Three rows ahead of us, Brendan looks at me like he knows something I don’t and takes a seat next to Nyx and Charles.

“About what I did in knife throwing—” I whisper to Layla.

“Not now, November,” she says, and her tone is harsh. She doesn’t look in my direction.

Headmaster Blackwood stands on the platform in front of the teachers’ dining table, watching us all like a bird of prey. She clears her throat even though the room is already silent and doesn’t remotely resemble the mob scene that ensues every time we get called to the auditorium in my school at home. My stomach does a quick flip.

“Some of you are wondering why you’ve been called from your classes this morning. Some of you are not,” Blackwood says, scanning the room. A handful of teachers stand against the stone walls between the somber portraits and arched windows—they stare at us and not at Blackwood. Conner is one of them, and he has the same probing look he wore when he was assessing me. I want to sink down in my chair, but I’m sure one of the teachers would notice and interpret it as an admission of guilt.

“A student was murdered last night,” Blackwood says without any fanfare, and surprise ripples through the crowd. “Stefano,” she continues. The students throw questioning glances at one another, shifting in their seats, and it seems like everyone starts whispering at once.

Layla looks at me in shock and I do my best to mimic her. Damn she’s good.

Blackwood clears her throat once more and the room instantly falls back into uncomfortable silence. “I am severely disappointed that we find ourselves in this position yet again.” She sounds more annoyed than upset. “You all have become too comfortable here, too sure that you are untouchable. I assure you that you’re not. Our tactics during the course of this investigation will not be typical, so do not presume. The guilty party or parties may think they’ve evaded discovery. But in the end, we will find you out and you will be made an example of.” For a split second, her eyes settle on me, and I can feel the blood drain from my cheeks.

When Blackwood mentioned student deaths to me in her office the day I arrived, I didn’t for one minute imagine she meant murder. My stomach churns uncomfortably, and I fight the urge to shift around, rub my hands over my face, do anything that might show how sick I feel about this whole situation.

“Your privacy is revoked, and you’ll be subject to tests and observation whenever and wherever Dr. Conner and I choose. And just because you can’t see guards, that doesn’t mean they’re not following you.” Blackwood smooths a wrinkle in her blazer. “For the time being, all meals will be served in your respective suites rather than the dining hall. That is all you need to know; you may go.”

I look at Layla, hoping she’ll explain the brevity of that speech and the cold cruelty of Blackwood’s demeanor. There was no sensitivity to the fact that students have just lost their classmate, no reassurance that we’ll be safe; in fact, it felt like the opposite—we’ve been assured that we’re not only in danger, but also potential suspects. However, Layla just stands and heads for the door like all the other students. No one says a word. No one looks at anyone else.