The first thing I learned about Silvercrest Academy wasn’t written anywhere in the rulebook.

It was whispered in hallways, carved into bathroom stalls, and somehow present in every nervous glance that followed me from the moment I stepped onto campus.

Don’t look the Triumvirate in the eye.

Too bad one of them was already staring straight at me.

I hadn’t meant to crash into him. Literally.

One minute, I was wandering through the main building trying to find the Registrar’s Office. The next, I was sprawled across the polished marble floor with my books scattered around me and six-foot-something of muscle and trouble standing over me in the sharpest school uniform I had ever seen.

“Watch where you’re going, omega.”

Oh God.

Come on, Scar. Just open your mouth and apologize before this gets any worse.

Unfortunately, my tongue had apparently decided this was the perfect time to stop functioning, even though crashing into him hadn’t been entirely my fault.

Not that Scarlett O’Hara would ever have the courage to point that out.

Yep. That was me.

The Runt, as my pack so lovingly called me.

A human omega who was too soft, too naïve, and too different to fit neatly into anyone's idea of what an omega was supposed to be.

My relatives had a simpler word for me.

Freak.

Humans weren’t supposed to be omegas, and omegas certainly weren’t supposed to be human. Yet somehow I had ended up at Silvercrest Academy, where some of the strongest alphas in the country trained like someone planned to send them into battle after graduation.

And now, on my very first day, I was lying at the feet of one of them.

Fantastic.

I scrambled upright, gathering what remained of my dignity along with my books.

“I-I’m sorry.”

His golden eyes narrowed.

Great. Perfect. Amazing first impression, Scarlett.

Standing up only made things worse. I had to tip my head ridiculously far back just to meet his eyes.

Good goddess, how tall was this guy?

I was almost five foot five, which was a perfectly respectable height no matter what anyone said. Standing in front of him, however, I felt ridiculously small.

He had to be well over six feet, and the difference forced me to tip my head back just to see his face.

As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, heat was already spreading across my cheeks.

Being pale had its disadvantages. I couldn't blush discreetly like a normal person. No, my face had to announce my embarrassment to the entire world, turning red all the way to my ears and, if this continued much longer, probably down my neck too.

Why couldn't one thing go normally today?

And why, of all people, did I have to humiliate myself in front of someone so—

Handsome.

Annoyingly, ridiculously handsome.

I had eyes. There was no point pretending otherwise.

Blond hair fell untidily across his forehead, almost hiding the strange ember glow of his eyes. His skin was pale too, though nowhere near my apparently corpse-level commitment to avoiding melanin.

I realized with horror that I was staring.

Again.

“S-sorry,” I mumbled.

He said nothing.

Instead, he stepped closer.

Much closer.

My embarrassment disappeared beneath sudden confusion as he bent toward me, his face coming so near that I could feel his breath against my cheek.

What was he doing?

His nose hovered beside my skin.

Wait.

Was he... sniffing me?

Every part of me locked up.

Do I stink?

No. Absolutely not. I'd showered this morning.

Unless I smelled human.

Could someone smell too human?

Before my panicking brain could decide, his nose actually touched my cheek.

A squeak escaped me as I jumped backward, nearly tripping over my own feet for the second time in less than five minutes.

He stared at me like he couldn't understand why I'd jumped away, which was almost insulting considering what he'd just done.

Seriously? Somehow I was the strange one here?

I wasn't sticking around to figure him out. I turned and hurried down the hallway as fast as I could without technically running, though curiosity got the better of me before I reached the end.

One glance over my shoulder told me he hadn't moved.

He was still watching me, not angry or amused, but with a strange curiosity that made me wonder what exactly he saw when he looked at me.

My pulse picked up again.

“Nope,” I muttered. “We are not doing this.”

Whatever this was, I wanted no part of it.

I kept walking and, after another few minutes of searching, finally found the Registrar’s Office.

The moment I stepped inside, I became painfully aware that Silvercrest apparently believed ordinary furniture was beneath it. Polished wood gleamed beneath enormous chandeliers, and everyone behind the desks looked important enough to have assistants of their own.

A silver-haired woman wearing glasses glanced up.

“You must be Scarlett O’Hara.”

I nodded. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

Her welcoming smile immediately made breathing easier.

“We’ve been expecting you. Congratulations on earning the Epsilon Scholarship.”

“I still don’t really understand how I got it.”

“You scored within the top one percent on the national assessment. Silvercrest awards only five Epsilon Scholarships each year.” Pride warmed her expression. “You earned your place here, Miss O’Hara.”

Something inside me softened.

No one at home had said that.

“Thank you.”

“To keep the scholarship, you'll need to maintain a GPA of at least 3.8, attend all mandatory training sessions, and complete your weekly practicum hours.”

“I will.” The answer came quickly. “I won't lose it.”

“I believe you.”

She rose from behind the desk and gathered several papers. “Come. I'll show you around.”

I followed her into the corridor, where she began explaining the campus as we walked.