Seated across from Anneliese and the twins, at the edge of a round table, was Clara. She held a porcelain teacup delicately between her fingers. Surrounding her were three classmates-- two of noble descent and one the daughter of a wealthy merchant. They chatted freely with the ease of those untouched by consequence.
But Clara?
Clara wasn't listening.
She saw him again,
Lincoln.
Hanging out with Anneliese von Bentheim and her sister, Liberty. The canteen was too quiet to catch what they were actually saying, but honestly, their expressions said it all.
"Looks like he's gotten in with the big shots now-- even the director's niece, no less."
Anneliese leaned in, wearing that curious little smile.
Liberty, full of energy as usual, talked with her hands, laughing mid-sentence.
And Lincoln, he just sat there. His crimson eyes caught the morning light like some freshly uncovered gem.
Clara couldn't help but keep her eyes on him.
She had told herself it was just curiosity.
How could it not be? Lincoln was new, unusual, with that stillness. He spoke little in class, but when he did, it was with the kind of certainty that silenced a room.
He barged in confidently, saying he was her aunt's kid-- but they didn't even look alike. No matter how she looked at him, he felt like a complete stranger.
And perhaps… perhaps Clara noticed more than she should have. Like how he didn't laugh, not really, but his eyes would soften when Liberty teased him. Or how he never looked at anyone too long.
His eyes had met hers then. Just a second. But she remembered.
"Clara?"
Her friend's voice pulled her from the trance. It was Camille, the merchant heiress, adjusting her gloves.
"The steward just set my order behind you," Camille said with a light laugh. "Mind switching seats?"
Clara blinked, her cheeks turning a little pink. "Oh! Sure. Err... how about I'll just… go and grab it for you? Much easier that way?"
Camille looked a bit surprised, "Awww, really? You'd do that for me?" she cooed, her tone turning playful like a purring cat. "That's so sweet of you. Thanks a ton!" she added, blowing a flirty kiss.
Clara rose, her skirt swishing softly as she turned toward the steward's counter, weaving past tables and conversations. The scent of spices and fresh bread lingered in the air.
She was halfway there when it happened.
A tough shoulder like a steel beam slammed into her.
Her balance tipped. Trays clattered. Her breath hitched as she stumbled back, barely catching herself on the edge of a bench.
Her eyes lifted in shock and met the massive, sneering face of a man built like a boulder.
He didn't look like a student. And if he was, he had to be a senior-- older, rougher around the edges, with a simmering sort of anger that made it clear he didn't care much for rules or appearances. His uniform bore no family crest, no house insignia.
"What's this?" he growled. "A doll in the way?"
Clara froze. "I... I didn't see you--"
"No, you didn't," he spat, stepping forward. "Because you noble bitches think we're furniture."
His voice rang loud. Heads began to turn.
"I didn't mean to--" she started, voice trembling.
He cut her off with a raised hand, as if preparing to strike. Then he sees it, the Crest embedded on Clara's pauldron.
"Oh, I see…" he let out a low, mocking chuckle. His friends in the back echoed it, a chorus of sneers. Turning back to Clara, he smirked.
"You're a Nightingale, huh?"
"I heard your mom's Fiona Nightingale, right? Still sucking dick for Ministry officers just to keep that position of hers, yeah?"
Her eyes widened. Her chest tightened.
"You've got her face, gorgeous. But I bet you got her mouth, too. Probably even better. Maybe I'll find out."
A laugh. Not hers.
She stepped back, trembling. "Please don't--"
"I'll touch whoever the fuck I want, doll!"
"HEY!" Camille shouted at their table, rising to her feet.
"What the hell did you just say to her?!" Emma snapped. She was the noble sitting with Clara, and her sister Emilia was next to her, trying to hold her back.
"Say that again and I'll break your f--"
"Back off!" growled the man's cronies. They were big, serious-looking, and got up to stand around him. One shoved a chair out of the way, and another cracked his knuckles.
"Sit down," one of them growled at Clara's table.
"Before you break your fake nails and fragile necks," the other added.
Camille took a step forward but faltered as two of the boys moved to flank her. Her courage became a nervous breath.
"Cowards," Emma whispered. But she sat down, fists clenched.
The man turned back to Clara.
"You see?" he sneered. "A good doll is a silent one,"
He reached for her uniform collar.
Then--
A hand caught the man's wrist.
The pressure was sudden.
"You're going way too far."
The voice was calm.
But cold.
Rain Janson stood between them now.
Tall, and composed. His white-gloved hand clamped around the man's wrist with immense strength. Behind him, his sister-- River, slight and silent--watched with the stillness of a porcelain doll.
