The morning began with a knock at the door.Not loud. But precise, like a gunshot.
Aya jerked upright in bed, not yet understanding where she was.Last night had swallowed her whole, like a wave of stone—she'd fallen asleep fully dressed, tangled in her blanket, with her phone still showing no signal.
— Who…Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat, stood, stepping barefoot onto the cold floor.
Knock-knock.The knock repeated. There was something strangely polite in it. And disturbingly patient.
— Yeah, I'm coming, for god's sake.
She cracked open the door and… forgot how to blink.
Standing in front of her was a guy. Tall.Very tall. Almost brushing the doorframe.He wore a classic black suit, perfect cut, snow-white shirt, slim tie.But the one thing that ruined—or rather, intensified—the look was the medical mask.Black. Tight. Covering the lower half of his face, as if he was afraid of infecting someone. Or… so no one would see what he really was.His eyes were icy, almost transparent, like frost on glass. Hair black as pitch, perfectly slicked back. Not a strand out of place.And he was smiling—with his eyes.
— Good morning. — His voice was low, but polite. — You're Aya, right?
She nodded.He continued, tipping his head slightly to the side, as if studying her.
— My name is Kaiden Ar'Mir. I'm your orientation escort for new students. Or, as those who survive the first week call me, "the stress-resilience filter."
Aya was silent. He waited.Then he added gently:
— According to your schedule, you have an adaptation check today. Compulsory-voluntary. Nothing painful. Well… unless you count cognitive reactions to your surroundings. You're expected in Office #9 in ten minutes. Shower if you can manage it. Changing clothes is optional. No one here judges by appearance. Usually, it's more about… what's inside.
He straightened up, reminding her that he wasn't just a boy in a suit.He was part of a system she didn't understand yet.
— I'll wait for you by the east corridor entrance. Don't even think about being late.
He turned, absolutely silent. As he walked away, he tossed over his shoulder:
— Oh, and… Welcome to Raven, Aya.
The door closed.
Aya stood there, mouth open, hair a mess, with the distinct sensation that this wasn't morning at all.This was the beginning of a ritual.
When the door closed behind Kaiden, Aya stood for a few more seconds in complete bewilderment.Then she slowly looked at her hand. It was trembling.
— Great… — she muttered. — Not even a full day, and I've already been summoned by… who? The Committee of Sanity? Teachers on discount?
She turned to face the room. Empty. Devoid of comfort.Last night she hadn't even unpacked—her backpack was under the desk, her phone still in her hand, screen dark.
— "Changing not required…" — she mimicked Kaiden, tossing her hair back. — Of course. Perfect. I look like a torn-up comic book.
Aya sat on the edge of the bed, slowly lacing her boots. She tied one tighter than she should have—and didn't bother fixing it.
The room was quiet, but not peaceful. The kind of quiet that feels too much like waiting.
Behind her, the mirror. Still covered with thin cloth, ever since the first minutes last night. Just… so it wouldn't irritate her. She never liked mirrors."It feels like you're looking at yourself through someone else's eyes," she once told her mom. No one got it then, and she never explained.
Didn't matter now. The only thing that mattered was not being late.
Aya stood. Ran a hand through her hair, sighed.Pulled on the same pants she'd arrived in. Hair into a ponytail. No, let it down.No makeup, no clips—just an old sweater and a hair tie on her wrist, for when her hair inevitably tired out.
Phone in her pocket. Battery: 4%. No service, but the habit of keeping it close remained.She glanced at the door and adjusted her collar.
— And still… where the hell did I wake up? — she said quietly. No irony, no sarcasm. Just a question.
There was no answer.And thank God for that.
She went to the desk, shoved a piece of leftover candy from yesterday's trip into her pocket, and stopped at the mirror.Silent.Still covered.
But her hand, involuntarily, brushed the edge of the cloth.She didn't flinch. Didn't lift it. Just stood there a couple of seconds, then walked to the door.
Paused.Took a deep breath. Only then did the tension in her shoulders finally start to ease.
— Aya. Let's go.
Not an order, not motivation. Just a reminder.
She took the handle. Click. And forward.
Aya left her room, carefully closing the door behind her. Her fingers squeezed the handle tighter than needed, as if in that gesture she could leave behind the last "normal," even if unwelcoming, space—where at least she could sit with her phone and pretend not to smell other people's dust and damp.The corridor was quiet. Too quiet. In these halls, even her light footsteps sounded too loud, as if the building disliked unexpected movement.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent… dusty stone, and something warm, as if someone had just passed through. Several times, by the smell of it.
Kaiden was waiting at the east corridor entrance, standing upright, not leaning on anything, as if he didn't know how to relax—or thought it was unnecessary. Tall, with that calm body that never needs to "get in shape"—it's just always like that.His hair was gray, classic cut, neat suit that somehow looked like it belonged to another era. Aya already noticed: even when he just stood there, his figure looked like the shadow of a stained glass window—strict, restrained, almost hand-carved.
The mask on his face hid most of his expression, but his eyes—those eyes were pure, almost transparent ice. Not cold. Not prickly. Just alien. Too steady, too calm. Not quite human.
— Ready? — he asked in an even voice, not raising his tone or offering a joke. Just… a fact.
Aya shrugged.
— Not really. But I guess I don't have a lot of options.
— That's a good state to be in. Tests go better when you don't think you're omnipotent.
— Inspiring, — she muttered under her breath, but followed him.
He moved off first—not the way people walk at school, more like following a route. Not a chaperone, an escort. And as soon as Aya walked alongside, she felt that odd sensation, as if someone had shaped the space around his steps. She walked a bit behind, trying to keep pace, but felt herself tighten inside at that feeling: like she was "the new kid" all over again. Under suspicion. On the edge.
