15. Alex
Chapter 15
Alex
I click open my mailbox and can barely contain my excitement when I see multiple items inside. Most importantly, who one of the letters is from. There’s another one, but I immediately reach for the one with Clara’s name on it, pushing the letter from Elle to the bottom of the pile.
A small note informs me that I have a package waiting for me, so I make my way around the corner and hand in the note. The person behind the counter checks the box number and hands me a plain brown package. The return address is also from Clara.
Finally.
I make it back to my room, placing the package on my desk and tossing Elle’s letter into a drawer with the other one she sent me. I collapse onto my bed with relief, grateful to have a solid ceiling over my head once again. It’s been a few days since I got my bed back and although I’m glad I no longer live in an aquarium, I’m more excited about having a soft mattress with actual blankets again.
I also received a note from Chancellor Maxwell curious about the unexpected abundance of glitter found in my room by the workers the following morning.
Looking at Clara’s letter, I see glittery stickers surrounding my name boldly written across the front of it. I flip it over and eagerly rip open the envelope.
Alex,
Firstly, you better get this! If not, then I swear I will drive there myself and deliver this by hand. How’s life been without me? Probably pretty boring, if I had to guess.
Anyway, you won’t believe what Elle did this week. She showed up to school and charged her way into the principal’s office, demanding that they change the dress code after I was coded for the hole in my jeans that showed my kneecap. Can you believe it? Apparently, she’d had enough of the “sexist and outdated” rules about skirt lengths and tank top straps. You should have seen her, Alex. I swear, she channeled the spirit of every suffragette and civil rights activist in history and went on an entire crusade. She even had a whole list prepared, complete with statistics and testimonials that she probably stole from her favorite magazines.
The best part? It worked! Well, sort of. The principal was so taken aback by her passion (and probably a little intimidated, let’s be honest) that he agreed to let me wear them for the rest of the day.
But enough about me. How’s Altair treating you? Have you made any friends yet, or are you still being your usual antisocial self? I miss our late-night chats and your habit of excess plant adoption. The house feels so empty without you.
Love you!
Clara
P.S. As promised, I sent you a batch of Elle’s questionable cookies for proper examination. They must be deteriorating something in my brain, because I actually find them to be delicious. Not that I would ever admit that to her. I do the proper thing and sneak a few after she’s gone to bed.
I let out an exasperated sigh and shake my head, a soft laugh escaping. Typical Clara, always so dramatic. I can practically hear her voice as I read the words, picturing her animated gestures and exaggerated expressions.
I set the letter aside, smiling to myself as I walk over to my desk and reach for the package. Leave it to Clara to make good on her threat and send me a batch of Elle’s questionable cookies. I tear open the brown paper, revealing a tin decorated with flowers.
Cautiously, I pry open the lid, the sweet aroma of vanilla and chocolate wafting up, making my mouth water, despite my better judgment. A dozen or so misshapen chocolate chip cookies were nestled within some wax paper.
I pluck one from the tin, spinning it in my hand, examining the uneven edges and lightly charred bottom. It was also slightly burnt around the edges, and the chocolate chips seemed to be unevenly distributed, clumped together in some areas while completely absent in others.
A knock at my door has me dropping the cookie back into the container. A second, louder knock follows when I don’t respond right away.
I yank open my door to find Sylvester on the other side. He’s wearing his impatience like a shirt. “We have a lesson you seem keen on missing. Again.”
I snap my fingers. “Right. We have our meeting tonight about Altair’s history,” I say dryly, slamming the door shut. Unfortunately, his foot blocks it from fully closing.
Hadn’t I made it obvious I had zero interest in our one-on-ones?
Sylvester’s expression darkens as he pushes the door open. “This isn’t optional, Alex. You know that.”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. “And yet, here I am, opting out.”
He steps inside, uninvited, and my eyes narrow to slits as he appraises my room. “Charming,” Sylvester mutters, his gaze lingering on the pile of dirty laundry in the corner. “I see you’ve really embraced the college experience.”
I resist the urge to shove him back out into the hallway. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”
“Grab your things.”
“No,” I say, stepping back when he attempts to reach for me.
Sylvester’s jaw clenches, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. “I apologize if I let you believe there was room for negotiation on this. You’re going.”
