Just like Andrei Rafael, there was someone else who couldn't understand what was happening.
Damien Rhodes had skipped the first day of the new semester.
To the faculty and the student body, this was just "Rhodes being Rhodes"—the arrogant wolf who didn't need to follow the sheep's schedule.
But now, behind the heavy mahogany door of his private suite, the wolf was merely a boy hiding from the world.
He was sprawled over his king-sized bed, his long legs dangling over the edge. His feet hovered inches above a white, fluffy rug—a soft island that felt entirely out of tune with the room's otherwise suffocating darkness.
Red and black curtains hung from the high ceiling like heavy velvet shrouds, blocking out the intrusive golden light of the afternoon sun.
The only source of light was a large, spherical lamp suspended at the center of the dark chandelier. Like a lonely moon caught in a permanent eclipse, it glowed with a pale, ghostly white light.
