The Bleak Beginning (Altair University #1)

7. Alex

Chapter 7

Alex

D rip. Drip. Drip. Drip .

In the dim light of my room, my eyes slowly close as I start to drift off to sleep. The room is still and quiet. I was exhausted after helping Sutton with her project. Tomorrow was going to be rough trying to get up, but at least I didn’t have to see Sylvester and go over the history of this place. My plan to avoid him worked out perfectly, even if it did mean I hadn’t gotten back to my dorm until after two in the morning.

Drip. Drip .

Still half asleep, I brush the moisture away as the drips become heavier and more insistent.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The persistent droplets continue to fall, rousing me further from my slumber. With a groan, I force my eyes open, blinking away the vestiges of sleep.

A steady stream of water plops onto my face, explaining the damp state of my pillow and hair. Great.

Grumbling, I roll over, burying my face in another pillow. But the dripping continues, each drop seeming to echo louder in the quiet of my room.

“Blasted building,” I muttered, flipping on my back as I curse the wet spot above my bed. The slow drip, drip, drip of water continues falling from my ceiling.

Suddenly, the droplets turn into a steady stream, as if a faucet had been turned on. Before I can fully comprehend what is happening, a huge burst of water comes crashing down from the ceiling, drenching me and my bed.

I jolt upright with a strangled cough, fully awake now. Sputtering and gasping, I flail in my now-soaked sheets, my heart racing as I tried to make sense of the chaos.

“What in the name of nightmares?” I wheeze, flailing in my bedding. I stumble out of bed, my clothes clinging to me like a second skin, as I fumble for the lamp on my bedside table. As the warm glow fills the room, I gape at the deluge pouring from the ceiling.

Water cascaded from a busted pipe above, turning my once-cozy bedroom into a miniature waterfall. “For the love of fairy dust,” I groan, not believing this just happened to me.

What are the actual odds?

Just then, a knock at my door nearly made me jump out of my skin. “Everything alright in there?” came a gruff female voice. “Heard a commotion.”

“Things are just grand,” I called back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Nothing says good morning quite like an impromptu shower from the ceiling. Although is it considered morning if you never really slept?

I slosh my way to the door, leaving a trail of wet footprints in my wake. As I yank it open, I find myself face-to-face with a tall, thin girl with short, white-blonde hair.

“Holy shit!” she exclaims, her eyes widening at the sight of my drenched form and the waterlogged room behind me. “What happened here?”

“Oh, you know,” I say, gesturing vaguely at the ceiling, “just thought I’d bring a bit of Altair’s rain indoors. For ambiance.”

The girl’s lips twitch, clearly not impressed by my sarcasm, but did her room decide to create its own indoor water park while she was trying to sleep?

Didn’t think so.

Her eyes dart from my soaked clothes to the puddles forming on the floor. She crosses her arms, tapping her foot. “Well, as much as I appreciate your dedication to interior design, you’ve got bigger problems.”

My mouth twists. Who was this chick, and why was she barking her opinions at me instead of offering to help clean up this mess?

“It’s my responsibility as your resident advisor…” I guess that answers that question. “…to find you temporary housing.” I was sensing a but. “But,” she continues, confirming my suspicions, “all the rooms in this building are full.”

“Could I room with someone?” I ask, wringing out my soaked hair.

She mulls that over. “You got any friends?”

I’ve only met one person I could possibly consider a friend, but I wasn’t sure what dormitory Sutton lived in, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to bother her at this early hour.

I sigh. “Not really.”

“Welp, that sucks for you.”

My mouth goes flat at the girl’s bluntness. I thought RAs were supposed to be caring toward their fellow peers, not rude. I was grouchy and cold, and all I wanted was to be asleep in my comfortable bed.

“So what would you suggest?” I ask. “Am I just supposed to sleep in the hallway?”

The girl’s lips quirk into a grin. “Not quite. But I do have one idea.”

Before I can protest, she grabs my wrist and starts dragging me through the corridor and down a flight of stairs.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep up with her surprisingly quick pace.

