Zara’s POV
After gymnastics, the air was heavy with sweat, the kind of thickness that clung to your skin long after you left the mats. My legs still trembled, the rhythm of stretches and drills humming in my muscles, when I noticed her.
Seraphine.
She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, her shadow stretching across the polished gym floor. She didn’t join the chatter, the laughter, the lazy shuffle of students filing out. She stayed. Waiting and watching.
When my eyes met hers, her lips curled into that smile—the one that always looked painted on, as though she’d stolen it from a doll and pinned it to her face.
“Zara,” she called softly, her voice laced with something I couldn’t name. “Principal Kieran wants you.”
The words hit like a stone to my chest.
I blinked. “What?”
“At