The huge man's eyes narrowed. "You got a problem, rich boy?"
Rain's stare didn't waver. "There are students eating. Have some proper decorum, will you?"
The man's nostrils flared. "Don't play noble with me."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Rain said, his voice soft. "You're not even a player. Just a sore, bloated pus in society's wounds."
Rain tilted his head slightly.
"Monarchy recruit, huh? Guess their standards really dropped if they're letting in mutts like you."
His tone didn't rise. It didn't need to. It was measured like a blade mid-swing.
The man's friends stiffened. One stepped forward towards Rain with fists clenched, then stopped.
"Okaaaay!" A bright, airy voice broke the tension.
All heads turned. River behind Rain in with a sweet, innocent smile, like she'd just arrived to compliment someone's hair ribbon.
"Hi!" she chirped to the man and his cronies.
"I think we've all had our manly moment. Loved the insults. So… how about we all go back to our sad little meals and pretend no one here just offered to buy a student's dignity?"
Her long, wavy blonde curls bounced with every step, and her smile stayed just as sweet as always. Her bloodshot-red eyes, however, were not. They were dead winter, calm and clear and utterly unforgiving.
The man faltered. The dissonance between her voice and her stare unsettled more than Rain's insults ever could.
One of the guys mumbled, "Those are the Jansons, Boss. Not worth the trouble," and gave his sleeve a tug.
"Tch!" the man scoffed, stepping back. His voice shook with frustration. "Freak shows." And they were gone.
Clara stood frozen, chest heaving.
Rain turned to her.
"You're alright, Milady?"
She nodded shakily. "Yes… thank you!"
Rain adjusted his glove. "You shouldn't have to thank people for stopping filth like him."
River still smiled. "If he comes back, Rain will rearrange his jaw. Nicely."
Clara blinked. "I'm really sorry for accidentally dragging you both into this," she said, bowing slightly. "I shouldn't have let him talk to me like that. My mom--"
"Isn't here," Rain cut in softly. "And if she was, she probably would've knocked his teeth out."
Clara let out a quiet and bitter laugh.
Then a warm hand slipped gently around Clara's shoulder. River had stepped in beside her again, wearing that light, airy smile that somehow softened the room.
Without hesitation, she pulled Clara into a quiet embrace. Her fingers lightly patting Clara's head.
"There, there..." River whispered, as if soothing a toy. "You're okay now. Mishka's got you!"
Clara's breath caught. "Mishka?"
River pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, smiling sweetly. She reaches out a sewn toy doll shaped of a bear from her pocket and curls it inside Clara's hands.
"For now," she said. "Hold on to Mishka, until you can get a hold of yourself together again."
Clara nodded slightly, eyes fixed on the little bear.
They turned and bid Clara farewell.
As the siblings began to leave her side and fade into the crowd, the canteen resumed its old rhythm, just as quickly as it had frozen.
She returned to her table, her poise cracked just slightly, still holding on to the doll.
"How frustrating!" Camille groaned,
"That guy's lucky Rain stepped in first." Emma seconded.
Clara said nothing. Her hands trembled as she gripped her teacup. Her friends exchanged glances but said nothing afterwards.
Across the hall,
Liberty's brows were still furrowed. "Did you see that?"
"Hard not to," Lincoln replied quietly, his crimson eyes narrowing.
Anneliese leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs. "I know that guy. Name's Dresen. Fourth-year. Got picked up by the Monarchy through the Career Center," she said, eyes narrowing. "He's a Mutant, just like the rest of her cohort.
"Her cohort?" asked Lincoln
"Keevah." Anneliese's voice dipped just slightly. "He's one of hers. Not official, of course. But she shelters people like him."
"And why would Keevah support someone like that?"
"Because violence gets the point across better than laws," Anneliese said simply. "She doesn't care if they're monsters. Only if they're useful."
"Clara's a noble," Liberty added quietly. "I can hardly think that it was an accident." Anneliese tilted her head.
"With Keevah's people? Nothing is accidental."
Lincoln's gaze returned to Clara. He said nothing.
Then,
The sharp clang of the midday bell rang through the academy halls. Conversations broke. Forks paused midair. Books closed. Anneliese rose.
"This is it," she muttered
Across from her, Liberty Ramsay checked her schedule. "It's almost one, brother! You're still not done with your lunch?"
"I am full," he said, calmly.
"Out on the parade field. I believe that it where you'll be starting the group evaluations." Anneliese fixes the ribbon around her neck.
She stepped back and smoothed her cuffs. "I meant what I said. Refuse them. Firmly. Politely, if you must. But refuse. And whatever you do. please don't bleed for someone else's war."
