Adam and Aiva walked side by side along the first-floor corridor, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone tiles. The hallway smelled faintly of cleaning solution and old paper, the kind of sterile scent that always lingered in academic buildings no matter the day. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows lining the outer wall, casting long rectangular patches of warmth across the floor that they stepped through and out of as they moved.
Adam's mind, however, was not fully present.
His thoughts drifted backward to the stairwell, to the way the two bullies had gone pale the moment Aiva mentioned their year. Interims. The word carried weight at Moonstone, more than most people realized. It was not just a class designation. It was a warning.
Being an interim meant existing on borrowed time.
Moonstone Academy did not operate like other schools. There were no four cleanly defined high school years. Instead, there were three, and the first of them barely counted. The interim year was a filter, a trial, a proving ground disguised as an academic class. Students who graduated from Moonstone's affiliated middle school were funneled into it alongside carefully selected transfers from elite institutions elsewhere. Everyone entered on uneven footing, and everyone knew it.
The academy only wanted ninety students to advance.
It never said that outright, not in any handbook or orientation speech, but the numbers told the story. Adam remembered hearing it whispered early on, the way dangerous truths always were. At the start of this interim year for instance, there had been one hundred and twenty four students. By the time the next year began, when the academy acknowledged its so called first years, only ninety would remain.
The rest disappeared.
Some were and would be expelled quietly. Others would told they were simply not a good fit. Transfers out were encouraged, sometimes aggressively. No appeals. No second chances. The interim year existed so Moonstone could discard whoever did not meet its impossible standards without consequence.
Once you survived it, you mattered. Before that, you were replaceable.
Adam clenched his jaw slightly as he walked. Those two bullies had known it too. That was why their bravado had evaporated so quickly. As interims, they stood on the thinnest ice the academy had to offer. One formal report, one confirmed offense, and Moonstone would not hesitate to cut them loose.
It sucked.
The thought lingered heavier than he expected. Maybe because he remembered how easily the system could turn on you. How quickly labels stuck. How mercy was not part of the school's design.
Aiva glanced at him sideways, noticing his silence. "You're thinking really hard," she said lightly. "That's never a good sign."
Adam blinked and looked at her. "Sorry. Just got distracted."
"By what?"
He hesitated, then decided there was no harm in honesty here. "Interims," he admitted. "I was just thinking about how bad that situation is for them. It kind of sucks."
Aiva nodded slowly, her expression softening. "Yeah. It really does."
There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her tone more reflective now. "I was an interim too, remember."
Adam looked at her, surprised. He had known she transferred in early on, but he had never really connected the weight of it. "Right. You came in during that year."
She hummed in agreement. "I replaced someone."
The words were casual, but there was something underneath them, something heavier. Adam listened as she continued.
"The school only wanted ninety students for the first year class," she said. "Which technically would have been second year anywhere else. They started off with one hundred and fifty seven. By the time the year ended, only ninety of us were left."
Her fingers brushed lightly against her sleeve as they walked. "I transfered in the middle of that year. Someone had to go for me to be there. That's just how it works."
Adam swallowed. "That's brutal."
"It is," Aiva agreed. "And once you know that, it changes how you see everything. You realize how replaceable you are until you aren't."
Her gaze flicked toward him, curious now. "Which honestly makes me wonder about you."
Adam stiffened slightly. "What about me?"
"You transferred in after the interim year," she said as if it was unheard of, which it was. "Second year for moonstone. That basically never happens."
He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I don't really know how I got lucky. Especially after I learned how the school works."
The dismissal was quick, almost too quick.
Aiva noticed.
She smiled, a knowing curve of her lips, but she did not push. Instead, she changed the subject with practiced ease. "Well," she said, stopping in front of a door, "here we are."
The brass plaque beside it read Music Club.
She turned to him, eyes bright with mischief. "Want to take the lead this time?"
Adam hesitated. His first instinct was to say no. Convincing people was Aiva's thing. She made it look easy, like breathing. But then he thought about everything he had watched her do over the past day. The way she listened. The way she adjusted. The way she never tried to sell an idea without first understanding the person in front of her.
"I'll try," he said finally.
Aiva's smile widened. "That's the spirit."
They stepped inside.
