The Bleak Beginning (Altair University #1)

1. Alex

Chapter 1

Alex

I desperately rub my tired eyes, but no amount of pressure can alleviate the exhaustion I feel inside. As if that wasn’t enough to handle, the journey to this new place seems endless. The once clear blue sky has transformed into a beautiful blend of oranges, pinks, and purples as the sun slowly descends toward the horizon. The clouds are tinged with a golden hue, casting long and dramatic shadows over the landscape as evening approaches. It hasn’t fully hit me yet how drastically my life has changed since my father and I got in the car this morning.

“Almost there.” My father tries to encourage me with his words, but I know it won’t make a difference. We’ve been driving for what feels like forever, but I haven’t bothered to ask him about this place. Honestly, I don’t really care. I’m only here because this was my last option apparently, so it’s irrelevant to me that this is the college he attended.

My sister Clara and his new girlfriend Elle assisted in loading me into the car this morning after he made a call last night.

My track record with college isn’t great, but they say third time’s the charm, right? My first college offered me a full scholarship based on my piano skills. I couldn’t deny my talent - even my mother called me a prodigy - and it was the only compliment she ever gave me that wasn’t back-handed or filled with ulterior motives. But after quitting at eighteen, that all changed.

That’s when botany became my sanctuary. When I was surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the earthy scent of soil, my mother’s voice would finally fade to a distant whisper.

Three years have passed since I stopped playing piano and cut ties with my mother. It was a decision she didn't handle well, to say the least - but then again, she never gave me much kindness either. The university I’d chosen instead of that one was fine, but mundane and monotonous and I found myself acting out just to occupy my time after my parents divorce.

Which leads us to the present, me riding in the passenger seat of my father’s car as we head to his alma mater - the same university he has reminded me about at least a dozen times during our long drive.

I stared out the window, the landscape shifting from familiar to foreign, like a seedling being dropped into a pot far too big, I doubted I would ever find the sunlight again.

My father nudges my shoulder, and my eyes follow the direction of his finger. I remain still, just as I have since we left. I have no desire to put forth any extra effort. I am quite content with my feet propped up on the dashboard and my hood pulled over my ears.

A wide bridge stretches out before us; its structure is a testament to skilled engineering. From what I can see, each intricate detail is carefully carved, from the ornate wood railing to the arches that support its weight, blending seamlessly into the surrounding wooded landscape. But it is the view that my father was pointing at that truly leaves me in awe. Beyond the bridge, to my right, a powerful waterfall cascades from the cliffs, its sheer size and grandeur taking my breath away as it tumbles deep below us.

The roaring sound of the waterfall fills my ears, drowning out the hum of our car’s engine.

“I know you're upset about this decision, and I regret not being around more while you were growing up. But I truly believe that attending this university will be beneficial for you,” my father says, trying to engage in conversation once again. “It might help straighten you out.”

Straighten me out? I can't help but let out a hollow laugh at his words. If he had been there during my childhood instead of constantly traveling for work, maybe he would have seen how rigidly my mother controlled every aspect of my life. My sister Clara always forgave more easily, which is why she still keeps in touch with her. Meanwhile, I want nothing to do with her after what she did. What she put me through.

He let out a heavy sigh. “This university is your final fallback,” he says, being brutally honest. “I can't afford to keep bailing you out, and as an adult, it's time for you to start taking some responsibility for yourself.”

I snort, a sound that disgusts even me. “Let me guess, Elle was complaining again? About how the little money we have goes towards helping your daughter instead of buying new magazines for her?”

“You and your sister are too harsh on her, she’s a good person. She makes me happy in a way I haven’t been since…well, in a really, really long time,” he defends her, as expected. My own mother never took my side either.

I shake my head in disbelief, not bothering to respond. Elle may bring happiness to my father's life, but that doesn't mean I have to like her. She constantly tries to act like a stepmother, even though my father hasn't even proposed yet. It's beyond irritating. I've already had one mother who couldn't care less about me; I'm not ready to welcome another into my life anytime soon.

As we approach the bridge, a refreshing breeze fills the air, carrying with it a hint of moisture from the nearby waterfall. The scent of moss and pine trees permeates the space, enhanced by my dad’s open car window. I caught a glimpse of a rainbow beneath the mist at the base of the waterfall, but before I could confirm it, we had already crossed the bridge and returned back to solid ground.

