Reith, the guy I vaguely recognize from a ridiculous prank involving the giant fake octopus weeks ago, steps forward. His voice laced with quiet empathy. He glances at Ophelia briefly before looking back at me. “I think Ophelia’s been going through your stuff. She found somethingpersonalyou left for Bishop and, well…she’s been threatening to share it with everyone.”
Ophelia’s smirk widens as she holds up something in her hand. I recognize it instantly. It’s one of the several notes I’d planted for Bishop to find, to get him to leave me alone—ones I never expected would come back to haunt me like this.
My stomach drops for a moment, but I quickly mask the feeling with a raised brow. How did she get a hold of those? I’d planted them in my mailbox for Bishop to find after I discovered he’d been breaking into it. Had she somehow gained access to my mailbox too? Had Bishop—or the other Legacies—helped her?
The corner of my mouth lifts and I cross my arms. “What’s this, Ophelia? Couldn’t find anything of your own to hold onto, so you’re picking through my trash now?”
Ophelia’s smirk falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, lifting her chin defiantly. “I’m just showing everyone what you’ve been up to. Trying to seducemyboyfriend, no less. It’s not my fault you left your little love notes lying around. It’s pathetic, really.”
I shrug, feigning indifference. “I’m sure he was flattered.” Why else would he have kept them, if not? But I don’t bother wasting my breath pointing that out. “But if you’re really that desperate to share, go ahead.”
Ophelia’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes flashing with a barely veiled irritation. “You think you’re special?” she sneers, jealousy dripping from her words. “Bishop gets things like thisall the time. Girls across campus send him stuff every day. Gifts. Letters. It’s nothing new.”
So why does she sound so upset right now?
A small, knowing smirk tugs at my lips. “Has he ever opened one from you?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
Ophelia’s face flushes with a mix of anger and embarrassment, the flush creeping up her neck as her eyes dart away for a moment, caught off guard. It’s obvious she wasn’t expecting things to go this way. After a brief, sharp inhale, she scoffs and pulls the note open, clearing her throat in a deliberate, almost forced motion.
“Every time you look at me, I feel this heat burning through me,scorching my every rational thought. I need to know what it’s like to have you take what you want from me, to have you in control, making me beg for it. I can’t stop thinking about how you’d feel, how you’d move inside me, pushing me until I can’t think straight… I need you—”
Her voice stutters slightly as she gets to the juicier parts, but she’s trying to make it as dramatic as possible. That is, until just as she gets to the most vulgar part, Bishop steps in—his movements so sudden, it catches everyone by surprise.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Ophelia?” His voice is low, guttural, like a predator’s snarl before it strikes.
He strides over to her in two long, furious steps, his hand shooting out so fast that she doesn’t even have time to flinch. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rips the note from her grasp and, with a brutal flick of his wrist, crumples it into a tight ball. The paper makes a muffled sound of protest, but the fury in his face drowns it out.
He shoves the crumpled note into his blazer pocket with a swift, almost mechanical motion, but his eyes never leave her. His jaw is tight, teeth clenched so hard it looks like his face might crack under the strain. The other students instinctively take astep back, not just from the shock of his sudden movement, but from the raw, simmering rage radiating off him like heat from a furnace. Smart.
Ophelia stumbles, blinking in confusion. “Bishop, I—”
“Don’t!” he barks, his voice was a razor-sharp weapon, slicing through her words with a ferocity that made her recoil. “Don’t even try to explain yourself right now.”
He takes another step closer, and she takes one back, but there’s nowhere to go.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice cracks like thunder, the fury in it so thick it fills the area. “I warned you—warnedyou—not to go through my stuff again!”
He’s trembling, the kind of shaking that comes from barely contained rage, from a volcanic eruption just waiting for the right trigger to make it explode.
“You think this is funny?” Bishop’s voice cuts through the air, thick with contempt. “You think my privacy is some kind ofjoke? Like it’s something to be tossed aside whenever you feel like it?” He spits the words out, each one heavier than the last.
Ophelia’s eyes widen in shock, her face flushing with a mix of shame and confusion. Had she ever seen him this mad? Has he ever beenthisangry before?
His voice lowers, but it still drips with venom. “You’ve crossed a line, this time.” A vein in Bishop’s neck pulses visibly, the tension radiating off him like a physical force, his whole body is coiled tight as a bowstring, jerking with the force of his anger.
For the first time since I arrived at Altair, I’m nothing but an observer in this battle—not the target. It’s jarring, unexpected. Normally, his anger and cutting words have been aimed at me, but now…now, they’re directed at Ophelia. And oddly, I realize that in a strange way, they’re almost in my defense. It’s an unexpected shift, a surprise that leaves me off balance.
Ophelia stammers, trying to speak, but Bishop isn’t having it. “Shut. Up,” he growls, each word like a punch to the gut. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You don’t get to twist this into something it’s not.”
For a moment, the air is thick with suspense, and then, with a swift motion, Bishop turns toward me. His gaze sharpens instantly, cutting through the crowd of students as if nothing else exists but me. In that brief flicker, I catch something darker in his eyes, something dangerous, before he exhales roughly, like he’s trying to release some of the rage building up inside him.
I can’t help but wonder…is he using me as an anchor for his anger? The thought is absurd, but it creeps in anyway, gnawing at me. Maybe I’m going crazy, maybe this is just the aftermath of the fight, but no—his focus, the intensity of it, is unmistakable. But then…why did he stop Ophelia from reading that note? Why did he cut her off when she was trying to embarrass me? Shouldn’t that be exactly what he wants? What does he get out of defending me in this way?
For another heartbeat, our eyes stay locked, and I feel the weight of his gaze settle over me, heavy and intense, like it’s pulling something from me.
I don’t move. Instead, my heart stills. There’s a heat radiating off him, something almost magnetic, and I can smell the faint trace of cigarette smoke clinging to him, adding to the rawness of the moment. But strangely, I don’t feel fear. This is different. It’s something unfamiliar, a pull I can’t ignore, and it unsettles me.
But then, just as quickly as the moment started, it’s broken.