The rune-powered taxi rattled to a stop outside Arcane Academy. “Ten copper bits,” the driver grunted, scratching his patchy beard. I frowned—thought he’d said eight—but sighed and dropped the coins into his calloused palm. He waved me off, and I stepped into the humid air, trudging across the campus, looking for my dorm.

  I followed ‘freshmen’ signs to a courtyard of dorms and checked my folder to enter dorm D. In the dim, rune-lit dorm lobby, a clerk in a drab robe gnced up from her glowing sb. “Name?” she droned.

  “Lily Harper,” I mumbled.

  After checking her sb, she slid a brass key tagged with D-214 across the counter. “Second floor.” I grabbed it and climbed the stairs, sneakers squeaking on stone.

  At D-214, I nudged the door with my shoulder and stepped in, freezing as it clicked shut behind me.

  A wave of jasmine and spice hit me as I gnced around the cramped room. Two beds shoved against opposite walls, a rune-lit desk cluttered with gear, a wardrobe spilling fabric were just the standouts. My bed—had to be the bare mattress on the left—looked sad, half-buried under someone else’s stuff: a quiver of arrows, a studded belt, a crumpled tunic. The other bed was a queen’s nest, silk sheets and pillows stacked like a throne.

  The mess had an obvious master. She stood by the wardrobe, barefoot, rocking a bck sports bra and matching panties that hugged her tight. Jade-pale skin glowed under the harsh light, stretched over a lean, lethal body with jaw-dropping curves. The bra clung tight, full tits pressing against it, cleavage teasing the edges. Low-riding panties bit her hips, framing a ft stomach with faint abs. A silver navel piercing gleamed above the waistband, swaying as she shifted. Her ass—God, her ass—was round and tight, peeking out where the fabric rode up, a felony in motion.

  Her legs stretched long and toned, thighs thick with quiet power, and a tattoo snaked up her right one: bck vines twisting wild lotuses blooming among red-tipped thorns, untamed and reckless. One flower near her hip drooped, a crimson droplet sliding down—blood or dew, I couldn’t tell.

  She dangled two outfits—a sleeveless green tunic, flowy and soft, and a patched leather vest, rugged and loud—eyeing them carefully.

  Glossy bck hair, streaked with purple, spilled past her shoulders to the small of her back, half-up in a high pony with a cw clip barely holding the rest. Two helix cuffs pierced her helix, glinting faintly, and another stud winked in her nose, catching the light.

  A quick hair tuck revealed a white stem glowed in her ear—probably an earbud—pumping a faint, tinny beat I could barely catch. She hummed along, low and careless, totally lost in her own world as she sauntered toward a mirror propped against the wall.

  I couldn’t peel my eyes off her. She was exactly the type of girl I’d jerked off to countless times before and imagined I’d end up with. And now she was standing in front of me, half-naked. Close enough to almost touch. My mouth went dry as my fingers twitched against the folder.

  Heat crept up my neck, sparking a slow burn in my gut. I pressed my thighs together, flush spreading beyond embarrassment.

  She stopped at the mirror, holding the tunic up to her chest, then the vest, and tilting her head as our eyes locked in the reflection. She froze, a sharp gasp cutting off her hum, and spun around fast enough to make her hair whip.

  “What the fuck?!” she yelped, voice smooth but jagged, like honey over broken gss. A hand shot to her ear, yanking the earbud out; it dangled, buzzing faintly. She stumbled back, knocking jewelry off the wardrobe, and caught herself on the edge.

  I blinked, my brain scrambling. “Uh—hi? I guess,” I croaked, voice cracking despite not even being a guy. “I just… got here. I’m your new roommate, I guess?”

  She stared, chest heaving once—those tits rising with it, damn her—before her shock melted into something else. Her lips—full, glossed pink—curved into a slow, dangerous smirk, dark eyes lined with kohl slicing through me like she’d already sized me up and found me cking.

  “Oh, damn, you’re here,” she drawled, voice dropping zy and low, tossing the earbud onto her silk pile. She straightened, cocking a hip, hands sliding to her waist—no shame, just letting me drink her in. “Thought I’d be solo this Semester.”

  I swallowed hard, forcing words out. “Yeah, just… rolled in,” I managed, shifting the folder under my arm. The pouch clinked in my pocket, awkward as hell.

  She arched a brow, smirk widening, and sauntered closer—bare feet silent on the stone, hips swaying like she knew what she was doing. That jasmine-spice scent hit harder, intoxicating, and I caught myself staring again—those thighs, that tattoo, the way her piercing gleamed with every step.

  “You’re kinda cute,” she said, dragging it out, eyes sliding over my hoodie-and-jeans mess. “But kinda in a ‘just-crawled-out-of-a-ditch’ kinda way.”

  I scratched my neck, heat prickling my face—higher now, and lower too. “Yeah, uh, something like that,” I muttered, half-ughing, half-cringing.

  “I’m Sara,” she said, stopping a foot away, close enough I could feel the air shift. She crossed her arms under her chest, pushing it up—definitely on purpose—and tilted her head. “Sara Volkov, Lady of Thornskull Keep. School of Adventurers, archery.” Her dark eyes locked on mine, steady and unblinking. “You?”