“You’ll see,” she replies cryptically.

We come to our destination.

“Come. On,” I protest, pulling back. This seriously can’t be my only option.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s all I can do for you on short notice. There’s a cot over in the corner you can set up. I think one of our janitors used to crash here, but it looks like it hasn’t been touched in a while, so you should be good. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

My teeth clench. You’ve got to be kidding me. “You honestly don’t expect me to sleep in a supply closet, do you?”

The girl rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Look, I appreciate your…creativity,” I say, eyeing the cramped, musty space dubiously. “But I’m not spending the night in a janitor’s closet.”

“You got any better suggestions?” she asks fluffing a musty pillow and tugging a blanket that seems about as soft as a wire brush down from the shelf.

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my lips. The truth is, I don’t have any better suggestions. After the disastrous assembly, thanks to Bishop, I didn’t have a lot of options or allies. The closest I’d found was the red-haired magician from the mail room the other day.

“Fine,” I grumble, stepping into the closet. The scent of pine cleaner and musty fabric assaults my nostrils. “But if I wake up covered in rat bites, I’m blaming you.”

The girl snorts. “Rats are the least of your worries, mudslide. You’re lucky I’m helping you at all.”

My shoulders tensed—gah! That stupid, stupid name.

“Look,” the girl says, her tone softening slightly as I eye the worn cot. Was she taking pity on me? Please tell me she was taking pity on me. I could sleep on the floor of her room—the idea is on the tip of my tongue, but she started speaking again before I could suggest such a thing. “I know it’s not ideal, but hey, at least you’ll have a solid roof over your head.”

My tongue slams into my cheek to bite back my scream of frustration. My shoulders sink like a deflating balloon.

“A roof over my head,” I repeat. “How generous.”

The girl flashed me a scowl, her spiky hair catching the dim light from the single bulb swinging overhead.

“Can’t you just…I don’t know, sneak me into your room?” I ask, desperation creeping into my voice. The thought of spending the night in this musty closet made my skin crawl.

“Yeah, okay.” She let out a short, sharp laugh as if that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

I wince at her words. Campus pariah. Is that what I’ve become?

I glare at her, but she just smirks and turns to leave. Her confident stride almost as infuriating as the position I was currently put in, no thanks to some faulty plumbing.

The room is musty, and the scent of mold and dust permeates the air. The sharp, chemical smell of disinfectant hung in the room, like a failed attempt to cover up the underlying filth.

Lovely.

I sighed, resigning myself to my fate. As the door clicks shut behind her, I slump, sliding down until I hit the cold base of my makeshift bed. The single bulb casts eerie shadows across the cramped space, making the cobwebs in the corners dance like ghostly fingers.

A rustle to my left made me jump. I squinted into the darkness, my pulse racing. A pair of beady eyes glinted back at me. Great. I had company.

“Don’t even think about it,” I mutter to the rat, pulling my knees up to my chest.

Dolores would never.

What was left of the night stretched on endlessly. Every creak and groan of the old building set my nerves on edge. I tried to doze off, but the hard floor and the constant drip, drip, drip from somewhere in the darkness kept me frustratingly alert.

As dawn finally began to creep through the grimy window, casting a sickly gray light into the small closet, I began to envy the rat, at least he had a place to scurry away to. A cozy, warm nest, perhaps. Me? I was trapped here, a prisoner of circumstance and my own foolish choices.

Why had I agreed to come to this school again?

I left my makeshift sleeping arrangements and headed back to my dorm room to get changed. Thankfully, my closet was far away from the gaping hole in my ceiling. My clothes were dry, so I tugged on a uniform and tied my hair back before trudging off to my first class of the morning.

I was so disgruntled over my lack of sleep that I hadn’t bothered checking the class I was attending and focused only on where I needed to go, which is how I end up standing on the shoreline with a dozen other students.

What the hell?

“Well, don’t you look like a drowned rat,” a spiteful voice said from behind me, before ramming a shoulder into mine and continuing past.

