Page 4 of The Bleak Beginning

My eyes snap open, and I see a thin trail of smoke drifting toward me, the red glow of a lit cigarette at the end. In front of me stands a male I don’t recognize, holding the cigarette.

“Are you trying to give me cancer?” I ask indignantly.

The guy’s face is obscured by shadows, with only the faint red glow of his cigarette providing any light. He remains quiet, stretching out the silence like a lazy cat, only breaking it to take a deep drag and release a cloud of smoke into the darkened sky. The once pleasant scent of nature now feels tainted by the harsh smell of cigarettes, burning my nostrils. “Do they not teach you how to communicate here, or do you rely on smoke signals?” I snap impatiently.

Whoever this stranger was, he could kindly fuck off.

The stranger chuckles, a low, gravelly sound that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. The ember of his cigarette illuminates sharp cheekbones and eyes that glitter with amusement. Or is it spite?

“Smoke signals? That’s cute. But no, we prefer more…direct methods of communication around here.”

He steps closer, and I instinctively back up against the car.

“You must be the new arrival,” he says, his voice dripping with mock sweetness.

The figure is barely visible in the shadows, but his piercing green eyes seem to cut through the darkness. His face is gaunt and tense, a sense of emptiness in his expression. He takes another leisurely drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing bright before fading as he exhales the smoke directly into my face. I cough and swat it away, gasping for air. Clearing my throat, I tryto maintain composure. “And who exactly are you supposed to be? The welcoming committee?”

He laughs again, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, I’m many things. But for now, let’s just say I’m your…orientation guide, Prescott.” He flicks the cigarette away, the ember arcing through the darkness before disappearing into the underbrush.

I feel a flicker of unease. How does he know my last name? And what kind of orientation could he possibly have in mind?

He grabs at the lock of my hair, and I jerk my head back, but his fingers are already tangled in the strands. He tugs, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to make his point. I’m not in control here.

“Green,” he muses, rubbing the lock between his thumb and forefinger. “Interesting choice. Trying to blend in with the trees, are we?”

I swallow hard, willing my voice not to shake. “It’s just hair dye. Nothing more.”

He releases my hair but doesn’t step back. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath hot on my ear. “Everyone means something here. You’ll learn your place soon enough.”

“I preferred you when you were mute,” I spit, trying to mask my growing unease. “Why don’t you crawl back to whatever shadow you came from and leave me alone?”

The stranger’s eyes flash dangerously in the darkness. “Feisty,” he murmurs, his voice low and threatening. “But you’ll learn soon enough that an attitude like that doesn’t fly with us here at Altair.”

Us? Who is “us”? Was there more than one of these jerks I should be worried about?

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek. I flinch away, my pulse quickening. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss.

He chuckles, a sound devoid of any real amusement. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

Before I can respond, a sharp voice cuts through the night air. “Alex? Where are you?”

The stranger steps back, melting into the shadows where they belong. “See you around, Prescott,” he whispers, his voice fading as he retreats. “Welcome to Altair.”

I stand there, shaken, as footsteps approach.

“There you are!” Chancellor Maxwell says. “Have you finished gathering your things? We cannot be laggy with our time.”

I blink, trying to shake off the unsettling encounter. “Uh, yeah,” I say, my voice steady as I grab the two bags from the trunk.

Maxwell’s eyes narrow, scanning the darkness behind me. “Were you speaking with someone?”

I briefly consider telling her about the enigmatic student, but something stops me. Perhaps it’s the underlying danger in his words, or perhaps it’s my innate caution in this unfamiliar setting. Yet why shouldn’t I share? I refuse to be intimidated by some stranger, and if he was attempting to bully me, he would have to put in a lot more effort. I knew firsthand the true face of torment.

“I met a stranger.”

“A stranger?” Maxwell’s eyebrows arch, her piercing gaze fixed on me.

“Ah, see? You’re already making friends,” my father says.

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