THE HEAVY OAK DOORS of the dormitory didn’t just slam shut; they sealed with the finality of a forever hold. The sound echoed down the newly polished limestone corridor, a sharp thud that was suddenly heard and felt as if it were entirely too permanent.
Jazlynn clutched the strap of her duffel bag a smidge too tight, her favorite worn-out combat boots squeaking softly on the immaculate marble floor. A senior monitor escorted her, his uniform crisply pressed and pristine white, looking dangerous.
The monitor hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the administration building, maintaining a perfectly rigid posture and a permanent, vacant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Room 314,” the monitor announced, her voice a melodic, practiced chime. She unlocked the door, never taking her eyes off Jazlynn, swung it open, and stepped aside, gesturing inward with a flawless, manicured, gentle hand. “Welcome to your new home, Jazlynn. We know you’ll fit right in.”
Jazlynn forced an obedient nod; she stepped past her “escort” and into her “room.”
The space was somewhat bright, flooded with natural afternoon light from a large bay window, and aggressively tidy. On the left side of the room, a twin bed was made with military-style precision, topped with a pale pastel quilt. Above the small desk, a corkboard held meticulously organized, color-coded calendars and a series of photographs.
Sitting at the desk was a girl who looked as if she had just stepped out of a university catalog. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a perfectly neat ponytail, and she wore a soft white sweater, free of stains or stray threads.
As the heavy dorm door clicked shut behind Jazlynn, the girl turned excitedly around. Her movement was in one fluid motion, almost as if it were rehearsed.
“You must be Jazlynn!” she cried, springing to her feet like a cat pouncing on its favorite toy.
She closed the distance between them by offering her perfectly manicured hand, each nail bearing a delicate French tip and free of a single scratch. Her face broke into a wide, radiant smile. It was beautiful and symmetrical, yet entirely terrifying. The muscles in her cheeks were taut, holding the expression with an intensity that seemed exhausting.
“I’m Shanelle,” she said, her voice bursting with cheerful warmth that felt too synthetic. “I’m so incredibly excited to meet you. I’ve been organizing our shared space all morning to make sure everything is absolutely perfect for your arrival.”
Jazlynn slowly pulled her hand back. Shanelle’s grip had grown surprisingly firm, and her skin was uncomfortably warm. “Hi, Shanelle. Nice to meet you. Thanks for… organizing.”
“Oh, it was no trouble at all! We are going to be the best of friends, I know it,” Shanelle beamed. She didn’t blink. Her eyes stayed wide, bright, and fixed on Jazlynn. “The Academy pairs roommates for absolute compatibility. There are never any friction points here. None at all.”
Jazlynn glanced past Shanelle to the photos on the corkboard she had hung in their dorm room. Every picture showed Shanelle with different groups of students. In every snapshot, everyone wore the same unyielding, brilliant grin. It was a sea of flashing teeth and matching empty eyes.
“Is something wrong?” Shanelle asked. Her voice didn’t drop in pitch, and her smile didn’t waver, but she hadn’t moved an inch closer or farther away.
“No,” Jazlynn said quickly, dropping her bag onto the empty bed to the right of the room. “Just adjusting to everything. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Adjustment period is perfectly normal,” Shanelle chanted, turning to guide Jazlynn toward the empty closet. “But you’ll find that once you embrace the routine, everything becomes so simple. So happy. Let me help you unpack. We like to keep the hangers spaced exactly two inches apart. It helps the room breathe better, don’t you think?”
Shanelle didn’t wait for an answer. She reached into Jazlynn’s duffel bag with terrifying efficiency, pulling out a stack of folded t-shirts.
“Cotton blends on the lower shelf, synthetics on the middle,” Shanelle chatted smoothly, her hands moving like a machine on an assembly line. “It keeps the aesthetic uniform. A chaotic closet leads to a chaotic mind, and the Academy values mindfulness above all else.”
Jazlynn continued to watch her roommate's flawless profile. Even as she focused on organizing the clothes, Shanelle’s lips stayed up in that perfect, rigid crescent. Her cheeks looked flushed, the skin stretched taut over her high cheekbones.
“How long have you been here, Shanelle?” Jazlynn asked, trying to sound casual as she leaned against the bedpost.
Shanelle paused for a fraction of a second, a tiny glitch in her flawless rhythm, before snapping another shirt into place. “This is my second year! It has been the most fulfilling, joyful twenty-four months of my life. Every day is a gift when you are achieving your peak potential.”
The words sounded less like a personal sentiment and more like a brochure read aloud.
“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” Jazlynn pressed, keeping her voice deliberately low. “The routine? The… monitoring?”
Shanelle turned her head slowly. The perfect smile remained, but her eyes locked onto Jazlynn with a piercing, glassy intensity.
“Tired of being happy? Tired of being perfect? Oh, Jazlynn. Why would anyone ever want to go back to being broken?”
A heavy silence fell over the girls and the room. The cheerful afternoon light suddenly felt artificial, like a stage lamp casting harsh shadows.
“Right,” Jazlynn murmured, a knot tightening in her throat. “Of course.”
“Exactly!” Shanelle’s voice instantly bounced back to its bright, melodic pitch, as if a switch had been flipped. She patted the last neatly stacked shirts. “There we go! Already for your first evening assembly. Oh, you’re going to love it. Dean Lamia Maras gives the most uplifting speeches. We all stand and sing the Academy anthem together. It truly makes you feel like you belong to something greater.”
She reached out, her warm, manicured hand clamping onto Jazlynn’s forearm. The grip was tight enough to bruise, though Shanelle’s face remained a mask of pure, unadulterated delight. “You do want to belong, don’t you, Jazlynn?”
Jazlynn looked down at the hand on her forearm, then up at her new roommate's unblinking, empty eyes. She forced the corners of her mouth to twitch upward, mimicking the shape of safety.
“Yes,” Jazlynn lied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to belong.”
Shanelle’s smile seemed to widen by a fraction of a millimeter. “Wonderful. Let’s get you changed into your standard whites. We wouldn’t want to be late. Tardiness is the first sign of friction, and we don’t like friction.”