I rub my temples, not in the mood for Bishop Ashbourne after my night. I’m tired, half of my room is destroyed, and oh yeah, this place sucks. At least he’d done me one mercy and kept walking, climbing onto the wooden pier and heading inside the boathouse.

One problem solved, the second laughing at me as it continues to try to lap around my feet.

I glare down at the water, taking a step back as it tries to surround my shoes, its ripples mocking me with their gentle splashes.

“Welcome, students, to Oceanic Reflection!” Our professor for this class says with a genuine smile. “I’m Professor Marks, but I prefer to go by first names, since I like to think of us as equals when it comes to learning about and protecting our water resources.”

Our professor, who if I had to guess, was in his mid-forties, has a lean physique. His long hair was tied back in a messy bun, and he wore a flowy shirt with loose-fitting pants and no shoes. His feet bare and exposed on the sandy shoreline.

“So what should we call you?” a girl with chestnut hair and overly glossy lips says with a curl of her lip.

There was something vaguely familiar about her, but I couldn’t pinpoint what.

He doesn’t hesitate, his warm smile solid as he answers her less than polite question. “You can call me Atlas.”

“So, Atlas…what is this class about?” she asks, turning her nose up as a small wave laps at her expensive-looking shoes. She jumps back with a squeal, nearly crashing into the student behind her.

“First, I’d like to express my gratitude towards our row team for generously allowing us to use this space,” Atlas says, his gaze shifting to the building beside us.

Ah, so that’s why Bishop was hanging around here. I make a mental note to stay away from this side of campus and the long, narrow rowing boats at all costs.

The girl’s lips purse in frustration. “But how does being out here relate to the class?”

Atlas chuckles good-naturedly. “Well, as the name suggests, we’ll be learning to respect and appreciate the power of water through reflection, and what better way to do that than to interact with it directly? But first…” He claps his hands together, eyes twinkling. “Let’s start with the basics. Who here can tell me why water is so important, not only here at Altair, but as a whole?”

A few hands shoot up, mine not among them. I’m too busy eyeing the water suspiciously, wondering if it’s going to try to eat my shoes again. The last thing I want to do is get any closer to the treacherous liquid than needed.

“Yes, you there,” Atlas points to a male student with glasses perched precariously on his nose.

“Water is life,” the boy states matter-of-factly. “But here at Altair, it surrounds us and is the single most important thing to not only this university, but the town just outside the gates.”

The students’ voice trails off as Atlas nods encouragingly. “Very good, very good. And what is both the benefit and downfall of this?”

The student adjusts his glasses, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, Altair’s waters are not only the main form of transportation for many people coming in and out of the country by water, but also acts as a port for more than two-thirds of the container ships docking in the region. It’s our defense, transportation, and source of income to many families, thanks to our scenic tourism.”

“Excellent. Now what are the negatives?”

“If you overlook the founding family’s greediness in commercializing the surrounding area to profit themselves,” he remarks, snidely glancing in my direction before turning his attention back to Atlas. “Then it would be that we’re basically our own island. We are at the mercy of the water. It is our greatest ally and our biggest enemy.”

Is this all true? I had no idea.

Had the Prescott’s really been this involved? Same with the Ashbourne’s, Olivari’s, and the Whitlock’s?

Atlas nods, his eyes sweeping across the gathered students. “Well put. The water is indeed our greatest ally and biggest enemy.”

The student beams his appreciation before subtly shooting me another pointed look. What? Like I personally had anything to do with this? So okay, my last name might be the same as one of those founding families, but I hadn’t been the one who’d personally made those decisions.

I shoot him back an identical look and he cowers away, putting his attention back on the teacher when I casually scratch my nose using my middle finger.

“Now,” Atlas continues, clapping his hands together, “let’s start with a simple exercise. Everyone, please step to the water’s edge.”

A chorus of shuffling feet follows his instruction, but I remain rooted to my spot, as far from the edge as possible. The girl with the expensive-looking shoes hesitates before letting out an annoyed sigh and inching forward, matching everyone else.