“Pass.”
Sylvester’s eyes flash. “Alex,” he says in a calm, unsettling manner. “You seem to be under the misapprehension that you have a choice in this matter. Let me assure you, you do not.”
I scoff, turning away from him.
“This isn’t a joke.”
“Do you see me laughing?” I ask flatly.
“The history of Altair is crucial to understanding every student’s role here. Your ignorance is only hindering you in the long run.”
“Cookie?” I offer sweetly, holding the tin out to him.
He swats it away.
The cookies scatter across the floor. I stare at the mess, then back at Sylvester, my jaw clenching.
“That was unnecessary,” I hiss.
So what if I never actually planned on trying them for myself? It was still rude and uncalled for.
Sylvester’s brow furrowed, and I can see the barely contained fury simmering beneath his composed exterior. “This petulant behavior ends now.”
I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. “Or what?”
In an instant, Sylvester’s hands shoot out, gripping my waist, firm and unyielding. I try to jerk away, but his fingers only tighten before tossing me over his shoulder.
“Let go of me,” I rage, my hands curling into fists at his back.
He walks us through the doorway, down the hallway, and multiple flights of stairs. I catch a glimpse of my RA as she enters the building, and a wave of relief washes over me at the sight of her short, white-blonde hair. I know she’ll come to my rescue, or at least kick him out like she did last time the Legacies showed up.
“Victoria,” Sylvester says with a nod, and she says his name back in passing like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
What the actual fuck?
My mouth drops open in disbelief as Victoria disappears around the corner without so much as a backward glance. Some RA she turned out to be. I mean, she’s been mostly unhelpful, but still. Sylvester’s grip on my legs tightens as we exit the building, the cool night air hitting my skin.
“Put me down,” I growl, renewing my efforts to squirm free. “This is attempted kidnapping.” Who was I kidding, this was no attempt. This was straight up abduction.
“Put you down?” he says, his tone bored. “As you wish.”
Without warning, he releases his grip on me, and I’m dropped unceremoniously. I plummet to the unforgiving ground, the force of the fall knocking all the breath from my body.
“This school is insane,” I sputter. “ You’re insane,” I correct, glaring at him, dusting off my clothes as I right myself.
Sylvester looms over me, his imposing figure blocking out the moonlight. “You have no idea, Alex; this is only the beginning.”
Didn't Bishop make a similar statement just the other night?
I plant my hands on my hips and lift my chin, unyielding. “Well, if this is the beginning, I’d hate to see the end. Do you always manhandle students, or am I just special?”
His lip curls into a sneer. “You’re far from special. Just another stubborn, ignorant child who needs to learn her place.”
“My place?” I scoff. “And where exactly is that? Over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes?”
In a flash, Sylvester’s steps in front of me. His eyes, usually a cool blue, burn with the intensity of someone who knows some sort of secret I’ve been kept out of the loop from.
I take a step back. “So what’s your plan now? Are you going to drag me to the assembly hall and force me to learn about Altair’s history?”
He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, that ship has sailed. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you have no interest in learning the traditional way.”
“Then what?” I demand, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
“You’re going to experience it firsthand,” he says cryptically.
“Can’t wait,” I deadpan.
“You brought me to a cliff?” I ask, peering down at the steep drop below.
Sylvester shrugs. “I’m just glad you were able to walk here.”
I turn away from him and his rude comment and take in the view around me, ignoring his presence, just like I had during most of our hike. He followed closely behind the entire way, giving me directions on where to go next, but other than that I refused to give him the satisfaction of asking him questions.
The steep cliff juts out into the dark sky, its edges sharp and jagged. Far below, heavy waves crash against the rocks, their white foam illuminated by the moon.
Directly across from us, another cliff looms, its jagged edges mirroring the one we stood on, a tantalizing gap of water separating the two as if they were reaching for each other, but were forced apart. Close, but never touching.
“Why are we here?” I inquire. “What significance does this place hold in Altair’s history?”
Sylvester’s eyes glint in the moonlight as he turns to face me. “This is where it all began. The very first Altair Games ended here, a long time ago.”
I can’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity, despite my irritation at being forced to come here.
“What do you mean?”
