The familiar hum of Canterbury Academy's grounds usually brought a sense of structured calm, but today, an underlying tremor of unease rippled through the student body.

I leaned against the gnarled trunk of a massive oak, the well-worn pages of my book, The Mill on the Floss, a comforting weight in my hands. The Academy garden stretched around me, a verdant expanse dotted with ornate benches and a clear, reflective pond. It was a haven, usually.

"You're staring," I muttered, not even looking up. Inez Bonavinch, my first and only friend since my second year, grumbled in response, her head still resting in my lap as she half-heartedly plucked at a stubborn weed.

"It's not staring; I just glanced over there!" she protested, but I chuckled, closing my book and shifting my gaze to her. For ten minutes, she'd been fixated on them—the inseparable trio who always drew every eye. Their leader, thankfully, was nowhere in sight.

Then, Inez shot up, brushing grass from her plaid uniform skirt. "Didn't Mrs. Marlowe assign you to meet the new student by the gate?"

My eyes widened. "I knew I forgot something!" I sprang up, shoving my book into my bag. "Catch you later!" I called over my shoulder as I jogged out of the garden, ignoring Inez’s desperate plea not to ditch her for lunch again. Twenty-five minutes late, I dodged students, my throat burning from the rush. By the time I reached the gate, breathless, it was empty. Teachers ushered students inside.

My heart sank. What if she’d given up? Just as I turned to find Mrs. Marlowe, a tap on my shoulder made me jump. Standing there was a girl, an inch taller than me, with long raven hair and fair skin. Her eyes, like mine, were light brown, but her frown was almost permanent.

"Are you Nova De LaFayette?" she asked, her tone sharp and calm, sending a shiver down my spine.