Unexpected Comeback Of The Discarded Orphan

St. Jude's Preparatory Academy. The campus was a sickening display of privilege-ivy-covered b

ate where her nightmares began, bringing along the

ands were buried deep in her jacket pockets. Beside her stood Clotilde-her best friend from the old orphanage days, the only survivor of that basement beside

ind a massive oak desk that was meant to intimidate. He flipped through their transfer fi

s onto the desk wit

d, adjusting his glasses with a bony finger. "St. Jude's prides itself on our Ivy League acceptance rate. Our reputati

angry red. She opened her mouth

arm, her grip firm. She silenced her w

had faced down far scarier things than a small man behind a big desk. "Just stamp the paper, old ma

nation. He snatched his stamp, slammed it onto their forms with enough force

basement wing. Where we put the garbage. Don't cause tr

rs and walked out wit

r tracks to stare. They whispered behind cupped hands, their cold, judging eyes raking over Ayla a

ed a string of creative curses under her brea

idor far from the sunlit classrooms above. The paint was peeling. Th

music blasted from a portable speaker, the bass rattling the doorframe. Desks scraped again

idn't

nd kicked the door right near the

crash, slamming into the interior wa

uptly. The shouting d

school's worst-rich kids with drug problems, violent bullies with diplomat

ed. One of them-a lanky kid with a silver chain and dead eye

ped into

oom. Her eyes were dead-not angry, not scared, just dead. They carried the heavy, suffocating weight of so

hand had wrapped around it. The smirk slid off his face like melting wax

rrified, suffocating silence.

d the two empty desks by the grimy wind

extended to block the path. He glared up at her, trying to hold his groun

e kicked the leg of his chai

nearly throwing the guy to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, his

lowly it was terrifying-turne

Every primitive instinct in his brain screamed at him to stand down, to submit,

de sat down at

ng, shrill

runway than high school teacher. Her heels clicked against the linoleum with practiced, precise rhythm. H

nd wrote her name in flowing,

heir heads down on their desks to sleep; others

e simply turned around, her calm, assessing eyes sc

ped on Ayla i

room, their

Serena wasn't a normal teacher. The woman carried the same hidden, dangerous s

Ayla's name aloud, she paused for a fraction of

ssal, Ayla slung her backpac

r desk, her voice smooth as silk

sto

k eyes meeting Ayla's with unmistakable warning. "Whate

w, knowing smirk. She didn't

tilde asked, jogging to ca

ght, blinding Nevada sun. "This school is goin