The second bell rang. Students started trickling out of the canteen, some heading toward the locker rooms, others already hurrying out to the parade fields.
Anneliese gave them both a graceful nod. "Good luck. I'll be watching."
She turned and left.
Inside the locker room of the Class D,
Clara stood in front of the mirror, removing her pauldron, and her academy blazer with her hands. Her fingers trembled only once-- when the mirror caught her eyes for too long.
"You're fine. You're fine. Smile, chin up, forget."
Emilia, hair still damp from the showers, approached her subtly while fixing her PE uniform. "You okay, Clara?"
Clara gave a small nod. "I'm fine."
Emma frowned, tying her shoes. "Not buying it."
Without warning, Camille, hair still wet, leaned in and gave Clara a quick, awkward, but genuinely sweet hug, arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders, forehead bumping hers in a soft thud.
"You don't have to be fine, dummy," Camille said.
Clara blinked again. "…You just headbutted me."
"It was comforting," Camille said, flipping her hair with a grin. "And now that I've smelled you up close-- you actually smell amazing!"
Clara's lips twitched. "Weirdly flattering, thanks."
Before they could keep going, a chime echoed from outside the locker room. It's the final prep warning.
"We're heading to the field," Emma called, giving Camille's elbow a tug. "You coming?"
Clara nodded. Camille blew her a playful kiss.
"If anyone messes with you again, I'll kill them!" Emma added.
"Totally joking!" her sister Emilia quickly chimed in, a nervous smile on her face.
And with that, the girls turned and left, their giggles trailing behind them. The locker room grew quiet again. But not for long.
She folded her, tucked it into her locker, and began unfastening her inner blouse. Her reflection stared back at her,
"Well, well... look who's here!"
Clara didn't need to look to know the voice.
Melissa.
And behind her, three other girls trailed-- daughters of minor nobles or social climbers with charm, each one groomed to tear with words before using claws.
Melissa's tone was casual. Too casual. That cutting sort of calm that only ever existed to provoke.
"We all saw it, you know," Melissa said, pretending to inspect her nails. "The little scene in the canteen. You looked like you're about to piss yourself."
One of the girls behind her snorted. "Poor Clara," another murmured. "Imagine being a Nightingale and still needing rescue."
Clara didn't respond. She continued undressing, folding each article of clothing.
She could hear them circling behind her. Picking at her silence like hyenas.
"Your mother must be proud," Melissa added, her smile audible. "All that playing hard. Just to freeze up in front of a sweaty thug and a few brutes."
"Don't speak. Don't shake."
She closed her eyes, pretending to ignore them.
She slipped into her PE uniform, smoothed the fabric, and turned slowly to face them.
"Are you finished?"
Melissa blinked. "Excuse me?"
Clara's expression didn't change. "I'd like to know if you're finished. So I can go stretch."
Melissa tilted her head slightly. "I am surprised," She gave a quiet, pleasant sigh. "You've changed... if not... just a little. You're no fun at all anymore!"
Clara didn't react.
Melissa continued, voice still sugar-dipped. "And that hug? From that Janson girl? That was adorable. And you just stood there. Letting it happen." A pause. A subtle narrowing of her eyes. "Like you needed it."
Clara smoothed her collar. "And you came all the way over here to remind me?"
Melissa blinked with mock innocence. "Oh, no. Just offering... perspective. After all, we girls have to look out for each other." Clara turned to her fully now, her expression soft.
"You really think that little dog show would earn you the Jansons' favor?" she said calmly. "No-- they pity you for it. Just like I do, Clara. And here I was thinking you were smart enough to see that."
Melissa's brows arched.
"If you think of using them against me, that is where you're wrong!"
"Melissa," her tongue clicked, "They're just knives dulling themselves against whatever looks like a threat," Clara with a sigh.
Melissa's smile faltered for a second. Only a second.
"Am I really still that much of a threat to you that you're clinging to that sad little idea?" Clara said with a quiet chuckle.
"Funny," Melissa shot back. "After what happened, you still think you're a threat?"
Clara took a step closer, her gaze steady. "Well… maybe not to you. Not anymore."
She leaned in just slightly, "But I think what really scares you is that someone like me... didn't break. And you should've known that. We do have history, after all."
Melissa laughed lightly, dismissively. Clara didn't wait for the next comment.
She turned and walked toward the exit, PE shoes tucked under her arm.
"Good luck today, Clara," Melissa called behind her, tone light. "Try not to embarrass yourself in front of the boys. Again."
Clara paused in the doorway. She didn't look back.
"Funny thing about embarrassment. It only works if I care what you think." Then she left.
END OF CHAPTER EIGHT, PART TWO