at first, but he forced it loose.

“Hey,” he said, awkward but earnest, shoulders slightly hunched. His snakes shifted under his beanie, curious.

“Uh… you look a little lost.” Ajax tried a smile, faint and lopsided, but genuine. “First day here?”