Page 21 of The Bleak Beginning

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Every word drips with self-importance and elitism.

Sylvester suddenly turns his attention back to me. “Do you have something to add, mudslide?” Laughter fills the room, breaking my composure.

“Yeah, I think this place is full of self-important jerks who wouldn’t know real leadership if it bit them on their privileged asses,” I snap, standing abruptly. My chair scrapes loudly against the floor, the sound echoing in the sudden silence that falls over the room.

Sylvester’s smirk widens, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. “Ah, the eloquence of a common nobody. How…refreshing.”

Professor O’Donnelly stiffens, her face red with fury. “That’s enough!” She points around the room. “Since you seem to have all the answers about our past and don’t see the value in this class, tell me when Altair was first established.”

I had no clue. “1922?”

“Wrong,” she says flatly. “What are Altair University’s official school colors?”

I knew this one. “Black and white.”

“Incorrect,” she says in a monotone voice. “Can you name the founding fundamentals that Altair was built upon?”

My mind scrambles for an answer, but she beats me to it.

“Success, prosperity, pilgrimage, and independence.” She directs her sharp remarks at Sylvester. “These four principles are rooted in what?”

“The Altair Games,” he responds without hesitating. “You need the first three to access the fourth,” he adds, making my jaw clench in frustration.

She nods, looking pleased, while I feel my insides churn with annoyance. A hint of a grin forms, barely perceptible at the corners of Sylvester’s mouth.

I feel my face burning with humiliation as I slump back into my seat. The room seems to spin around me, the faces of my classmates blurring into a sea of judgment.

But Professor O’Donnelly isn’t done. She turns to face the class, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “You see, class, this is why it’s so important to understand our history. Without the knowledge of where we come from, how can we hope to shape our future?”

I bite my tongue, tasting blood. The urge to lash out again is overwhelming, but I force myself to remain silent.

The tone of her voice is just as sharp and definitive as the way her nose points up towards me. “I believe additional assistance outside of regular class time would greatly benefit you, Alex. Maybe Mr. Oliveri could provide some one-on-one tutoring.”

Sylvester’s cocky smile slowly fades, and it’s the only good thing that has happened in this class so far.

“I’d be delighted to help,” Sylvester replies, his voice oozing with insincerity. “Perhaps we could start with the basics, like how to sit still and pay attention.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I grit out through clenched teeth, ignoring the dig. “I’m sure I can manage on my own.”

Professor O’Donnelly raises an eyebrow. “I’m afraid this isn’t optional. If you are not determined to learn about Altair's past, you will need to allocate extra time beyond class until I am convinced of your dedication to this course. How does Thursdays at eight work for both of you?”

I open my mouth to protest, but Sylvester beats me to it. “Thursdays at eight would be perfect, Professor. I look forward to our sessions,” he says, his tone laced with false charm.

The girl next to me mutters, “Lucky bitch.” And just like that, I know humanity’s hope for the future is doomed.

The moon casts its pale light over the campus, my shadow slicing through the darkness. The dock is lit up by soft orange lights that run along its edges, their warm glow reflecting off the peaceful waters below.

The cool night air carries a blend of pine and saltwater scents, invigorating my senses as I inch closer to the edge.

The long pole juts out from the water like a forgotten monument. Its wood is aged and rugged, a sturdy structure built to withstand time. At the top rests an arrow, securely attached to my bag. In the moonlight, its tip shimmers above the surface of the water.

It couldn’t be that bad, right?

I cautiously slip off my shoe and dip a hesitant toe in the water. There’s no way it’s as bad as I’m imagining…

But as soon as the tip of my digit touches the surface, I recoil in shock, letting out a sharp gasp. The calmness of the wateris immediately shattered by the intense cold that feels like little needles piercing my skin.

I wrap my jacket tightly around me and direct a mental curse toward each of the Legacy boys for getting me into this situation in the first place. Another wave of panic washes over me.

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