  “Lily Harper,” I said, dragging my gaze up to hers, voice shaky with more than nerves. “School of Support, I think. Just… starting.”

  “School of Support, huh?” she said, breaking the silence. She turned back to the mirror, still casual half-naked as hell, holding up the leather vest again. “Guess that means you’re the brains. Or the backup.” She shot me a sidelong gnce in the reflection, lips twitching into a smirk. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you carry my quiver—yet.”

  I forced a ugh, more of a wheeze, and shuffled toward the bare mattress. “Yeah, uh, I guess we’ll see,” I said, dropping the folder onto the bed. It nded with a soft thud, sending a stray arrow cttering to the floor. I winced, bending to pick it up—fletching scratched, tip dulled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to—”

  “Leave it,” she cut in, waving a hand without turning. “It’s junk anyway. Practice fletch. I’ve got better ones stashed.” She swapped the vest for the tunic, holding it against her chest again, then tossed both onto her silk pile with a shrug. “Can’t decide. Ceremony’s in, what, half an hour? We should probably be a bit faster. What do you think?”

  She turned, holding up two new options—a white crop top, short and tight, and a green sundress, light and flowy with thin straps. “Crop top or dress?”

  I froze, eyeing the tiny crop top and safer sundress. “Uh… green dress?” I croaked.

  She tilted her head, dark eyes sliding over me. “Green dress, huh?” A smirk curled her lips. As she tossed the sundress aside and held the crop top up to her chest. “Crop top it is.”

  I straightened, blinking. “Wait, what?”

  She ignored me, digging through her stash again and pulling out two bottoms—ripped jeans, frayed all the way up to the thighs, and a pair of short denim shorts. “Bottoms now,” she said, dangling them in front of me. “Jeans or shorts? Pick.”

  I shifted, scratching my neck, heat creeping up my face. Both were… intense. The jeans had tears climbing way too high, like they were daring someone to stare, and the shorts—well, they barely qualified as clothes. My brain stalled, caught between two loud options, no obvious escape. “Uh, shorts, I guess?” I said, pointing randomly, my voice small.

  Sara raised a brow, gncing at the shorts, then back at me. “Shorts, huh?” She tossed the jeans aside and stepped into the shorts, zipping them up with a quick tug. They clung to her hips, showing off the tattoo curling down her thigh. “Yeah, these work,” she said, turning to the mirror. “Nice one.”

  I blinked, thrown off. “Wait, you’re actually going with it?”

  She smirked, adjusting the fit. “Why not? They’re hot. I could’ve gone with either of them, to be honest. Anything can go well with a crop top, so the bottoms don’t really matter.”

  I frowned, still reeling. “So… why even ask me?”

  Sara ughed while she pulled a shoebox from under her bed, taking out a pair of bck boots. “Wanted to see your style.” She straightened, giving me a quick once-over. “Pretty chaotic, in my opinion.”

  Sara’s ugh hung in the air, sharp and bright, as she ced her bck boots, the leather creaking faintly under her fingers. “Pretty chaotic, in my opinion,” she’d said, her voice teasing but not exactly cruel

  I forced a half-smile, dropping the arrow back onto the mattress. “Yeah, chaotic’s… about right,” I muttered, tugging at the hoodie’s loose drawstrings. It fit—this whole damn day was chaos. Dead in a truck crash, waking up in a girl’s body, stuck with a hospital bill I couldn’t pay, and now sharing a room with her. My life—whatever it was now—had spiraled into a mess I couldn’t even begin to untangle.

  My eyes flicked to the mirror propped against the wall. Sara was adjusting her crop top, tugging it down to fsh a sliver of stomach, but I caught my own reflection for the first time since the hospital.

  My hair—Lily’s hair—was kind of a disaster, dark strands tangled and wild, spilling over my shoulders like I’d been dragged through a storm. My back slouched a little, rounding out the hoodie’s bulk.

  But beneath that mess… damn. Big hazel eyes stared back, bright and soft, framed by shes that didn’t need mascara. My cheeks had a natural flush, my lips were pink and full, and even with the sloppiness, I probably had this “girl next door” thing going—kinda sweet, approachable, and pretty in that unpolished way.

  I blinked, my stomach flipping. I’d have lost it over getting remotely into physical proximity of a girl like this, nevermind touching her tits and pussy at one point. But now… that was me?

  My hands twitched, hovering near my face, like I needed to touch it to believe it. The weird heat crept up my neck—shock, sure, but something else too. Was I… into this? Into myself? Or was it because of the recently half-naked girl standing in the same room as me?

  “You okay over there?” Sara’s voice sliced through, sharp but not impatient. I jerked my head, catching her watching me in the mirror’s edge. She’d finished putting on her boots and now also sported a loose-fitted bck bomber jacket, with one side hanging off her shoulder. Her dark eyes narrowed, curious but not pressing.