“Now, who can tell me—”

But before Atlas can finish his question, a thunderous splash erupts in front of us. A massive tentacle, glistening and purple, rises from the depths. Screams erupt from the class as students scramble back, nearly trampling each other in their haste to escape.

“Everyone, remain calm!” Atlas shouts, as the tentacle whips through the air, sending droplets of water cascading over the terrified students. I find myself frozen in place, oddly fascinated by the creature’s sudden appearance.

The girl with the expensive shoes lets out a high-pitched shriek as another tentacle emerges, this one adorned with glowing, bioluminescent spots. “My shoes! They’re ruined!” she wails, dancing away from the splashing water.

“Is this part of the lesson?” another student squeaks out.

“Ah, not exactly,” Atlas says.

Amidst the chaos, I notice a glint of something shiny caught in one of the Kraken’s suckers. Without thinking, I take a step forward, squinting to see something moving underneath the water.

Those weren’t tentacles. Were those…legs?

“Gotcha!” a voice suddenly calls out. The tentacles suddenly go limp, and an additional group of students bursts out from underneath them, laughing and high fiving each other as they stand in the waist-deep water.

“What in the name of—” Atlas sputters, his face a mix of confusion and relief.

As the water settles, the ringleader of the elaborate prank continues grinning from ear to ear. He’s holding up what appears to be an intricate puppet, with strings attached to the now-deflating tentacles.

“Sorry, Atlas,” he chuckles, not sounding sorry at all. “We couldn’t resist. We thought your class could use a little excitement.”

“Reith Elton! Consider your weekends booked, as you’ll be helping me pick up trash along the shoreline for the next three Saturdays.” Atlas hollers, his face red.

The girl with the expensive shoes looks ready to explode. “You absolute buffoons!” she shrieks, dabbing the few droplets of water that splashed on her blazer in the chaos.

A sudden whistle cuts through the air, and all eyes turn to its source. A man stood at the end of the boathouse dock. Perhaps he was a coach? I couldn’t be sure, but Bishop was standing next to him intently watching everything.

Of course. Of course!

He’s changed out of Altair’s standard uniform and into a tight-fitting short-sleeved shirt and shorts. “Reith has always been the least intelligent on our team, Atlas,” Bishop remarks nonchalantly.

Team? They were on rowing team together?

“Takes one to know one,” Reith mouths back.

Instead of responding, Bishop smoothly dives off the dock and several long seconds tick by before he reemerges at the shoreline and walks out onto the sand like it’s nothing.

The other students gasp and murmur in awe as Bishop emerges from the water, his clothes clinging to his muscular frame. He runs a hand through his wet hair, somehow managing to look even more attractive beneath that scowl he wore like a second shirt.

“Show off,” Reith mutters under his breath, but there’s a hint of admiration in his voice.

Atlas, still red-faced and sputtering, turns to Bishop. “And what, pray tell, was your role in this little escapade?”

Bishop shrugs, indifferent. “Just keeping an eye on things, sir. Making sure no one drowns in all the excitement.”

“How considerate,” Atlas replies dryly. Clearly, he was not amused by the impromptu turn of events. “Coach Barkley, do you have anything to say for your students disrupting my class right as we were about to start a water exercise?” he shouts, striding towards the intimidating older man standing by the pier.

Hold on a second. What exactly were we about to start doing?

“Baby!” the girl with the chestnut hair saunters over and parks herself underneath Bishop’s arm. I take a quick step back to avoid getting in their way, but mostly I just want to put as much distance between myself and the water as possible.

“What’s the matter, Prescott?” Bishop calls out, his arm casually draped around the girl’s shoulder. “Afraid of a little water?”

I lie. “Of course not.”

“Then why don't you step up and lead everyone in?” Bishop challenges, gesturing towards the water with a subtle curl of his lip that has my skin flushing not just from annoyance.

Why did the hot ones always have the worst personalities?