“You know, I have my own regrets about my past, especially at your age. But I want the best for you, and I genuinely believe this place could be it.”

“You're only saying that because you went here,” I scoff. “Isn't there a chance you might be a little biased in your opinion? And let's face it,” I add. “I won't exactly stand out among all the other students.”

A slight wince crosses his face, but he otherwise keeps quiet as the vehicle comes to a rolling stop. The closed gate before us an impressive sight, with intricate details and craftsmanship that rival the bridge we just crossed. The wrought iron fence stretches out in either direction as far as the eye can see. The gate’s thick columns sit on either side with lit lampposts above, and a mysterious object atop its center.

As the gate slowly creaks open, the object takes form, and I crane my neck to an uncomfortable angle to get a better view.

Are those…wings?

I blink. A majestic bird made completely of brass, with feathers that glisten in the setting sun stretches out its wings, each double the length of the gate itself. Its head is no longer tucked beneath the safety of them. Perched upright, it gazes down at us, strong and fierce.

As my father moves the car forward, I feel it lurch beneath me. He looks calm and collected, and at one point I think I hear him stifle a laugh, but I’m too lost in my own thoughts to pay much attention. Did that creature really fold one of its massive wings across its body like some kind of grand gesture? Did it…bow to us?

Is this what madness feels like? My jaw remains agape as we navigate down another twisting road, but I quickly shut it once the car comes to a stop and the engine shuts off.

I step out of the car and close my door just as a woman’s voice greets my dad at the bottom of the stone steps. “Magnus, it’s wonderful to have you back!” The woman, who appears to be in her early sixties, exclaims with genuine enthusiasm. “We were thrilled when we received your unexpected call,” she adds.

I can’t help but roll my eyes in irritation, but I quickly stop myself. At least one person seems to be enjoying this forced interaction. I catch a glimpse of her mouth twitching at my reaction, but she smoothly regains her composure. “You must be Alexandra,” she says with a hint of condescension.

“Actually, I prefer to be called Alex,” I say.

“Come. This way!” she insists. She quickly reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me toward her as she checks the watch on her wrist with a worried look. My father and I are ushered up the stairs and into the building with forceful pushes from her hands.

We turn a corner and pass by what I presume is the lobby with a front desk and a small area for visitors to wait. The dark wooden counter is empty, which isn’t too unexpected, given that it’s the early evening. “Follow me,” the woman says cheerfully as she leads us through another doorway. Her office door stands open, welcoming yet professional. As we enter, I notice engraved letters spelling out “Dorothy Maxwell” in bold gold font on the opaque glass of the door. Above them are the words “Head Chancellor.” She closes the door behind us.

We take a seat, and my father yanks at my hood, tugging it down to my shoulders, and my long hair cascades down my back with it. I shoot him a glare just as the chancellor fans out the skirt of her dress and lowers herself into her own office chair across from us.

She smiles, pressing her hands together on her desk and I fight back a cringe. Her grin feels almost like squishing a piece of overly ripe fruit in your hand, with its mushy texture and overpowering sweetness.

“I think it goes without saying, but it is my pleasure to be the first to welcome you to Altair University,” the chancellor says with a smile. “And Magnus, we are thrilled to have the Prescott family return to Altair, once again.”

I notice my father’s shoulders tensing and his body shifting, as if he is taken aback by her words.

Chancellor Maxwell’s gaze cuts through the air like a sharp blade, meeting my own with unwavering intensity.

“Now,” she says, pausing for emphasis. Every word carries the same sharpness as her gaze. I believe she could match the intensity of the bird at the gate. “Before I bring you to your dorm room, I want to review the detailed regulations and standards that we expect all Altair students to follow.” Her tone is firm and authoritative, underscoring the seriousness of this institution.

My lips tighten. “Detailed?”

“Yes, Miss Prescott. Our standards here are quite high compared to other universities,” she says, her tone dripping with condescension as she emphasizes each word.

“Sure,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

My father’s disapproval hangs in the air like a musky warning, telling me to stop pushing back. But I ignore it and focus on the room instead.