The music club room was warmer than the hallway, both in temperature and atmosphere. Instruments lined the walls, guitars resting on hooks, a keyboard pushed against the far side, sheet music scattered across stands and tables. A few students sat in a loose circle, talking quietly, laughter bubbling up and dying down between them.
Adam felt every pair of eyes turn toward him.
He swallowed and stepped forward, forcing himself to breathe. Listen first, he reminded himself. That was the key.
He introduced himself, then Aiva, explaining their role in the student council and what they were working toward. He asked what the club enjoyed most, what kind of music they liked, what they hoped to do with it long term. Slowly, the tension eased. The members began to talk, voices overlapping as they shared preferences, frustrations, aspirations.
Adam nodded along, absorbing everything. He repeated points back to them, showed he understood. When he brought up Halloween, he framed it around their interests, around atmosphere and creativity rather than obligation.
It worked. Mostly.
When he suggested performing during the Halloween events, both for the first year celebration and the castle gathering for the second years, the energy shifted. The room grew quieter. Eyes dropped. Someone cleared their throat.
One of the members spoke up, voice hesitant. "We're not really ready for that."
Adam blinked. "Not ready?"
"It's not that we don't want to help," another added quickly. "It's just… performing in front of people is different."
"And this is kind of last minute," someone else said. "We're not confident enough yet."
Adam felt his momentum falter. He tried to reassure them, stumbled over his words, his thoughts tangling together. He could feel the pitch slipping, the connection fraying.
"I mean," he said, then stopped. His mind went blank.
Before the silence could stretch too long, Aiva stepped forward.
She did not interrupt. She did not override him. She simply joined the conversation, her presence calm and open.
"I get that," she said gently. "Really."
She listened. Truly listened. She asked what made them nervous, what they feared would go wrong. As they spoke, she nodded, validated each concern without dismissing it. Slowly, the tension eased again.
Then she offered an idea.
"What if you didn't actually have to perform?" she suggested.
They looked at her, confused.
"You could do something closer to lip syncing," she explained. "People won't be there judging technical skill. They'll care about the vibes, the energy. Halloween is about atmosphere."
She smiled brightly. "You'd get great pictures, too. And I can personally make sure the administration credits your club for the event. That kind of visibility can really help later, especially if any of you are aiming for music programs or institutions."
There was a pause. Then murmurs. Then excitement.
"So we'd just… pretend?" someone asked.
Aiva nodded. "Exactly. Play the role. No pressure."
The decision came quickly after that. Enthusiastic agreement replaced hesitation, plans forming almost immediately. Adam watched it all in quiet awe.
When they stepped back into the hallway, he let out a breath. "That was incredible."
Aiva waved it off, cheeks faintly pink. "It was nothing."
"No," Adam insisted. "That was everything."
He hesitated, then asked, "You'll actually get them the credit, right?"
"Of course," she said firmly. "You can't promise people things you don't intend to follow through on. That wouldn't be fair."
He nodded, respect deepening.
They glanced toward the debate club door down the hall, then at each other.
"Scrap it?" Aiva suggested.
Adam laughed softly. "Yeah. I think we've done enough."
They crossed it off together.
"I can't wait for tomorrow's student council meeting," Aiva said as they walked. "I'm going to surprise Bryce with all this."
She stopped suddenly and hugged Adam, quick and warm. "Thank you. For helping."
Before he could respond, she ran off down the hall, waving over her shoulder.
Adam stood there for a moment, dazed, smiling like an idiot.
Eventually, he made his way to his locker, slipped the clipboard inside, and closed it with a soft clang. He turned toward the dorms, ready to finally rest.
But his feet slowed.
He stopped in front of the library.
His eyes drifted to the wall, to that same shelf. The memory of the stairwell surged back, sharp and vivid. Just before the bullies' trousers had fallen, he had felt it. That strange sensation. Like soft electricity braided with wind. Faint, but unmistakable to his heightened senses.
The same feeling pulsed here.
He stared at the shelf, unease crawling up his spine. Why here? Why earlier? Why around Aiva?
Questions piled up, unanswered.
Then he shook his head.
You're overthinking, he told himself.
With a final glance, he turned away and headed back to his room, leaving the questions behind, even as they followed him in silence.