— Do you always dress like that? Or is this just to intimidate first-years? — she tossed out, trying to shake the mood.
He didn't look back. Just answered calmly, almost like a textbook fact:
— It's so I don't scare the others.
Her eyebrows arched a little. No comeback for that. Maybe it was sarcasm. Maybe not. Could be both.
— Don't worry, I know how to keep a low profile. Especially if I just bury myself in bed and don't come out for a week.
This time he didn't reply. But for a fraction of a second, his shoulders twitched—barely—a little, like a grin passing through his spine. Small, thin, like a nod in a conversation you get but don't comment on.
Aya couldn't help but smile at the corners of her lips. And was surprised at that.Maybe he wasn't a total robot.Maybe she wasn't a total loser.
The corridor stretched on so long, Aya started to suspect Raven Academy wasn't a school at all, but a giant snake slowly digesting students as they moved along. The silence here wasn't cozy—it rang, like when you're waiting for something bad. Or during an interrogation.
Kaiden walked beside her, unhurried, back straight, with a face that ought to be printed on signs reading, "Don't touch, will bite." His suit fit perfectly. Gray hair slicked back, white mask covering his face. He spoke calmly from behind it, but every word sounded like a line in a report on her flaws.
— Morning assessments are standard — he said. — They scan the background, reaction to basic stimuli, look for… anomalies. Especially in newcomers.
— Anomalies, — Aya repeated slowly. — Like dark circles under the eyes and not wanting to talk before coffee?
— We've had those too, — he nodded seriously. — But more often: bursts of fire, claws, telepathic meltdowns, or ritual marks on bedroom walls.
Aya paused for half a step, peering into his eyes. To her surprise, they were pale gray, nearly icy. And completely sincere.
— Wait, you're serious?
— Absolutely, — he nodded. — Last semester a boy turned out to be a minor god of forgotten roads. He escaped through the dining room cupboard three times.
— The cupboard… in the dining room. — She stepped forward again, slowly. — Are you messing with me? Or do you have a humor department next to necromancy?
Kaiden shrugged.
— No humor department. But a siren writes stand-up sets.
Aya was silent. Not because she believed him, but because… better not to argue. What if he reports it? With her record, even a "meltdown" joke could bring the wrong attention.
— You know, — he said suddenly, staring ahead, — people like you are often afraid to show weakness.
— People like me? — Her voice had more emotion than she'd intended. — What people is that?
— Broken schools. Notorious reputations. Fire in the hallways, blood on the exams. Psychologists who sigh at your file. People don't trust you, they're afraid of you—that's why you're the first to laugh. Because if you ever started crying, no one would come over. You're "dangerous," after all.
She stopped. Stood in front of him.
— Sorry, — she said coldly. — Are you describing me… or yourself?
— Oh, — the mask shifted. The corner of his eye almost smirked. — I told you, I work with newcomers. I know the profiles.
Aya took a slow breath.
He wasn't mocking her. Not scolding her. Just… filing everything away, as if she was an exhibit, not a person.
No, he's definitely teasing. Definitely.
He knows people call her crazy. He knows she got kicked out of schools. And now he thinks it's okay to mess with her?
She clenched her bag strap tighter.
— You know, Kaiden, in another situation I'd reply. But right now, I'm too curious: is this your way of saying hello? Or are you just a sociopath disguised as a tour guide?
He paused for a second. Then bowed slightly.
— More the second. But I do give tours. Come on. Only a couple more winding corridors and one very suspicious scanner.
— Great, — Aya muttered. — Love it when the day starts with humiliation and sarcasm. At least it's not some ritual sacrifice.
— That's on Tuesday, — he replied with absolute seriousness.
— Just a few more turns and you're there, — Kaiden said without looking back.
Aya walked behind him with a slight slouch—not because she was tired, but because her body wanted to be smaller. Quieter. Less noticeable. Useless. With him, it wouldn't work.
— So, does everyone get a welcome like this? — she muttered. — Tests, an escort in a mask, and chat about sirens and gods in cupboards?
— Not everyone, — he replied calmly. — Only those who arrive with the police on their heels and a file that eats paper faster than the principal can read it.
— Awesome. Really feels like home already.
— That's just an illusion. This isn't home. This is an academy. We didn't take you in. We're keeping you here.
He said it almost indifferently. Like a phrase he'd told ten other people already. Every time without a drop of sympathy.
Aya gave a dry, humorless laugh.
— Yeah, got it. Zoo. I'm a dangerous exhibit—don't feed or pet.
— "Dangerous" is a strong word, — he said softly. — For now, you're just unstable. And there are a lot of those here. Werewolves lose form under stress. Sirens snap their voices. Demons flare up. You… you're just loud, for now.
She stopped. Eyes narrowed.
— Do you often psychoanalyze people you don't care about?
He turned. Icy eyes. Expression neutral, but something flickered there… something personal.
— Do you often needle people who are just doing their job?
— No, just that you seem like someone who gives up on newcomers before they start. Convenient: less disappointment, less responsibility.
He didn't flinch. But his eyes changed. From cold to something… thinly veiled and expectant. Like he was looking through her, but through a very thin, trembling sheet of irritation.
— Here's the office, — he said sharply. — Aya Li, primary assessment. Student with unstable status.
He turned to the door, opened it. Inside was a dimly lit room, long oval table, several chairs, and a figure—clearly the principal—at the far end. Three more people in gray. Someone was writing. Someone watching. One was obviously sniffing the air. Oh, perfect.
Kaiden stayed at the threshold.
— Good luck, — he said with no emotion. — They don't usually bite. Almost.
On his way out, he gave her a look that held nothing but cold, polished detachment. No respect. No irony. Not even fatigue. Just:"You're on my list now."