Her office is dimly lit, with muted colors and shadows dancing on the walls. Furniture is scattered about, with a large window at one end of the room and a fireplace at the other. The walls are lined with books and paintings and a grandfather clock in the corner. The room exudes an air of prestige and importance, and this woman’s every word is delivered with unwavering authority. She believes she holds the power to change lives, and in her line of work, perhaps she does…but not mine. Her actions won’t have any impact on my life.

The chancellor throws a book onto the desk with a loud thud, bringing my eyes back to her. Her face is tight, and it’s clear that she wanted to get my attention. The book’s cover is faded and worn, the spine cracked and creased from years of use. Despite its condition, the book has clearly served her well over the years, holding up decently.

“You’ll have your own copy of our rules and regulations in your room if you ever need to reference them,” Chancellor Maxwell says. “But I thought it might be helpful to review a few tonight.”

I suppress a groan as Chancellor Maxwell opens the book, her manicured nails tracing down the table of contents. The soft scratching sound grates on my nerves.

“Let’s start with the dress code,” she says, flipping to a marked page. “All students must wear the official Altair uniform during class hours, assemblies, and extracurricular activities. For girls, this consists of a black blazer, white-and-black-striped collared shirt, skirt, and knee-high socks. Boys wear a similar ensemble with trousers instead of a skirt.”

I glance down at my ripped jeans and oversized hoodie, already feeling suffocated by the thought of such restrictive clothing.

“Outside of these listed requirements, students are expected to maintain a neat and modest appearance,” Maxwell continues, her eyes flickering to my outfit with clear disapproval. “No excessive piercings, visible tattoos, or unnatural hair colors.”

“No unnatural hair colors?” I interrupt, my hand instinctively going to the deep green streak in my ash-blonde hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Maxwell’s lips purse into a thin line. “I assure you, Miss Prescott, I am not in the habit of ‘kidding’ about our policies. The green will have to go before your classes begin.”

I can feel my father move beside me, but I press on. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you will not be permitted to attend classes,” Maxwell states, her voice as cold and unyielding as steel. “Compliance with our rules is not optional. It’s a requirement for enrollment.”

I lean forward, my eyes locked with hers. “So much for fostering individuality and self-expression, huh?”

Her lips purse, but she says nothing, instead continuing to drone on about the dress code.

“Makeup should be minimal and natural-looking. Jewelry is limited to small earrings, a watch, and a single necklace or bracelet.”

I resisted the urge to facepalm. This place sounds more like a prison than a school. My father shifts uncomfortably in his seat beside me, no doubt imagining the fight we’ll have later about all of this.

Maxwell closes the book with a snap, her eyes boring into mine. “Do you have any questions about the dress code?”

“Yeah, actually,” I say, leaning forward. “What century are we in again? Because this sounds like something out of a Victorian novel.”

My father kicks my foot, and I can’t help but scowl. He meets my expression with a stern look, furrowing his brow, a hard line appearing across his mouth.

Maxwell’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of amusement in them before it’s quickly extinguished. “I assure you, Miss Prescott, our policies are quite modern. They’re designed to create a focused learning environment, free from distractions.”

I open my mouth to argue further, but my dad speaks up before I can. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior, Chancellor Maxwell. She’s still adjusting to the idea of transferring schools.”

Maxwell nods, her steely gaze softening slightly as she turns to him. “I understand. Many students find the transition challenging at first. But as you are well aware, Altair University’s reputation for excellence is well-earned.”

I slouch in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. My father shoots me another warning glance before turning back to Chancellor Maxwell.

I can’t help but scoff under my breath. Excellence, sure. If by “excellence” they mean forcing conformity and crushing individuality.

Maxwell’s eyes snap back to me, her gaze piercing. “Is there something else you’d like to add?”

I’m about to unleash a scathing retort when my father’s hand clamps down on my arm, his grip tight enough to make me wince. “No. She doesn’t,” he says firmly. “Isn’t that right, Alex?”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to yank my arm away. “Right,” I mutter, avoiding Maxwell’s eyes.

“Excellent,” she says, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “Now, let’s discuss your class schedule and extracurricular activities.”

