Chapter 2 — The Cult Boys’ Reputation
Massie
The buzzing hum of the fluorescent lights overhead feels more alive than it should, like some kind of predator sizing me up as I step into my first class at Dark Falls High. The air is thick, heavy, like the building itself is waiting for something. But maybe it’s just me. The day’s already a masterpiece of awkwardness—silent stares, whispered words that vanish when I turn my head, and now a seating chart that’s dumped me in the very last row of history class. Of course.
I sling my bag onto the desk and slide into the cracked wooden chair, trying to disappear into its edges. The room isn’t exactly loud, but there’s a current of energy running through it, buzzing like static. It’s not normal new-girl curiosity. No, this is something sharper, darker. Their eyes cut to me, assessing, like they’re waiting to see if I belong—or if I’ll crack.
I let out a slow breath, shifting in my seat. This day’s already been one long reminder of how out of place I feel. The eerie chill in the air, the way the school looms like it’s part forest and part graveyard—it’s a far cry from anywhere else I’ve lived. And then there are the Cult Boys. I’ve only seen them once, but they’ve already carved themselves into my brain, like shadows that refuse to leave.
“Alright, settle down,” the teacher commands, stepping into the room with all the enthusiasm of someone marching to his doom. Mr. Grayson, according to the scrawl on the board, is a wiry figure with deep lines etched into his face, his scowl set like stone. “Open your books to chapter three. We’re continuing our discussion on territorial conflicts shaping Dark Falls.”
Dark Falls history. I bet that’s a cheerful tale.
I pull out my book, flipping absently to the chapter, but my attention doesn’t stay there long. The door creaks open, and suddenly it’s like the room forgets how to breathe.
They walk in.
The Cult Boys.
They don’t just enter—they claim the space, their presence rippling through the air like a storm front. A sudden, inexplicable chill washes over me, and I swear the lights flicker for half a second. No one else seems to notice, but the shift is unmistakable. Christian Wolfe leads the group, his icy-blue eyes scanning the room like he’s cataloging every secret hiding in it. Behind him is Lex Carter, his sandy blond hair catching the weak light, his mouth curved into a perpetual smirk that promises trouble. The other two—one with jet-black hair and storm-gray eyes, the other wiry and sharp-featured with a restless energy—move with the same eerie precision. There’s something about the way they carry themselves, their steps fluid, purposeful, almost too synchronized. Like a pack.
Without so much as a word, they take their seats near the window, where the sunlight struggles feebly through ivy-covered glass, casting faint, distorted shadows. The rest of the class shifts automatically, straightening in their chairs, their movements careful, cautious. Even Grayson doesn’t blink, just continuing his lecture as though this disruption is an everyday occurrence. Maybe it is.
I try to focus on the teacher’s droning voice, but my eyes betray me, flicking toward Christian. There’s a tension coiled in the way he sits, his shoulders deceptively relaxed, his gaze fixed somewhere far away. It’s like he’s listening to something no one else can hear. He doesn’t look at me, not once, but Lex catches my gaze. His grin widens, something sharp and knowing in his green eyes that makes my stomach flip—not in a good way.
Focus, Massie.
Mr. Grayson’s voice is barely more than background noise as he drones on about early settlers and territorial disputes. My thoughts spiral, turning over questions I don’t even know how to ask. Why does this town feel like it’s suffocating under its own weight? Why do the Cult Boys make everyone around them shrink back like prey? And why does Christian Wolfe—silent, intense, untouchable—have this magnetic pull that feels as dangerous as it is irresistible?
“Miss Wilton,” Grayson’s sharp tone cuts through my spiraling thoughts like a knife. “Care to enlighten us with your thoughts?”
I blink, my heart lurching as every eye in the room snaps to me. Great. Just great. I force a lazy half-smile onto my face. “Sorry, what was the question?”
There’s a ripple of chuckles, low and cautious, but Grayson doesn’t seem amused. His scowl deepens. “We were discussing the territorial conflicts that shaped Dark Falls. Surely you have something to contribute?”
I open my mouth, scrambling for any kind of response, but Lex beats me to it. “Let me guess,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair with a grin that’s equal parts charm and challenge. “You’d suggest we solve it all with a group hug and a heartfelt apology?”
The class bursts into laughter, the sound sharp and cutting, and heat floods my cheeks. My embarrassment flares into something hotter—anger—and before I can stop myself, I snap back, “Oh, I’m sorry, were you under the impression that sarcasm counts as analysis? What’s your next project? Interpreting knock-knock jokes as philosophy?”
The laughter dies instantly, replaced by a collective gasp. Someone mutters, “No one talks to Lex like that.”
Lex’s grin falters, just for a second, before returning with renewed vigor. “Feisty,” he says, dragging out the word, his green eyes gleaming with something I can’t place.
“Enough,” Grayson interjects, his voice tight with irritation. “Mr. Carter, unless you’d like to explain the finer points of sarcasm in your next essay, I suggest you focus on today’s lesson.”
Lex raises his hands in mock surrender, his smirk unshaken. “Noted.” But his gaze flicks back to me as he says it, lingering just a moment too long. There’s something there—amusement, curiosity, maybe something darker. I can’t tell, and I’m not entirely sure I want to know.
My pulse is still racing by the time class resumes, but now there’s another weight pressing on me. Christian hasn’t said a word, hasn’t even looked at me, but I feel the charge in the air every time I so much as glance his way. His presence is a quiet storm, brewing just out of reach, and it leaves me uneasy in a way I can’t explain. Just before the bell rings, his head tilts slightly, as if he’s noticed something—or someone. But he doesn’t turn.
---
The rest of the day is a blur of whispers and stares, the tension in the hallways coiling tighter with every step I take. By the time I get home, my head is pounding, and the weight of Dark Falls feels like it’s been carved into my shoulders.
I drop my bag by the front door and head upstairs, collapsing face-first onto my bed with a groan. The late afternoon light filters through my window, casting fractured shadows across the room. For a moment, I let myself sink into the silence, the faint rustle of the forest outside almost soothing. Almost.
I roll onto my side, my fingers grazing the chain around my neck. The cool metal is grounding, a small comfort in the chaos of the day. But something feels... different. Heavier.
I sit up, pulling the chain free from my hoodie, and freeze. Dangling from the chain is a small pendant—a claw. Reddish-brown, intricately carved but rough around the edges, like it’s older than the forest itself. My breath catches, and I yank the necklace off, holding the claw up to the fading light.
“What the hell?” I whisper.
The pendant is warm against my palm, almost too warm, as if it’s alive. A faint smell of pine and something metallic clings to it, like the air in the forest. My heart pounds, the weight of the day crashing into this one impossible moment. I didn’t put this here. I know I didn’t. And yet, holding it now, it feels... right. Familiar, like I’ve known it my whole life without realizing it.
The room feels colder suddenly, the shadows stretching longer, reaching for me. My gaze snaps to the window, scanning the edge of the forest. Nothing moves, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The metallic tang I noticed when we arrived in Dark Falls lingers faintly in the air.
The claw pulses faintly in my hand, a subtle warmth that sends a shiver through me. It’s not just an object. It’s a message—or a warning.
I don’t know what this means, but one thing is clear: Dark Falls isn’t done with me yet.
