The First Shift

Chapter 7

The subterranean Lower Tower Vaults were freezing cold.

Down here, far beneath the grand lobbies and pristine hallways of Lunar Ridge Academy, the air smelled of ancient stone, damp earth, and old paper. The walls were made of rough, dark granite that had not seen sunlight in centuries. Long rows of heavy iron shelves stretched into the gloom, packed with iron-bound ledgers, historical records, and sealed magical containers that hummed with a low, faint vibration.

I held the heavy industrial mop tight, my hands stiff from the chill.

A few feet away, Gideon stood perfectly still in the shadows of the arched doorway. His arms were folded across his broad, armored chest. His sharp, scarred face was completely blank, but his dark eyes tracked my every movement. He didn't speak. He didn't offer to help. He was simply watching, evaluating my stamina like a soldier testing a recruit.

I pushed the mop across the dusty stone floor, my muscles aching with every motion.

In my first life, washing dishes in the bright, noisy cafeteria was physically tiring, but it didn't feel like this. This deep underground, the atmospheric pressure from the tower's magical foundations was incredibly thick. It felt like walking through deep, heavy water. Every step required effort. Every breath felt shallow.

“Keep moving,” I told myself, biting my inside lip. “You asked for this. You need to be here.”

By the time I reached the third row of the restricted archives, my hands were shaking violently. It wasn't just from the cold or the heavy manual labor.

Deep inside my chest, a sudden, white-hot spark ignited.

My breath caught in my throat. I froze, leaning heavily against the handle of the mop as a wave of intense heat rushed down my arms. It felt like liquid fire was being injected directly into my bloodstream. My heart began to hammer frantically against my ribs, loud enough that I was terrified Gideon would hear it from across the room.

The pressure from the tower was pushing against me, and my dormant royal bloodline magic was fighting back, trying to force its way to the surface to protect my body.

I gasped softly, my vision turning blurry and dark at the edges. I looked down at my hands.

My stomach dropped in pure panic.

Beneath my pale skin, my veins were beginning to glow with a faint, dangerous golden light. Bright, microscopic golden threads were spreading rapidly up my wrists, pulsing in time with my frantic heartbeat. If Gideon saw this, the secret would be out. A simple scholarship girl didn't have golden blood. Only the extinct High Sovereign line possessed that forbidden light.

A sharp, violent cough tore through my chest.

I quickly jammed my hand over my mouth, muffling the sound. A thick, metallic taste flooded my tongue. Blood. I forcefully swallowed it down, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw ached. The agony was blinding, a searing heat that felt like it was melting my veins from the inside out.

"Cross," Gideon’s deep, gravelly voice echoed from the doorway. "Are you slacking off already?"

I couldn't look up yet. If I looked up, he would see the golden tint in my eyes.

"Just... catching my breath, sir," I managed to say, forcing my voice to sound tight but level.

I quickly dropped the mop, reached into my pocket, and pulled out a pair of heavy, worn work gloves I had found in the maintenance closet. With trembling fingers, I shoved my hands inside the thick fabric, hiding the glowing golden veins just as the light reached my knuckles. I took a deep, agonizing breath, using every ounce of my mental willpower to clamp down on the rising fire in my chest, forcing the royal magic back down into the dark corners of my soul.

The heat slowly began to recede, leaving my body cold, damp with sweat, and completely exhausted.

Before Gideon could step closer to investigate, the heavy iron doors at the far end of the vault hissed open.

The ambient temperature in the room instantly plummeted. The air became so sharp and electric that the hairs on my arms stood up. A massive, suffocating wave of dominant Alpha power rolled into the corridor, making the old iron shelves groan under the pressure.

Alistair Vance stepped into the vaults.

He had discarded his formal suit jacket, wearing only a pristine white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing his thick, powerful wrists. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his aristocratic face was a mask of cold, unyielding authority.

Gideon immediately stood at attention, bowing his head slightly. "Principal Vance. I didn't expect you down here tonight."

Alistair didn't answer right away. His piercing, amber-golden eyes scanned the dark row of shelves, moving slowly through the shadows until they locked directly onto me.

My heart skipped a beat. I stood perfectly still, my gloved hands holding the mop, my chest still heaving slightly from the internal magic burn. The heavy, intoxicating scent of his power, like rich cedar wood and dark winter storms, flooded my senses, making my head spin. It was the exact same dominant aura that had comforted me and terrified me in the VIP lounge last night.

Alistair walked toward us, his heavy leather boots clicking rhythmically against the stone floor. He stopped just two feet away from me, his massive, broad-shouldered frame completely blocking out the dim light from the hallway.

He looked down at me, his amber eyes narrowing into sharp, calculating slits. He was an apex predator; his advanced wolf senses were already picking up on the subtle changes in the room.

He leaned in slightly, his jaw tightening. He sniffed the air once.

"There is blood in this room," Alistair said, his deep, baritone voice vibrating straight through my shoes.

My breath hitched. I kept my eyes fixed on the silver buttons of his shirt, refusing to look into his face. I tightly squeezed my gloved hands behind my back so he wouldn't see them trembling.

"I accidentally bit my lip while moving the heavy shelves, Principal Vance," I lied smoothly, keeping my voice soft, respectful, and entirely flat. "It's nothing."

Alistair didn't move. He stood so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. His gaze drifted down to my mouth, checking for any physical signs of injury, before his eyes slowly moved down to my bulky work gloves. He knew I was hiding something. He could feel the residual, chaotic static of magic lingering in the air, but he couldn't identify it.

Gideon stepped forward, breaking the suffocating silence. "The girl is working hard, sir. She has cleared the entire lower eastern row already."

Alistair held my gaze for three more agonizing seconds. The tension between us was a physical wire, stretched so tight it felt ready to snap and destroy the entire room.

"See that she finishes before midnight, Gideon," Alistair said coldly, finally stepping back. His voice was completely devoid of emotion, his perfect marble mask locked securely in place. "I do not tolerate sloppy maintenance in my archives."

"Yes, sir," Gideon replied.

Alistair turned on his heel, his dark cloak swirling around him as he walked back toward the heavy iron doors. He didn't look back at me. He stepped through the threshold, and the heavy doors slid shut with a definitive, echoing clang.

The moment his pressure left the room, my legs felt like jelly. I leaned against the stone pillar, letting out a long, shaky breath.

I looked down at my gloved hands. I had survived the first shift. I had hidden the magic. But as I looked at the dark, empty corridor where Alistair had just stood, the cold reality settled deep in my bones.

I had exactly three months to save my parents, but playing this game under the Sovereign Principal's nose was like walking on a tightrope over a volcano. One wrong step, and the fire would consume me entirely.