“I’ll pass on the extracurriculars,” I say, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “I wouldn’t want to distract myself from all that focused learning.” I didn’t come here to make friends; I could have done that at my previous college if I wanted. All I needed were my plants, that was enough for me.

My father’s grip tightens further, and I bite back a yelp. Maxwell’s eyes narrow dangerously, but she maintains her professional composure.

“Extracurricular activities are a requirement at Altair,” she says coldly. “They foster teamwork, leadership, and a well-rounded education. I’m sure we can find something suitable for your…unique personality.”

“Perhaps the debate team?” my father suggests, his voice strained with forced cheerfulness. “Alex is good at speaking her mind.”

The sound of the grandfather clock cuts through the tension in the room, momentarily distracting Maxwell. She glances down at the watch on her wrist, her lips pursing.

With a frown, she declares, “We’ll have to finish our discussion of our rules tomorrow.” Wait, what? There was more? And on top of it all, she says, “Luckily, I planned ahead and scheduled time at 9:00 AM.” My eyes widen.

“Nine in the morning? On a Sunday?” I sputter, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

Maxwell’s lips curve into a thin, humorless smile. “I assure you, Miss Prescott, I never kid when it comes to time. At Altair, we believe in maximizing every moment for educational growth. Weekends are no exception.”

I open my mouth to protest, but my father’s iron grip on my arm reminds me to hold my tongue. I settle for a glare that could wilt flowers.

“Wonderful,” he says, his voice strained. “Alex will be there promptly at nine. Won’t you?”

I nod stiffly, my jaw clenched so tight I can hear my teeth grinding.

“Perfect,” Maxwell declares, rising from her chair. “Let’s not waste any time; we’ll gather your belongings, say your farewells, and then I’ll lead you to your room.”

I can hardly contain my excitement at the opportunity to leave this stifling room.

“I’ll get a head start grabbing my bags,” I offer eagerly.

Maxwell nods curtly, and I practically bolt from the room, my father’s grip finally loosening as I slip away. The sky outside had taken on a deep, inky hue, the last tendrils of sunlight disappearing beyond the horizon, leaving the world in shadow and quiet.

A gentle breeze brushes against my skin, bringing with it the sensation of coolness and relief from the heat of that stuffy office. The temperature has dropped, leaving a slight chill on my skin, but I don’t mind. Crickets and other night creatures had begun their symphony, humming along with the faint sound of water crashing off in the distance.

I enjoy my limited time alone, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, leaning my back against the side of our vehicle.

The pine trees emit a strong, earthy scent that fills the air, reminiscent of fresh-cut wood and wilderness. The water carries a crisp, refreshing aroma, laced with hints of algae and minerals. The smell is strong and pungent. Before, I’d only had a tease of the scent from the cracked windows on the drive.

This scent was euphoric.

My serenity is suddenly interrupted by a sharp flick and the faint sizzle of something hitting my skin. It happens again, but this time I don’t feel it until it burns through the fabric of my hoodie.

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 try to 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.

I force a smile, not wanting to worry him. “Yeah, something like that,” I mutter, hefting my bags.

Maxwell purses her lips, a flicker of concern passing over her face before she smooths her expression. “I see. Well, we best be on our way. We need to make it to your dorm room before it gets too late.”

“Don’t worry, Chancellor Maxwell, I’ll make the goodbyes short,” my father says, trying to ease her obvious discomfort. She appears to be on the verge of breaking out in hives at the mere thought of being behind schedule.

Dad leans down and envelops me in a warm hug.

“I understand that Chancellor Maxwell may come across as a stickler for the rules, but she has good intentions,” he whispers in my ear as we embrace. “Try not to make things too difficult for her.”

My father’s hug is comforting. His arms around me provide a sense of strength and safety. He may not have been the most involved father, but he was still decent, and in my own way I’ll miss him.

I nod against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. “I’ll try,” I murmur, though I’m not entirely sure I can keep that promise.

As we pull apart, I catch a glimpse of something in my father’s eyes. Is it worry? Regret? Before I can decipher it, he masks it with a smile.

“You’ve got this, kiddo,” he says, ruffling my hair like he used to when I was younger. “Remember, you’re a Prescott. We’re made tough.”

