Chapter 1 — New Beginnings

Shae

The town of Dalton rolled into view like the opening scene of a movie I’d never auditioned for. Its cobblestone streets and perfectly symmetrical trees lining the sidewalks looked like they belonged on the cover of a postcard—the kind you sent to relatives you didn’t want to visit. The hills beyond the town glowed golden in the late autumn sun, and a narrow river shimmered like a ribbon of light at the edge of my vision. Picturesque. Inviting. But none of it felt real. Not yet.

Aunt Lacey’s house appeared at the end of a quiet street, a pale blue box with a white picket fence standing like a line I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross. The moving truck sat in the driveway, hulking and immovable, its presence as jarring as my own.

“This could be a fresh start, Shae,” Aunt Lacey said from the driver’s seat, her voice softer than the hands gripping the steering wheel. Fingers that tapped lightly, hesitating, unsure. She glanced at me briefly, her mouth twitching as if to add something more, but she faltered. “Dalton’s a nice town. You’ll like it here,” she finished, retreating to the safety of the generic.

I nodded once, a response that didn’t mean anything, and pushed open the car door. The crisp autumn air wrapped around me, the faint scent of damp leaves mingling with the cold. My fingers instinctively found the locket around my neck, the cool metal grounding me as I stepped out onto the gravel driveway.

The house was neat, almost too neat, like it had been staged for a realtor’s tour rather than lived in. Inside, neutral tones coated the walls, the kind of beige meant to offend no one but comfort no one, either. A few framed landscapes hung like placeholders, their muted colors as impersonal as the silence that filled the space. It wasn’t just quiet—it was the kind of quiet that weighed on your chest, pressing down until you felt every breath.

My gaze caught on a photo perched on the mantle—a younger Aunt Lacey with my mom, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, laughing like they didn’t know the world could break. The ache in my chest came sharp and sudden, like tripping over a memory I hadn’t been ready for.

“Your room’s upstairs,” Aunt Lacey said, appearing beside me with a set of keys in hand. Her smile was tight, practiced, her fingers curling slightly as she offered them to me. “Take your time settling in. I’ll, um, check on the movers.” She adjusted the photo frame, her hand lingering there for a heartbeat too long before she turned away.

I nodded again, the words sticking in my throat, and climbed the narrow staircase. My sneakers squeaked against polished wood, every sound amplified by the stillness. At the end of the hall, I found the door with a pale blue sticky note that read “SHAE’S ROOM” in Aunt Lacey’s small, deliberate handwriting. The careful neatness of each letter made something in my chest twist—an attempt to be thoughtful, or maybe just to fill the silence.

The room itself was spare, unclaimed. A twin bed pushed against one wall, a desk against another, and a single window framing the street below, its curtains a pale, unassuming color. My backpack slid off my shoulder and onto the bed with a muted thud. Crossing to the window, I looked out at the unfamiliar world that now surrounded me.

Trees swayed gently in the breeze, their branches brushing against each other like conspirators with secrets I couldn’t understand. I wanted to feel comfort in their movement, but instead, it felt like they were part of something I wasn’t. My fingers found the locket again, tracing the faint scratch on its surface. I didn’t open it. Not yet. Instead, I pulled my sketchbook from my bag and flipped to a blank page. My pencil moved instinctively, carving the lines and shadows of the trees into the paper. It was easier than thinking, and easier still than feeling.

Some time later, Aunt Lacey’s voice floated up the stairs. “Dinner’s ready!”

The scent of baked cheese met me as I descended to the kitchen. Aunt Lacey had set the table for two, the plates mismatched but neatly arranged. A casserole sat steaming in the center, its golden crust bubbling faintly.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” she said, her tone apologetic as she fidgeted with the edge of her apron. “I thought something simple would be best.”

“It’s fine,” I said, settling into a chair. The food wasn’t bad, but I barely tasted it. Lacey tried to fill the silence with questions—about the drive, about school starting tomorrow—but my answers were clipped, polite. Detached.

Her fidgeting grew more frequent as the meal wore on, her hands smoothing an already unwrinkled napkin or straightening the saltshaker. I watched her without really looking, the effort she was making caught between us like a thread too thin to hold.

After dinner, I retreated to my room. The night wrapped the house in a heavier quiet, the kind that settled into the bones of the walls. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I held the locket in my hand, its weight familiar and steady. This time, I opened it. Inside, the tiny photo of my parents stared back at me, their smiles frozen in a moment I couldn’t touch. My thumb brushed the edge of the picture, the ache in my chest sharpening until it felt like I could hear it.

“Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad,” I whispered. The words barely carried in the silence.

The locket clicked shut, and I set it carefully on the nightstand before lying down. The bed felt unfamiliar, the sheets too stiff, the mattress unyielding. I stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the trees outside shift and sway, their movements a reminder that the world kept turning. With or without me.

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The next morning, Dalton High rose in the distance, a red-brick building with tall windows that gleamed in the early light. It looked more like a courthouse than a school, its front steps crowded with students who seemed to belong to a world I’d been thrust into uninvited.

Inside, the noise hit me like a wave. Conversations overlapped, lockers slammed, laughter burst out in sharp, sudden bursts. I tightened my grip on my backpack strap and kept my head down as I weaved through the crowd in search of the office. The secretary handed me my schedule with a smile just shy of genuine.

“Welcome to Dalton High, Shae. I think you’ll settle in just fine,” she said with a cheerfulness that felt rehearsed.

Settle. As if I were a bird choosing a branch.

The first few classes passed in a blur of introductions, syllabi, and generic lectures about how this year would be pivotal. I spoke only when I had to, the rest of the time content to fade into the background.

By lunch, my energy was spent. The cafeteria buzzed with movement and chatter, its tables divided into territories—athletes in one corner, artists in another, everyone else carving space where they could. I found a seat near the back, pulling out my sketchbook as a shield. My pencil moved reflexively, sketching faces I barely knew and places I’d never been.

“Nice sketch.”

The voice startled me. I looked up to see a girl with curly auburn hair and bright green eyes standing across from me. Her outfit was a kaleidoscope of colors—mismatched earrings, a scarf patterned like a dream, and a skirt that seemed entirely its own mood.

“Thanks,” I said cautiously.

“I’m Lila,” she said, dropping into the seat across from me uninvited. “You’re new, right? I think we have English together.”

I nodded. “Shae.”

“Cool name. So, what brings you to Dalton? Secret heiress? Witness protection? Or just hiding from the mob?” Her grin was wide, disarming. Against my better judgment, I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

“Something like that,” I said.

She laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, cutting through the noise of the lunchroom. “Well, Shae, stick with me. I’ll show you the ropes—like where to avoid the soccer team. Trust me, they’re more drama than they’re worth.”

Before I could respond, the cafeteria doors swung open, and a group of soccer players strolled in like they owned the space. Among them was a face I hadn’t seen in years but would never forget.

Knight Thomas.

His piercing blue eyes swept the room, landing on me for a fleeting second before glancing away. But in that moment, something sharp and unspoken crackled in the air between us. My grip on the sketchbook tightened, and the world seemed to constrict, the sounds of the cafeteria fading into the background.

The knot in my chest returned, tighter than ever.