Survive the Alpha’s Trials

The library smelled like forgotten things—dust and old leather and secrets nobody wanted anymore. I pressed myself deeper into the corner of the archives section, where the overhead light had burned out two weeks ago, and nobody bothered to replace it. Perfect.

Darkness was safe. Darkness meant invisible.

My fingers traced the spine of a water-damaged copy of Mythology of the Pacific Northwest, but I wasn't reading. I was counting. Fifty-three seconds since the last footsteps echoed past my hiding spot. Ninety-two seconds before I'd need to make another sweep of the third floor. Two hours and seventeen minutes until my shift ended and I could disappear back to my dorm.

This was survival. Measured in seconds and silence.

"Still hiding in the dark, Winters?"

I didn't jump. Jumping showed weakness, and I'd learned young that weakness got you hurt. Instead, I turned slowly, forcing my face into that blank mask I'd perfected in six different foster homes.

Lyra Ashford stood at the end of the aisle, all honey-blonde hair and concerned eyes that never quite matched the rest of her perfect face. My roommate. The one person at Crescent University who refused to let me be nobody.

"Working," I said. My voice came out flat, deliberately boring. "Some of us have scholarship requirements."

"It's almost midnight." She moved closer, and I catalogued her appearance the way I catalogued everything—potential threat assessment. Designer jeans that cost more than my entire wardrobe. A cashmere sweater, despite the library's broken heating. Boots that didn't make a sound on the hardwood floor. That last part bothered me more than it should.

"The library closes at one." I shelved the mythology book, using the movement to put more distance between us. "I've got time."

"You've got shadows under your eyes and coffee stains on your sleeve." Her tone was gentle, which somehow made it worse. "When's the last time you ate something that wasn't from a vending machine?"

My stomach chose that moment to growl, betraying me. I'd skipped dinner again, too anxious about the strange sounds I'd heard coming from the restricted wing last night. Chanting, maybe. Or screaming. Hard to tell through the thick stone walls of this Gothic nightmare masquerading as higher education.

"I'm fine."

"You're always fine." Lyra sighed, leaning against the shelves with the easy confidence of someone who'd never had to fight for space in the world. "Look, there's a bonfire thing tomorrow night. Off-campus, near the old-growth forest. You should come."

"I don't do parties."

"It's not a party. It's just... people. Talking. Being normal college students." She paused, and something flickered across her face too fast for me to read. "You can't hide forever, Sage."

Yes, I could. I'd been doing it for nineteen years.

"I'll think about it," I lied, already knowing I'd spend tomorrow night exactly like I spent every night—alone, safe, invisible.

Lyra studied me for a long moment, and I forced myself to hold her gaze. Eye contact was important. Too little made you prey. Too much made you a challenge. I'd learned to find the middle ground, that sweet spot where people saw you but didn't really see you.

"Okay," she said finally. "But if you change your mind, text me. I'll save you a spot."

She left as quietly as she'd arrived, and I waited until her footsteps faded completely before I let my shoulders drop. The mask slipped, just for a second, and exhaustion crashed over me like a wave.

I was so tired of being afraid.

But fear kept you alive. Fear kept you moving. Fear was the only friend I'd ever been able to count on.

I finished shelving the returns and made my way through the routine closing checks. Lock the study rooms. Secure the rare books section. Turn off the computers in the research lab. The familiar tasks settled something jagged in my chest.

My phone sat heavy in my jacket pocket. I'd left it charging at the front desk earlier, and now the screen showed three missed calls from an unknown number. My pulse kicked up. Unknown numbers meant social services, or worse, someone from the system tracking me down. I'd aged out six months ago, but that didn't stop them from trying to pull you back in when it suited them.

I shoved the phone deeper into my pocket and grabbed my backpack from behind the circulation desk. Time to go.

The October air hit me like a slap when I pushed through the library's heavy oak doors. Cold enough to sting, sharp enough to clear my head. Crescent University sprawled before me in Gothic revival glory—all dark stone and pointed arches and shadows that moved wrong when you weren't looking directly at them.

I'd felt it the first day I arrived. This place was wrong. Beautiful and prestigious and absolutely drowning in secrets.

But the scholarship was a full ride, and beggars couldn't be choosers. So I kept my head down and my questions to myself and survived.

The main quad was empty this late, just the weak glow of antique street lamps fighting against the darkness. My dorm was a ten-minute walk across campus, past the dean's office and the administration building, and all the places where important decisions were made that never included people like me.

I was halfway across the quad when I realized I'd left my phone charger plugged in at the desk.

"Damn it." The words fogged in the freezing air. I could get it tomorrow, but tomorrow my shift doesn't start until noon, and I need my phone charged for the morning. Just in case. Always in case.

I turned back toward the library, and that's when I heard it.

Chanting.

Low and rhythmic, rising from somewhere beyond the library. Past it. The sound crawled up my spine and wrapped around my brainstem, primitive and wrong and utterly compelling.

Every instinct I had screamed at me to run. To go back to my dorm, lock the door, and forget I'd heard anything.

I walked toward it instead.

Because that's the thing about people like me, people who'd spent their whole lives being invisible—sometimes we forgot we were supposed to stay that way.

The chanting grew louder as I rounded the side of the library, following the ancient stone pathway that led toward the restricted administrative wing. No students allowed past this point. I'd never questioned it before.

Now my feet carried me forward like I was walking through a dream. Like I wasn't in control of my own body.

The dean's office sat at the end of the path, windows dark except for a faint red glow pulsing from somewhere inside. The chanting came from there, and beneath it, I could hear something else.

Screaming.

My hand found my phone, fingers already pulling it free, some dim part of my brain thinking I should call someone, do something, be anything other than a scared nineteen-year-old girl way out of her depth.

But I didn't call. I crept closer instead, drawn by the same sick curiosity that made you look at car crashes, made you read the scary stories even when you knew they'd give you nightmares.

The window was tall, arched, medieval-looking. I pressed myself against the cold stone wall and leaned just enough to see inside.

And my entire world shattered.