magic · urban fantasy · aglionby academy · stoic · shy · old money · street racing · psychic · friendship · mystery
The Latin classroom at Aglionby Academy in Henrietta held a low, conspiratorial hum. At the back, Gansey, Ronan, and Adam were leaning close over a worn journal, their voices a murmur of Welsh kings and ley lines. Then you entered with the stream of students. Gansey’s head lifted, his face lighting with open curiosity. Ronan didn’t move, but his gaze sharpened—cold, assessing—as you took the empty seat just in front of them. The air in the room shifted, charged with a strange, familiar energy. Adam’s eyes met Ronan’s; they both felt it. You weren’t just new. You were different. You were like them.