The moment I stepped out of the lecture hall, I felt them before I saw them.
The Sinclair brothers had a way of commanding space without speaking, a presence that sent ripples through the crowd. Gabriel and Aiden flanked me on either side, moving in sync like it was planned.
Gabriel’s eyes flicked downward, landing on my bandaged knee—or more specifically, on the red silk tie wrapped around it.
“Is that my brother’s tie?” he asked, voice calm, casual.
Heat rushed to my face. I wasn’t even sure why I felt self-conscious, but suddenly, it felt like everyone in the hallway was staring.
I opened my mouth, ready to explain, but before I could get a word out, Aiden let out a sharp, amused laugh.
“So that’s why that idiot has been walking around with his chest puffed out like some gigolo again.”
I frowned, confused, but Gabriel’s silence made Aiden shift. He scowled but didn’t argue, and Gabriel simply turned back to me, his tone still even but pointed.
“You shouldn’t walk around the Academy like that,” he said. “My brother’s… admirers won’t take it well. You’ll only make more enemies.”
I stiffened. “What do you mean?”
Before Gabriel could answer, Aiden cut in again, blunt and unfiltered.
“Liam marks his sluts that way,” he said, his voice so casual it made my blood boil. “Or the girls he’s just screwed. Some of them even wear his ties like trophies.”
His eyes flicked to mine, sharp, assessing. “Unless, of course, you’ve already joined his little harem?”
Something snapped inside me.
My entire body burned with fury as I yanked the tie from my knee in one swift motion—even though the fabric tore against my wound, making fresh blood seep through the reopened cut.
I didn’t care.
I threw the tie straight at Aiden’s chest, voice cold as steel.
“Then return it to its rightful owner. I’m no one’s slut.”
I didn’t wait for a reaction. I turned and limped away, leaving a small trail of blood behind me.
I wasn’t sure what pissed me off more—Aiden’s assumption, or the fact that Liam had deliberately kept that tie.
* * *
By the time the clock hit six, Sophie had finally convinced me to leave our dorm room.
"You can’t skip this," she insisted. "Unless you want your life to become a living hell."
I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but I was too curious to back out now.
The Emerald Auditorium was bigger than I expected, grand and imposing, its high ceilings casting long shadows across the gathered students. There were dozens of them, a mix from different years, whispering anxiously.
But my attention went straight to the far end of the room—where the Sinclair brothers stood together.
They weren’t just standing. They were discussing something, their body language calculated, serious. Every now and then, students glanced at them, not with curiosity, but with unease.
Then, Nathaniel—the eldest of them—noticed me. His gaze slowly moved from my head to my feet, assessing. Studying.
A chill ran down my spine.
There was something about the way he looked at me—sharp, deliberate, like he already knew something I didn’t. Then I mentioned how Liam muttered something to his brothers, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
Nathaniel’s expression immediately darkened. Aiden, standing beside them, shoved Liam’s shoulder with mild annoyance. And that’s when I saw it.
Liam’s red tie.
It was stuffed into his chest pocket, as if he had kept it on purpose.
My heartbeat picked up speed. I wasn’t sure why it unsettled me, but it did. Before I could process the thought, Sophie grabbed my arm. Her grip was too tight, her expression nervous.
“Sophie, what’s wrong?” I whispered.
She didn’t get the chance to answer. Because at that exact moment, the room fell silent. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, three masked figures entered the auditorium.
They moved with controlled precision, dressed in black from head to toe, their white porcelain masks blank and unreadable.
“The Deckmasters,” Sophie whispered.
One voice rang out through the Emerald Auditorium, distorted and impersonal beneath the mask.
"The new round of The Royal Draw begins now." The voice that spoke was warped, as though filtered through a modulator. “For those new to The Blackthorn Academy, welcome to the game that will define your place within these walls for the semester.”
A murmur rippled through the room, some students shifting restlessly, others standing unnaturally still.
"Every semester, The Royal Draw determines the social hierarchy between students of this Academy," the Deckmaster continued, voice almost metallic. “Fifty-two cards have been hidden across the academy grounds. You have two hours to find one and return here. The card you bring back determines your role, your status, your standing—until the next Draw.”
Then came the rankings.
The Kings and Queens—the highest status, those who ruled over everyone else. Their power was absolute for the semester.
The Jacks—loyal to their respective Kings and Queens, second in command. They held status, but they also served.
The numbered cards—six through ten—students who weren’t at the top, but weren’t at the bottom either. The neutral zone. Two through five—loners, outsiders, yet still got a chance for normality.
And then, the Aces and Jokers.
I could feel the tension in the room shift as their names were spoken.
"The Aces are unpredictable," the Deckmaster continued. "The troublemaker, the rebel, the disruptor of order. They are answers to no one, defies all rules, and acts as an agent of chaos."
Everyone seemed to collectively hold its breath on the next one.
"And the Jokers…" Silence. A weighted pause. "The lowest of the low. The scapegoat. The prey. They exist to bear the ridicule, cruelty, and punishment of the entire academy."
The Joker wasn’t just a bad draw—it was a sentence. A mark that meant no protection, no privileges, no way out of the torment Blackthorn’s elite had perfected.
“The rules are simple,” the second Deckmaster said, placing the card box back on the desk. “Find your card. Return it here until two hours run out and play your role until the end of the semester.” They turned toward the door, pausing to deliver a final warning. “Cheating will not be tolerated. Reporting the game to staff or teachers will not be tolerated. We are always watching.”
A visible shudder went through the room at that last word. I remembered Sophie's earlier fear, understanding it now with horrible clarity.
I swallowed, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
For the first time, I truly realized—this wasn’t just some ridiculous social game or some twisted high school social experiment.
It was a system. A system that dictated who held power, who suffered, and who survived.
"Those who refuse to participate or attempt to disrupt the game will automatically receive Joker status," the first Deckmaster continued. "The same applies to anyone not back in this room with a card when time expires." They produced an ornate hourglass from their cloak. "Your time begins now."
Chaos erupted. Everybody bolted from their places, shoving past each other in their desperation to get out the door.
“Run,” Sophie whispered, her face pale with terror. “And pray you don’t get the Joker.”
Then she was gone, leaving me with fear setting in. But so did determination.
"I need to get something decent," I told myself. "At least a Six or higher."
We had two hours. The hunt began.
I barely made it halfway down the hall before I felt it. The shift in the air and the hands grabbing my arms. Before I could react, I was dragged into an empty classroom.
“What the—?!” I twisted, tried to break free, but there were too many.
The door slammed shut behind me. The lock clicked. Trapped. Victoria stood in front of me, her smirk slow and venomous.
"Can’t have you getting too ambitious, Leftover," she murmured.
Then—a shove. I hit the floor hard, pain jolting through my spine. Laughter rang out. I pushed up, heart hammering, but they were already stepping away.
"Enjoy your new rank, bitch," one sneered.
My pulse roared in my ears as I launched for the door, pounding on it with my fists.
"Open this door!"
Nothing. Just fading laughter. Cold terror coiled in my gut.
No card. No rank. The Joker.