Page 67 of The Bleak Beginning

My sister sighs heavily. “Yeah, well, she’s been extra…Elle-like lately. Ever since you left, she’s been all over the place. Writing you letters, baking cookies, wanting to hang out together, worrying aboutyounon-stop.”

Wait. Hold up.

“She’s been baking cookies. And shedidn’tburn the house down?”

“No, they’re surprisingly delicious,” she says, and I’m almost baffled. “Maybe I’ll send you a box. You know, so you can examine them and make sure she isn’t accidentally poisoning us.”

I snort, imagining Elle in an apron, flour smeared across her face as she triumphantly pulls a tray of burnt, slightly black cookies from the oven. It’s an amusing image, but one that also makes me uneasy.

“What do you take me as, a guinea pig for food poisoning?”

Clara laughs and it sounds nice, easy. Like how we’ve always been.

“Fine, but if I don’t receive a letter from you by the middle of this week, I’ll assume you’ve lost this address and I’ll be forced to take the proper actions.”

A smile lights up my face, what feels like a rare occurrence since I arrived. “Because every action…”

“Leads to a reaction,” she chimes in, finishing my train of thought. “And a whole tin of Elle’s questionable—but oddly delicious—cookies,” she quickly adds, and I can hear her grin through the phone.

I can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing in this sparse box. It feels good to be carefree for a second, to remember our inside jokes and shared moments. How we’ve always been.

“Did you want to—”

Before Clara can finish the sentence, the line goes dead. The dial tone hums in my ear, a stark reminder of the distance between us.

I stare at the phone for a moment, my smile fading.

Time’s up.

I sigh, placing the receiver back in its cradle. The quiet seems to amplify, pressing against my ears. Oppressive.

Altair isn’t home.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes. The conversation replays in my mind, Clara’s laughter, the easy banter. For a moment, I could almost believe I was back home, sprawled out on her bedroom floor, sharing an inside joke.

“Time’s up,” a gruff voice calls out, tapping a knuckle to the glass on the other side of my nose, making me jump.

“I’m going, I’m going,” I grumble as I step out of the booth and away from the singular link I had to Clara.

As I exit the building and make my way back to my dorm, I notice some students hauling a couple of canoes out of the water and setting them down near a small group of others for the night.

I see my bag, still suspended by that arrow in the middle of the water, and a surge of determination rushes over me. I told Bishop I was done being pushed around by the Legacies and I meant it.

I glance around to make sure no one’s watching, then quickly make my way down to the water’s edge. The canoes are just sitting there, practically begging to be borrowed. I hesitate for a moment, weighing the risks, but the sight of my bag in the distance steels my resolve.

With a deep breath, I grab the nearest canoe and drag it to the water as quietly as I can. The scraping sound seems deafening in the evening stillness, but no one appears to notice. I push off from the shore, wincing at the splash, and start paddling awkwardly toward my target.

My heart thumps as I push deeper into the water, paddling as quietly as I can toward my suspended bag. The arrow gleams in the moonlight, a taunting reminder of my humiliation. As I get closer, I realize retrieving the bag won’t be as simple as I’d hoped. It’s higher than I can reach from the canoe, and the arrow is lodged firmly in the wood.

I teeter precariously in the swaying canoe, my muscles straining as I try to reach up on my tiptoes. My fingertips graze my bag, just out of reach, taunting me with its tantalizing proximity. I grit my teeth and push myself even higher, willing every inch of my body to strain just a little more. But it’s still notenough and I feel my heart sink in defeat as I realize I can’t grasp it.

Frustration bubbles up inside me. Stupid Legacies.

Think. Think. Think.

Doubt builds inside of me as I tie back my hair, trying to keep it out of my face. I’ve come so far, but each step forward feels like two steps back. I can push through this, no matter how difficult it may seem.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I’m not giving up now. I scan the canoe, searching for anything that might help me reach higher. My eyes land on the paddle.

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