He steps closer to the edge, his gaze fixed on the churning waters below. “The four original families, the Oliveris, Ashbournes, Whitlocks, and…Prescotts, sought a way to solidify their status and showcase their success to the surrounding population. They established Altair University as a means of proving their wealth and prestige. They sent their children to attend as soon as it was completed in order to demonstrate to both other students and future generations that they were not to be disrespected.”
I swallow, listening intently as Sylvester continues to share the history of Altair. Of my family’s lineage.
“However, after a few years, the founding parents decided to push their children even further by creating an annual game. By this time, all four students were in their third year of university. They gave the teachers higher wages as an incentive to design a challenging set of games for the students in their grade level to compete in.”
“And this cliff?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I gaze out at the turbulent water.
Sylvester’s expression darkens. “This was the site of the final challenge to determine their worth. To win.”
“Let me guess,” I said mockingly. “They had to jump?”
Sylvester’s lips curl into a humorless smile. “Not quite. They had to cross.”
I look at the gap between the cliffs, my eyes widening. “That’s impossible. It’s at least thirty feet across!”
“Thirty-eight, to be exact,” he corrects.
A sudden chill pierces my bones, and it has nothing to do with the cool night air. “So the games were essentially created to stroke the egos of rich families?”
Sylvester nods grimly. “In essence, yes.”
“That entire thing sounds incredibly dangerous.” Not to mention negligent on the parents’ part.
“It was.” Sylvester nods grimly. “The currents here are treacherous, the rocks below sharp and unforgiving this far out. But the four were blinded by their ambition, their desire to prove themselves superior to the other students and win for the sake of their family names.”
I turn to face him fully, a sick feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. “What happened?”
“They won, of course. They beat their peers.”
Sylvester’s words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. I stare at him, waiting for more, but he remains silent, his eyes fixed on the churning waters below.
“That’s it?” I press, frustration creeping into my voice. “They won? That’s all you have to say?”
He turns to me, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. “What more do you want to know, Alex? They competed, they crossed this impossible gap, and they won. They proved their superiority, just as their parents wanted.”
I shake my head, unable to accept such a simple explanation. “But how? How did they cross?”
He turns to face me fully, his expression grave. “Did you know the first Altair Games lasted an entire month? All of the students, including the founding family’s children, were put through increasingly difficult and dangerous challenges. Physical trials, mental puzzles, tests of endurance—each designed to push them to their limits.”
“And now?” I ask.
He huffs. “Now they only last a week. You should consider yourself lucky,” Sylvester finishes, his tone dry.
I shake my head, still struggling to process the information. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did they cross?”
Sylvester’s gaze returns to the churning waters below. “They built a bridge.”
“A bridge?” I repeat, incredulous. “How?”
“A temporary bridge, constructed from materials they had to source themselves. It was the culmination of everything they’d learned, every skill they’d honed over the course of the games.”
I try to imagine it—four students, my ancestor among them, laboring day and night to span this impossible gap. “That’s…actually impressive.”
“It was meant to be,” Sylvester agrees. “But it came at a cost.”
There’s a weight to his words that makes me nervous. What was the cost?
“Their peers—the other students competing against them—had as much, if not more, to gain,” Sylvester continues, his tone stiff. “And they weren’t about to let the founding families’ children win so easily.”
A ripple of cold fear slides down my back. “What are you saying?”
Sylvester’s somber eyes meet mine. “I’m saying that not everyone who started the games finished them. The bridge wasn’t just a test of engineering and resourcefulness. It became a battleground.”
I swallow hard, imagining the scene. “They fought on the bridge?”
He nods grimly. “With whatever they could find or make. Sticks, stones, improvised weapons. It got brutal. The kind of desperation that turns people into savages.”
“But…why?” I ask. “Why would they do that?”
Sylvester lets out a long, weary sigh. “Power. The founding families offered the winners a place amongst them, a share in their wealth and influence. For some of those students, it was their only chance to escape poverty, to secure a future for themselves and their families.”
I feel a knot forming in my stomach. “So our ancestors fought their way across?”
He nods slowly. “They did what they had to do. They won.”
I turn away, my gaze drawn to the churning waters below. The moonlight catches the white-capped waves, making them glitter like broken glass. It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once, much like the history I’d learned tonight.
“And what did they win, after everything they’d been through?”