I swallow hard, my eyes darting between Bishop's too attractive smug face and the gently lapping waves. The idea of wading into that water makes my pulse quicken, but I refuse to show any fear, especially in front of him.

I falter, my hesitation stretched out like an eternity. Every second feels like an hour, and I can feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on me.

“She won’t get any closer than she is now,” the girl comments, and I suddenly remember where I recognize her from. She was the one who made the snide comment at the assembly.

He raises his voice for everyone around us to hear, asking, “I think Prescott here is afraid of the water, Ophelia. Wouldn’t you agree?” She immediately nods and snuggles herself deeper underneath his arm. He appears less than interested in her actions, not once shifting his eyes off of me.

Now she didn’t mind being wet, her body securely wrapped around his, when not twenty minutes ago she was complaining about her shoes.

I force my body still, the mix of rage and helplessness churning in my chest. Bishop takes a step towards me, leaving Ophelia's grasp much to her dismay. His height, his stature, and everything else about him tower over me. “Go ahead,” he says as he lowers his chin behind me. “Get in the water. Or don’t and prove everyone right about the cowardice of the Prescott family.”

“I'm not a coward,” I snap back.

Bishop's eyes tighten with suspicion. “Prove it then,” he says with a sly, mocking edge. “Take a step forward. Just one.”

I can sense everyone’s gaze on me, except for the one person who could end this all. Atlas has turned away from me, engrossed in a heated argument with Coach Barkley near the dock.

I refuse to be intimidated, so I take a small step back. Bishop quickly mirrors my movement, blocking any chance for me to change my mind and move forward again.

Shit.

“Finished?” He asks, taunting like.

The smirk on Bishop's face is infuriating, and I want nothing more than to wipe it off and prove him wrong. So, I take one more step backwards, and he mirrors me, just like before. I repeat the action several more times, and each time he follows suit, as if we're performing some sort of twisted waltz together.

The water crashes against my legs, soaking through my shoes. I try to shake off my nerves, while Bishop seems completely at ease by the water's depth. I swallow hard and dig my heel into the sand beneath my feet. The sound of the waves crashing seems louder here; maybe there's a steep drop off nearby. But I can't bring myself to look down, not wanting to give Bishop any satisfaction of winning in this ridiculous game we're playing.

“All done?” he jests, attempting to further fray my already frazzled nerves.

I grit my teeth. “Not even close,” I lie, my voice wavering slightly. The water now laps at my knees, nearly soaking the bottom of my skirt. Each new wave sends a shiver of panic through me, but I force myself to stand my ground.

“Impressive,” he says, before his eyes tightened, a flicker of both interest and defiance passing through them. “Alright then, Prescott. Let's see how far you're willing to go.” He takes a large step back, forcing me to do the same.

It's now up to my thighs, and I can feel the current tugging at my legs. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure Bishop can hear it over the sound of the waves.

I can't do this. I should turn back and head towards the shore; I've made my point. I should—

The breeze suddenly moves his thick brown locks, blowing them across his forehead as he exhales roughly down his nose. Something shifts across his expression as his strong torso continues to rise and fall, sharply with each new breath. I feel a hot flush spread across my body under his intense scrutiny.

What was going on? Why was he now looking at me like this, completely different from the seconds before? It almost seemed like he enjoyed seeing me so unsettled and scared.

The deep rumble of his chest echoes in my ears, sending a deep shiver down my spine as he continues to study me with unwavering intensity. His eyes are solely fixed on me. For me.

Why wasn't I moving? I had ventured further into the water than I intended, trying to show him I wouldn't back down under his scrutiny. But my body seemed to have a different agenda, wanting him closer while also longing for the safety of dry land.

“I...” I start, but the words catch in my throat as Bishop steps closer. The animosity in his gaze is still there, but something else has seeped in—something darker, more dangerous, more... desirable.

The water reaches higher up my thigh, and the current pulls at me more insistently. But I'm rooted to the spot, unable to move as Bishop's gaze holds me captive.

“Yes?” he urges, his voice rough and conflicted. He's so close now I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the strong tick of his jaw.

