Page 78 of The Ruthless Rivalry

Alex

Ibarely have time to catch my breath before Atlas glances over his shoulder at the now closed door, his movements slow and unbothered, as if nothing unusual is happening. “Gets drafty down here sometimes,” he says casually, as if that explains everything.

I blink, momentarily thrown off by his nonchalance. “Wait, hold on,” I say, my heart still racing. “You came from a different entrance—where did you—?”

Atlas glances back at me with a smirk, as if this entire situation is something he finds humorous. “The vault has more than oneentry point. I took the one inside Altair’s main building, down a few corridors. Most people aren’t aware it exists.”

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog from my thoughts. “This place is—it’s like a maze.” I pause as I take it all in. “But seriously. Whatisthis place?”

He arches an eyebrow, taking in the room with its flickering lights and heavy air. “The Vault of Nightfall is a restricted section. It’s a place where the school keeps things that aren’t meant to be out in the open. Not your typical library stuff. More like…detailed records. History, family lineages, the kinds of things most students don’t need everyday access to.”

“Wait.” I raise an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “So…you’re saying this room is full of like, secret knowledge?”

A chill creeps down my spine as the weight of his words settles in.History. Family lineages.It would explain the article—and the photo.

But what I can’t stop wondering is who was looking. Was it Atlas? Trying to find out more than he let on? Or was it someone else entirely?

Atlas shrugs, looking completely unconcerned. “Exactly. Just know, if you ask too many questions, people start to notice. You don’t want that. Trust me.”

I look around, the walls of the vault feeling even colder now, as if someone were listening. “I-I came in from the greenhouse. Up above,” I say, pointing in that direction.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “And as I already mentioned, I came from the main building.”

I scoff, annoyed by his slow tone. “Wait a second… Why areyoudown here? If this is supposed to be some sort of hidden, secret place, how did you learn about it?”

Atlas lets out a small chuckle, completely unbothered by my question. “First off, I’m a professor, Alex.” He pauses, glancingat the stack of books in his hands. “Second of all,” he says, holding them up, “I’m just returning these.”

He walks over to a shelf, methodically putting each book back. Normally, his calm, friendly demeanor would be soothing, but in this particular situation, it just feels irritating. I watch him for a moment, my confusion building, before my eyes shift back to the room around me. Who else knew about this place?

Once he finishes placing the last book, he straightens up, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “I don’t get a lot of visitors down here,” he comments offhandedly, looking around as if it’s no surprise. “But you’re welcome to take a look around if you feel like it. Plenty of material to expand your horizons.”

I glance around the room again, my eyes scanning the shelves and the table at the center surrounding the brass eagle, trying to make sense of it all. The weight of the atmosphere presses on me, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off about this hidden room.

“Look, I’ve got somewhere I need to be,” he says, pulling my attention back toward him. His lips twitch slightly. “If you find something that catches your eye, help yourself.”

“You’re just going to trust me down here? Alone?” I ask, my tone aghast.

Atlas glances at me, his jaw tightening for a moment before he smooths it with a small exhale. “You’re an adult,” he says, his voice now carrying a hint of restraint. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. But I really do need to go.”

Atlas gives me one last look before turning toward the door he came through, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The door creaks open, then shuts quietly behind him. I stand there for a moment, staring at the spot where he left, the weight of the quiet room settling over me.

The silence here feels different now. Heavier. Like the room’s watching. Waiting.

I shift my footing, unsure what to do with myself. Curiosity drags me back toward the shelves. The rows of books seem endless. I pull a few books from a shelf, flipping through them, but they’re all the same—ledgers, timestamps, dates, and records that make no sense to me.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot the table again—the one where I found the article earlier. I move toward it slowly, drawn back by something I can’t explain. The photo’s still there, tucked between yellowing pages, just where I left it.

I slide it out carefully. My father. Younger, sharper, standing with the same three friends who’ve become names I keep hearing over and over. Legacy families. Secrets. Power.

I stare at their faces, my thumb brushing over the edge of the worn photo. Whatever this place is, whatever it holds—this picture feels like a key. I fold it once and shove it into my pocket without hesitation. No way I’m leaving that behind.

It would explain how someone got it in the first place. The Vault of Nightfall—full of hidden records, family histories, things buried on purpose. But who was digging into mine? Was it Atlas… or someone else entirely?

I scan the shelves again with new eyes, like maybe there’s something else waiting to be uncovered. But all I find are more records I don’t understand—names, dates, codes that don’t mean anything. Yet.

I lean against the table, the photo a silent weight in my pocket, my thoughts drifting away from the records and back to the greenhouse above. The plants. The hours I spent there today, carefully observing. The feeling of the soil in my hands, the light filtering through the glass, the way every plant felt like a small discovery.

I close my eyes for a second, imagining the soft rustle of leaves, the scent of earth. I can almost see the pages of my botany notebook—my observations, sketches, and notes I’ve gatheredover time. The notebook that’s still in Bishop’s hands, probably sitting in some random corner of his room, mocking me.

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