Sylvesters lips thin, the blond strands of his hair blow in the breeze. “The students were declared the winners of the Altair Cup and given the chance to assist the staff in organizing the next year’s event. Since no one had won before, the teachers felt it was only just to allow them the opportunity to plan for upcoming games.”
“And what now?” I say, not bothering to conceal the irritation behind my words. “Why do we continue these pointless games? They proved their point, did they not?”
Sylvester’s face hardens, a shadow crossing his features as he considers my words. “It’s not that simple, Alex. The games…they’ve become more than just a test. They’re a tradition, a rite of passage.”
I click my tongue. Who cares about tradition? A stupid trophy?
His mood shifts, his voice taking on an urgent tone. “You’re right to question it. The games have evolved over the years, becoming more elaborate, but far less dangerous. Each generation pushes the boundaries a little further, trying to outdo their predecessors.”
“And the staff? The students’ families? They just let this happen?”
Sylvester’s laugh is bitter, devoid of humor. “Let it happen? They encourage it. The more spectacular the games, the more prestige for the school, the more donations from wealthy alumni. It’s a vicious cycle.”
A never-ending cycle, and yet the dormitory bearing my family name lies in ruins. Was my father's mistake truly so terrible that it tarnished our name in such an unforgivable way?
“I can’t believe this,” I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief. “All for money and prestige?”
Sylvester’s eyes meet mine, a flicker of something—regret, perhaps?—passing across his face. “It’s more than that. The games…they’re a way of maintaining the status quo. Of keeping the founding families in power.”
I feel my anger rising again, hot and sharp. “So it’s all just a show? A way to keep everyone in line?”
He nods slowly. “In a way, yes. But it’s also a test. A way to identify those with potential, those who might be…useful.”
“Useful?” I echo, my voice hollow.
Sylvester takes a deep breath, his gaze drifting back to the churning water below. “This year is a rarity,” he says after a moment, like he isn’t sure if he should mention it.
“A rarity how?” I ask hesitantly.
He doesn’t look at me, his face locked in a mask of stoic indifference. His jaw clenches, and his lips form a stiff, silent line.
“Not every Legacy student is fortunate enough to have a team in the same grade year. It’s more common to have them in separate years.”
“What do you mean?” I press, my curiosity overriding my anger for a moment. “Isn’t that how it always works?”
Sylvester’s eyes finally meet mine, and I’m startled by the intensity I see there. “No, Alex. It’s not. Usually, the teams are mixed—one or two Legacies a grade, some years none at all. It keeps things…balanced.”
“But this year…”
“This year,” he continues, his voice tight with barely contained emotion, “all the Legacy students are in the same grade. We compete together. It’s expected. Our games have been anticipated from the day we were born.”
“Well, I don’t want to play.”
His eyes turn deadly, and the honesty of our conversation quickly shatters. “Who said I was inviting you to join us? We don’t want you, remember?”
His words sting, but I refuse to let them cut deep. I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze with defiance. “Good. Because I don’t want to play your sick, twisted games or be associated with your family names.”
“Good,” he agrees. “Because we don’t want to be tied with a family who abandons their team.”
I flinch involuntarily, his words hitting a raw nerve, talking about a history I didn’t completely understand. I can feel the weight of it pressing down on me, threatening to crush my resolve.
But I won’t let it. I won’t let him or any of the Legacies see me as weak.
“At least my father had the decency to walk away,” I spit back, my voice low and venomous. “Unlike yours and the others, who seem hell-bent on dragging everyone down with them.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice ice-cold. “The games are our birthright, our destiny. They’re in our blood.”
“Then your blood is poisoned.” Tainted. And nothing I want a part of.
There is a brief, tense silence. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t either, but I can sense his anger simmering just below the surface.
“Have fun, finding your way back in the dark, pit .” His voice drips with venom as he sneers. He shrugs an indifferent shoulder. “Or jump, for all I care. At least you’ll be where you belong. Beneath us—with the rest of the pits who lost.”
I grit my teeth, a retort ready on my tongue, but he turns his back on me without a second glance. His departure is like a slap in the face.
With each step he takes, his posture becomes more rigid, his shoulders squared. He disappears into the darkness, and I’m once again consumed by the hatred I have for each of the Legacies.