There’s a weight to his words that I can’t quite place. I want to ask him what he means, but Chancellor Maxwell clears her throat impatiently.

“We really must be going,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.

My father nods, giving my shoulder one last squeeze before stepping back. “Right, of course.”

“I hope you get a flat tire on the way home,” I say with fake cheer, knowing deep down that I don’t actually mean it, but a part of me is still resentful.

I watch as my father’s vehicle recedes, becoming smaller and smaller until he disappears around a thick patch of trees. The finality of it hits me like a punch to the gut. This is it. I’m really on my own now.

Chancellor Maxwell’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Come along, we have a tight schedule to keep.”

I turn to follow her, my bags suddenly feeling heavier. We walk in silence, our footsteps echoing off the cobblestone path beneath us.

As she continues to ramble about the four dormitories available on campus, I sling the smaller bag over my shoulder and adjust it. I try to pay attention, but honestly, I’m not interested in her list of names. As we walk along the path, she points out two dorm buildings on our right: Oliveri and Whitlock. On our left, there’s a much larger building, twice the size of the other two combined. She tells me that it’s called Ashbourne.

Each dormitory had its own unique path, leading through dense trees and back to the main cobblestone walkway. At the center of it all stands a magnificent fountain, connecting each of them, a masterpiece in its own right. Even in the dim moonlight, it seems to shine with a rainbow of colors. Water spouted from multiple tiers, cascading down into an intricately carved base below. It was reminiscent of the waterfall we passed on our way in, but even more extravagant. I couldn’t help but flinch at the closeness of the water as it swirled and danced in a hypnotic rhythm.

Water and I weren’t the best of friends.

We continue walking around the fountain and I can’t help but burst out laughing at the rundown building we’re approaching.

Honestly, it’s not that impressive even though it’s as big as the last one she pointed out, only not as well-maintained. What was it called? Ashbourne? But this building is a little larger, both in height and width. And if I really try hard, I can imagine it being even more grand in design.

I can’t help but wonder how much worse this place looks during the daytime because, this dormitory definitely isn’t going to win any beauty contests anytime soon.

The gothic structure stands tall, its once-impressive facade now crumbling and covered in thick layers of moss and ivy. The walls are a sickly gray and a few of the windows are broken and boarded up, giving the building an eerie, abandoned look. Its exterior is a dark, decaying shell. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were holes along the pointed steeple large enough to let light through in the daytime.

If it wasn’t for the various bedroom lights and the shadows of other students hidden behind curtains along the different levels, I’d assumed this place is abandoned.

I turned to her and asked, “What’s the name of this building?”

“This is Prescott Dormitory,” she replied.

I shift my gaze away from her and look up at the towering building. It was almost uncomfortable to crane my neck so far back. Of course, the dorm with the same last name as me had to be the most run-down one.

Just my luck.

“Your family has been housed in this dorm for generations,” she added, causing me to choke on my saliva.

How perfect. So the name wasn’t a coincidence.

Maxwell’s eyes tightened as she observes my disapproving expression while we climb the stairs. She trails close behind me as we enter the building, her body tensed up. I can’t help but worry about the quality of the air inside. My nose wrinkles as I take a deep breath. A faint musty and damp smell lingers in the dormitory, hinting at mold and mildew in the decaying structure.

The interior of the building is just as dilapidated as the outside. The walls were covered in peeling paint, revealing a long history of faded colors. Cracked ceiling tiles allowed rusted pipes to poke through, adding to the overall dinginess of the space. As I looked around, my mind couldn’t help but wonder about the origin of the stains. A shiver ran down my spine at the thought that it could be something worse than just water seeping through, the yellow color was definitely questionable. I desperately hoped that the students who occupied this place had more respect for themselves, especially considering how highly Maxwell liked to tout this university. But then again, maybe I was just grasping at straws for some sense of comfort in this run-down building.

My nose pinches, “I feel like I need to get a tetanus shot from just looking at these walls.”

“Unfortunately, this dorm has become more of an overflow space, as most students have chosen the other housing options. However, it is completely safe,” she assures me with emphasis, trying to ease my concerns. But her words do little to reassure me.

Safe? This place looked like it could collapse at any moment. “Is the mildew complimentary, or will I be charged extra for that once the bill comes at the end of the semester?” I say flatly.