“I...” I try again, but the words won't come. A rush of adrenaline surges through me. A rapid thud echoing in my chest, and I'm not sure if it's from the fear of the water or from Bishop's proximity. Maybe both.

Like a predator closing in on its prey, he takes another step towards me, the water swirling violently around us. The space between us narrows until it's almost nonexistent, the tension thick and suffocating. The current hits just below my belly button now, and I can feel the panic rising in my throat. But there's something else too, a warmth spreading through me despite the cold water.

“What's the matter, Prescott?” Bishop's voice is gravely, almost a growl. “Has that pretty little mouth of yours finally run out of insults?”

Pretty little mouth? Since when did Bishop think anything about me was pretty?

My lips part, ready to retort, but before I can react, he leans down, his face hovering dangerously close to mine. His heated breath brushes my skin, and I brace for whatever’s next. But then, I catch the subtle shift in his eyes—something behind the malice.

But just as quickly as it appears, the glimmer is gone, replaced by the same cold hatred. Before I can fully process the shift, a powerful wave crashes into us, knocking us off our feet and plunging us into the cold depths of the water.

I try to regain my balance, but the force of it is too strong. Panic sets in as I feel myself being dragged under, struggling against the relentless current. The cold water closes over my head, and for a moment, all I can hear is the dull roar of the water and my own frantic heartbeat.

My limbs flail wildly as I try to keep my head above water. The taste of briny liquid fills my mouth, and I sputter, desperately trying to breathe. The water here has nothing beneath it for me to latch onto.

“Look, she’s drowning already,” I hear Ophelia’s mocking voice from the shore. “Should we start a betting pool on how long she’ll last?”

I plunge underneath again. The water is icy against my skin. Everything around me appears distorted and blurred, the shapes and colors moving and merging together. As more cold water rushes into my mouth, my tongue automatically tries to push it out, but it’s no use. The taste lingers, coating my throat and making it burn as it blankets my tastebuds and goes up my nose.

As I flounder, the world above seems to fade away. I can only hear the muffled sound of bubbles and distant waves crashing against the shore. My own frantic pulse fills my ears, a reminder of the danger I’m in.

The chill of the water sears my skin and steals my thoughts, my body thrashing in a desperate struggle against the depths.

Suddenly the water parts, and a pair of arms appear before they wrap around my waist and tug us both up.

Gasping for air, I break the surface, coughing and sputtering as my rescuer hauls me toward the shore. My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision.

“I’ve got you,” a voice rumbles beside me. I turn my head to see Atlas, his hair plastered to his forehead, his expression a mix of concern and exasperation.

As we reach the shallows, I stumble to my feet, my legs wobbly as I touch sweet, solid ground. Atlas keeps a steadying hand on my elbow as we trudge further onto the beach.

“Well, that was certainly an impressive display of aquatic grace,” Ophelia drawls, her arms crossed over her chest. “I particularly enjoyed the flailing arms bit. Very avant-garde.”

I glare at her, too breathless to do anything else.

“Three Saturdays for you as well, Miss Verdant.” Atlas says, not missing a beat as we shuffle past, and I sink my butt down onto the sand and continue to catch my breath. “Take it easy,” he murmurs gently.

Oxygen, I love you .

“Three Saturdays?” Ophelia sputters in disbelief. “For what?”

Atlas’s grip on my elbow tightens slightly. “For your less-than-helpful commentary, and improper shoes for today’s lesson.”

Ophelia’s mouth drops open in indignation, and I’m so exhausted I can’t even properly enjoy her punishment.

But where was Bishop? He had been caught in the strong wave too, but just moments before that, I could have sworn he wanted to...I swallow down those thoughts like the lump in my throat. After nothing. He was an asshole and nothing more.

I didn't intend to, but my eyes seem to have a will of their own as they scanned the shoreline, looking for my shadow’s frame among the other students. He's nowhere to be seen. A mix of relief and disappointment washes over me, which I quickly push aside. I shouldn't care where he is or what he's doing. I don’t care.

