Bianca's table in the cafeteria was a different beast up close.
From across the room, it looked like a glossy spread from a magazine — power, glamour, and the kind of effortless gravity everyone pretends they don't want. Up close, it smelled like expensive, cloying perfume and felt like sitting inside the velvet lining of a trap.
She had saved the seat directly to her right for me. I didn't miss the calculation in that. Sienna was on her left like a dedicated sentry. Petra sat across from me, already wearing a bright, rehearsed smile that I now knew meant absolutely nothing.
"I'm so glad you came," Bianca said. She made it sound like a request, but we both knew it was a summons. "I always make a point of welcoming new students properly. Crestwood can feel... overwhelming at first."
"It's a big school," I said, keeping my voice neutral.
"The biggest." Her smile widened, hitting a note of genuine warmth that was the most terrifying thing about her. "But once you find your people, it feels like home. That's what I want for you, Mila."
Sienna leaned in, cutting across Bianca's line of sight. "Where did you say you transferred from?"
"Southvale High." I replied.
"Never heard of it." It wasn't an insult; it was a factual dismissal of anything outside her bubble.
"Most people haven't. It's not popular."
"How'd you end up here?" Petra asked, folding her arms on the table and leaning in like we were already close. "Crestwood doesn't exactly take just anyone."
"It is an academic scholarship." I said.
A collective shift moved around the table. It wasn't a change in expression, but a silent recalibration. They traded a look that lasted half a second — too fast to be accidental, too synchronized to be anything but a private language.
"That's impressive," Bianca said. She sounded like she meant it, which was the trick with her. You could never quite find the seam between the mask and the person.
We ate, but the meal felt like an interrogation disguised as small talk. Bianca's questions were surgical — where I lived, my course load, who I'd met. She was building a profile, piece by piece. I'd met people like this before, though never with this much polish. I answered in facts. Short, dry, and giving her nothing she could use for leverage.
Then, the temperature at the table dropped a degree.
"I noticed you were talking to Tessa Park," Bianca said.
Her voice hadn't changed — it was still smooth, still inviting but something underneath had sharpened into a blade.
"She walked me to class this morning," I said.
"Tessa's sweet," Bianca murmured, her fingers tracing the rim of her sparkling water. "She's just... she can be a bit much. A lot of opinions about things that aren't really her business."
She reached over and touched my arm, a light, possessive gesture. "I just want you to have the full picture before you get too close to certain people. I care about the people in my circle."
I looked at her hand on my arm, then back up at her face.
"That's really thoughtful of you," I said.
Her smile was perfect. Sienna's was slightly too wide, like a predator seeing the bait taken.
When lunch ended, Bianca led the way out, Sienna at her shoulder and Petra trailing behind like an afterthought. I stayed back for two seconds, looking at the empty table. Every detail had been intentional — the seat, the questions, the warning about Tessa. She was drawing a perimeter around me before I'd even seen the map.
The question was why. I'd been here for only forty-eight hours. I had no status, no money, no history. Why was Bianca Harlow spending her social capital on a ghost?
Tessa was waiting in the corridor, leaning against the lockers with her arms folded. Her eyes had that sharp, wary look again.
"How was the lion's den?" she asked.
"Interesting." I replied.
"She said something about me, didn't she?"
I looked at her. "Why would you assume that?"
"Because it's page one of the playbook." Tessa pushed off the wall. "Isolate the new girl from anyone who might tell her the truth before the 'official' version gets settled. What did she say?"
"That you have too many opinions about things that aren't your business."
Tessa let out a short, humorless laugh. "Of course she did."
"Tessa." I stopped walking, forcing her to turn around. "What actually happened between you two?"
The hallway noise seemed to fade as she went quiet. Finally, she spoke. "Let's just say I used to sit at that table. Then I stopped. And Bianca doesn't like things that were hers choosing to leave."
She started walking again, her pace quick and jagged. I followed, a dozen questions burning in the back of my throat, but I kept them there.
Because at the end of the corridor, Zane Calloway rounded the corner.
He saw me. He didn't stop, didn't slow down, but he held my gaze for two full seconds as he passed. It was a heavy, silent acknowledgement that felt like a physical weight.
But Bianca was right behind him, coming from the opposite wing. The second she saw the way his eyes lingered on mine, her face went somewhere very cold, very fast.
She masked it instantly, the polished veneer snapping back into place, but the damage was done. I'd seen the cracks.
I finally understood why she'd wasted her lunch hour on the scholarship kid. It had nothing to do with welcoming me to Crestwood.
It had everything to do with the fact that Zane Calloway was looking at me, and Bianca Harlow didn't like losing eye contact.