I’m not sure who she’s trying to convince, but the stains on the walls are definitely not a creative design choice. In fact, they appear to be covered in mildew rather than a trendy new wallpaper.

As I step forward, something brushes against my foot. I freeze, my breath catching in my chest.

“Please, please don't tell me that was—”

A small, shadowy shape scurries across the floor.

I glance down, then look back up at Maxwell with a blank expression. “Great. Now I get to live with rats too? If this place were any more ‘authentic,’ I’d expect it to come with a medieval plague.”

Maxwell’s lips tighten into a hard line. “I assure you, despite its appearance, Prescott Dormitory is structurally sound. This university takes great care to ensure the safety of all its students.”

“Right,” I mutter, unconvinced.

“Come along, this way.” she says, hurrying me along. “Your room is on the top floor.”

Let’s just hope it’s got a decent bed. I was exhausted from the long drive. My muscles were starting to strain, but I forced myself to keep up.

I follow closely as she leads us the rest of the way up several flights of stairs. “The building is completely secure,” she reassures me just as we hear a high-pitched groan and a few squeaks and rattles coming from above.

I glance up at the opening above me. The pipes running through it are old and corroded, leaking droplets of rusty water that stain the ground below. The sound takes me back to when my sister Clara and I were kids, and our elderly neighbor who used to watch us would often doze off, snoring loudly on the couch while we played. We would sometimes play a game where we put a feather under her nose to see if she was still breathing.

The pipes groan in sympathy, reminding us of the building’s age as we halt outside a door.

“We just fumigated, so the odor shouldn’t be too terrible. As I said, your arrival was unexpected, and we were on a tight schedule.” She dismissively waves her hand. “I hope your room meets your expectations.”

“Remember, nine sharp. My office,” Maxwell reminds me just as I’m about to unlock the door. I nod, and she takes it as confirmation. “Perfect, I’ll see you then.” With that, she walks back down the hallway without a second thought.

What an odd woman.

“Well, this should be interesting,” I mutter to myself before unlocking the door. I push it open, bracing myself for the worst, but instead finding something pleasantly unexpected.

The room is a vision of opulence, with intricately carved furniture and plush velvet fabrics in rich colors. The bedroom is a grand space with high ceilings and elegant furnishings. The large windows are arched, framing the night sky that glistens with stars in the soft moonlight. I bet in the daylight; the sun casts the room in the most stunning golden glow.

Every surface is adorned with ornate finishes, from the elaborate crown molding to the delicate gold filigree on the bed frame. This room— my room, was like a jewel box, filled with treasures and adorned with exquisite craftsmanship.

I wiggle my toes within the tight confines of my shoes before giving up and kicking them off, savoring the softness of the plush area rug beneath my feet. My body relaxes, grateful for this moment of peace. I scan the room, searching for any signs of darkness or discoloration on the walls or ceiling, but all I saw were the smooth, creamy surfaces accented with delicate gold trim that gleamed in the moonlight. Inhaling deeply through my nose, I searched for any musty or damp scents, but all I could smell was the faint hint of fresh paint. Finally, a stroke of luck in my otherwise unfortunate life.

The plushness beneath my bare feet is like walking on clouds. The intricate designs on the furniture dare me to run my fingertips over its smooth surfaces, but I decide against it, seeking the comfort of my new bed.

A tired moan escapes my lips. The bedspread is smooth and cool to the touch, beckoning me to climb under, but for now I only sink my back into the lush softness instead, staring up at the ceiling as I pull out my phone to text my sister.

I stick out my tongue and send her a picture with a text letting her know I made it okay. As I wait for her reply, I find my mind wandering back to the weird interaction earlier with the cigarette guy even as my lids grow heavy, and sleep threatens.

He was like a ghost, shifting in the shadows, with eyes that glinted like sharpened blades and a face that revealed no emotion. It was as if he were a statue, his features frozen before me. He exuded only danger.

But I couldn’t muster up a hint of fear. I let out a deep, unashamed yawn in the privacy of my room. My mind slowed down as I gave into my exhaustion. Drained of all energy, I surrendered to the paralysis of sleep.

Whoever my shadow was, he couldn’t haunt me any longer tonight.