Atlas crouches down beside me, his voice a quiet mumble of concern. “Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?”

I shake my head, still coughing slightly. “I'm fine,” I manage to rasp out. “Just need a minute.”

He nods, then stands up, addressing the rest of the class. “Alright, everyone. That's enough excitement for one day. Class dismissed. We'll resume our lesson this time next week, and I expect everyone to be prepared and on their best behavior.”

As the other students begin to disperse, whispering and casting curious glances in my direction, Atlas turns back to me. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

I nod weakly, still trying to catch my breath. “I’m okay,” I manage to croak out. “Just…not a fan of drowning.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Here,” a deep, familiar voice grunts, thrusting a towel towards me. “Thought Prescott might need this after her little swim.”

“Thank you Bishop,” Atlas says, taking the towel and draping it over my shoulders. “That was very considerate of you.”

Considerate? I huff, the doubt written all over my face. It was his constant habit of belittling and embarrassing me that had caused me to end up in the water in the first place.

Atlas arches an eyebrow over in my direction confused by my reaction.

I pull the towel tighter around me, avoiding Bishop's gaze. “Yeah, thanks,” I mutter, my voice still raspy from nearly drowning.

Bishop shrugs, his face an unreadable mask. “Least I could do to help out, our newest student.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh, not fooled by Bishop's false kindness. Unlike Atlas, who seemed to believe that I was only being impolite.

“Let's play it safe just to be sure. Will you be alright here for a couple of minutes? I'll go grab the first aid kit and maybe some dry clothes from the boathouse so you don't have to walk back in your wet uniform,” my professor suggests, ignoring my impolite behavior.

“I have no issue keeping her company, for good measure, of course.” Bishop says, and Atlas nods before walking off.

I watch Atlas's retreating figure, a sense of unease settling in my stomach as I'm left alone with my shadow. The silence between us is heavy, broken only by the sound of waves lapping at the shore.

“You're welcome by the way,” Bishop says after a few seconds, his tone tinged with sarcasm.

I turn to face him, anger bubbling up inside me. “Welcome? For what? For forcing me into the water? Nearly drowning me?”

He scoffs, running a hand through his damp hair. “Please. You were the one who went in there to prove a point. Don't even try to pin that on me.”

My teeth clench together so hard I can feel them grinding against each other. “And what about when I was struggling to stay above the water?”

“You were fine. Atlas jumped in as soon as he heard your mangled scream.”

“So that makes it okay?” I snap back. “You're unbelievable.”

He stares at me with the same void expression that I've come to recognize as his personality. “You shouldn't be here.”

Was he referring to this university or just being near him? The lines in my mind were beginning to blur, and I blame it on the lack of oxygen during my struggle under the water.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, and decide not to read too much into his words. “I never asked to be,” I respond sharply.

“Then why are you still here? You are a toxin to us Legacies. And do you know what we do with toxic things, Prescott?” I remain silent. It doesn’t matter what I say, because Bishop already has the answer. “We eliminate them.”

“Not me,” I reply with a sweet smile that causes the muscles in his jaw to flex with uncertainty. “I’m here to stay.”

Bishop's eyes constrict, his face clouding with tension. “We'll see about that,” he says, his voice deep and threatening. “Funny thing about the water here is, not even pipes can hold it back…but I’m sure your room could’ve used the upgrade anyway.”

My mouth drops open in shock, and the corner of Bishop's mouth twitches upward in a smirk, knowing he bested me again. He was the one who caused the incident in my room?

Anger boils within me as I furiously rip the towel off my body - I've had enough for one day. “You can keep this, asshole,” I snap before storming away. I wanted nothing to do with Bishop Ashbourne, no matter how much my body betrayed me in the water earlier.

“You're going to get hypothermia, Prescott,” he calls after me, but I swear I could hear the smile in his voice.

Without looking back, I raise my hand and give him the middle finger. He responds with a deep, throaty laugh that stirs something deep in the pit of my stomach – an annoying feeling I was learning to despise.