Page 9 of The Bleak Beginning

I clench my fists, barely containing my anger. Letters? In this day and age? The absurdity of it all makes me want to laugh and scream at the same time. But I know better than to push Maxwell any further. Her steely gaze tells me this is a battle I won’t win.

“Fine,” I mutter, slumping back in my chair. “Can we just get on with whatever this meeting is about?”

Maxwell nods, seemingly satisfied with my reluctant compliance. She pulls out a thick folder from her desk drawerand opens it, revealing a stack of papers covered in neat handwriting.

She swipes at the desk, as if to remove any invisible debris. “There’s an assembly in the main auditorium tonight for all students at the university. You are expected to attend, just like everyone else.”

My jaw tightens. “And what happens if I refuse to go?”

Maxwell’s eyes narrow, her gaze piercing through me. “Refusal to attend mandatory events is not an option, Miss Prescott. It would result in immediate disciplinary action.”

I lean back, crossing my arms. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“Let’s just say it’s in your best interest to comply,” Maxwell replies, her voice laced with thinly veiled threat. “Altair takes its rules very seriously. Breaching them could jeopardize your standing here.”

“I hadn’t realized by agreeing to come here I’d be getting a warden,” I mutter not bothering to bite my tongue or hide my displeasure. “What time is this assembly?”

“Eight o’clock sharp, but doors open thirty minutes early. Don’t be late.” Maxwell glances at her watch. “Now, let’s discuss your class schedule.”

As she drones on about course requirements and academic expectations, my mind wanders. I can’t help but feel trapped, like a bird in a gilded cage. The irony of hearing those cheerful chirps earlier isn’t lost on me now. I nod mechanically as Maxwell outlines my classes, barely registering the subjects she mentions.

“Miss Prescott, are you listening?” Maxwell’s sharp tone snaps me back to attention.

“Yes, of course,” I lie, straightening in my chair. “Please continue.”

She eyes me suspiciously but resumes her explanation of the curriculum. Once she’s finished with that, she lets me know I’ll have the rest of today to settle in before my classes officially start in the morning.

“I suggest taking the day to use the provided map and your class schedule to familiarize yourself with the campus,” Maxwell encourages. “It should go without saying, but time is a precious commodity and being punctual shows respect for not only your professors, but also your peers.”

I force my eyes not to drift to the back of my skull as I nod in acknowledgment.

“Is there anything else?” I ask eager to escape this office and Maxwell’s oppressive presence.

“Just one more thing,” she says, reaching into her desk drawer once again. She pulls out a small, rectangular box. “Your hair. No unnatural colors, as we discussed yesterday.”

A bitter, metallic taste fills my mouth, like I’ve just bitten into a lemon rind. It’s one green streak. I’m not ready to part with my small act of rebellion against my old life.

“You can’t be serious,” I say, eyeing the box of hair dye with disdain. “It’s just a streak.”

Maxwell’s expression remains impassive. “Rules are rules, I’m afraid. Natural hair colors only. You agreed to this when you accepted your place here.”

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to argue. The green streak had been my act of defiance, a reminder of who I was after everything had changed. Now, it seems even that small comfort will be stripped away.

“Whatever,” I mutter, snatching the box from her desk. “Is that all?”

Maxwell nods, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. “That’s all. Remember, eight o’clock sharp for the assembly. And be sure to dye your hairbeforethen.”

I storm out of her office, clutching the box of hair dye like it’s a bomb about to detonate. The hallway feels dreadfully narrow, the walls closing in on me. I need air. I need space. I need to be anywhere but here.

Finding the nearest exit, I burst outside into the morning air. The campus sprawls before me, all manicured lawns and stunningly crafted buildings. It’s beautiful, in a sterile, suffocating sort of way.

The sun blinds me. The sky a cloudless, crystal blue, unfeeling to my somber mood. It was as if the sun was mocking the melancholy that lingered within me, its rays searing and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the heavy weight of disappointment and outrage that hung in my chest.

I raise my hand to shield my eyes from the brightness.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s finally decided to grace us with their pitiful presence. Maxwell must’ve finally tired of us to recruit this sad lump. Finally, our punishment has made her presence known.”

My hand falls to my side as I immediately pinpoint the source of the derogatory words.

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