  “Yeah,” I said, too fast, shoving my hands into the hoodie pocket. The cracked phone jabbed my knuckles, snapping me back. “Just… zoned out. Long day.” My ugh came out shaky, more of a wheeze, and I turned from the mirror before it could drag me deeper.

  Sara tilted her head, those dark eyes still pinned on me, as if she could see straight through the bullshit “long day” excuse. I shifted my weight, the cracked phone digging deeper into my palm through the hoodie pocket. Before she could call me out—or worse, ask something I couldn’t answer—a sharp crackle split the air, loud enough to make me flinch.

  A wall speaker buzzed on, a deep voice booming: “All students to the Grand Amphitheater. The Entrance Ceremony starts in fifteen minutes. Late arrivals noted.”

  The voice cut off as abruptly as it started, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. My pulse jumped, a flutter of nerves twisting in my gut. Fifteen minutes? Shit, this was real—my first official step into whatever this Academy life was supposed to be. I gnced at Sara, expecting her to bolt, but she just stood there, smirking like the announcement was background noise.

  She sauntered back to the wardrobe and bent over to scoop up the spilled jewelry.

  “See? Told you we’d need to hustle,” she said as she slid a thin bck choker around her neck.

  I shifted uneasily, watching her just… sit there. “Uh, shouldn’t we… leave now?” I asked, voice pitching up, hands tightening on the folder. “Fifteen minutes isn’t that long, right?”

  Sara ughed—a quick, sharp cackle—and straightened, dangling a pair of gold hoop earrings in one hand. She clipped them into her empty lobes, the hoops swaying as she shook her head.

  “Chill, ditch girl,” she said, grabbing a gold crescent pendant from the pile and fastening it over the choker. She shot me a sidelong gnce, dark eyes glinting. “You sure you’re ready yourself?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess,” I said, voice thin. A few moments ter, I added, “Do I need to… Do you think I need to bring anything else?”

  She shrugged, slipping a couple of silver and gold bangles onto her wrist, the metal clinking faintly. “Probably just yourself.” Then she paused mid-motion and gave me a once-over, lips twitching. “Are you sure you’re ready, though? You look like you got dragged here by a rift beast.”

  I tugged the drawstrings tight, fttening the pouch and phone against my stomach, and straightened my back, pulse still racing. “Better?” I asked, half-sarcastic, half-pleading.

  Sara tilted her head, smirking like she was sizing up a project.

  “Not even close,” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the rune-lit desk.

  “Sit.” She shoved me down onto a creaky stool in front of a cluttered dresser, showing me my mess of a reflection—dark brown hair tangled, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. Before I could protest, she snatched a spray bottle from the chaos and misted my head with a sharp and floral scent.

  “Hey—” I sputtered, flinching as she yanked a comb from a drawer and started dragging it through my hair, tugging at knots with zero mercy.

  “Hold still,” she said, voice teasing but firm. “When’s the st time you washed it, ditch girl? This hair’s a pit of grease.”

  “Ow…” The comb snagged, and I winced, but she ignored my pain and continued to tug at my hair with practiced strokes. “Seriously, did you roll out of a dumpster or what?”

  “I—uh—yesterday?” I lied, heat climbing my neck again, that low spark from before still simmering under my skin. My scalp tingled from the spray, and her fingers brushing my neck didn’t help—too close, too casual, too her. “It’s been a long day, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she drawled, smirking in the mirror as she smoothed my hair down, transforming the wild mess into something halfway decent. “Long day of not showering.” She stepped back, tossing the comb onto the dresser, then rummaged through her jewelry pile again. Before I could blink, she pulled out a thin silver chain and looped it around my neck, the cool metal settling against my colrbone as she csped it.

  I froze, fingers brushing the chain. “What’s this?”

  Sara grinned, leaning in close enough that I could feel her breath. “Temporary gift for my new roomie,” she said, voice low and pyful. “Can’t have my new roommate looking that tragic on day one.” She straightened, grabbing her bck-and-pink crystal phone and leather pouch, then nodded at the door. “Now let’s go.”

  I stumbled to my feet, heart thudding—nerves, heat, whatever this was—as she swung the door open. The corridor outside D-214 was a ghost town, most doors shut, the chaotic hum of students gone. The brass key jangled in my pocket as I followed her.

  “Still here?” A clerk at the hall’s end asked as he gnced up. “Ceremony’s almost starting.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Sara flipped him off as we exited the dorms and then picked up the pace into a brisk walk.

  She strode ahead, hips swaying, that high pony bouncing with every step. I figured I’d be winded in ten paces—I didn’t do cardio unless you counted rage-quitting Dark Suls or hauling ass to the fridge. Basement stairs were my limit. Even then, I’d be wheezing.

  But this body—Lily’s body—kept up, legs moving smooth and steady, no burn in my chest, no gasp cwing up my throat. I blinked, thrown off. Just a few hours ago, I’d smashed into a truck, died, and woke up as her—18, fit, not a total wreck. It didn’t feel right, like I’d hacked into someone else’s save file.

  The jeans chafed my thighs with every stride, and with no bra or boxers, my chest shifted, nipples scraping the hoodie’s rough lining.