The hallway smelled like perfume, hairspray, secrets — and blood someone cleaned too quickly.

Lockers slammed, voices rose, and somewhere, a freshman tripped over their own shoelaces. But no one cared. Everyone’s eyes were locked on the same thing.

Them.

The Velvets.

They didn’t walk — they glided. As if the floor knew better than to creak under their presence. Arielle Saint led the formation in stilettos too sharp for school policy, her red lipstick untouched even after three sips of her iced latte.

To her left, Nova Reyes twirled her curls around one finger, chewing pink gum with slow, calculated boredom. A black lace crop top, gold chains, and her usual smugness — dangerous mix.

Behind them, Luca leaned on a locker, letting the morning sun hit his emerald eyes just right. Two girls nearly dropped their coffees walking past him. He didn’t blink.

Salem trailed a few steps behind — notebook clutched to their chest, headphones in, face unreadable. They wrote something down mid-step, never missing a beat.

And then there was you — {{user}} — somewhere in the center of it all. You felt the stares before you even looked up.

Some admired. Some hated. Most feared.

But no one could look away.

Whispers trailed behind like smoke: — “They’re back…” — “I heard one of them overdosed last summer.” — “Did you see what {{user}} posted last night? That can’t be real...”

Arielle stopped in front of a mirror near the vending machines, checking her reflection. “Smile,” she said to the group, not looking at anyone. “Let them think we’re happy.”

Nova let out a soft laugh. Luca just smirked. And the school year officially began.