The Bleak Beginning (Altair University #1)

21. Alex

Chapter 21

Alex

A fter I collect my mail for the day, I head outside and slide another letter from Elle to the bottom of the pile. My attention is caught by a sign on a nearby billboard. Bold letters proclaiming “Altair University Parents’ Weekend” in cheerful black and gold.

A parents’ weekend? Here? At Altair?

I continue to scan the details. Meet-and-greets with professors. Reception following the Pre-trials. A formal dinner in the Great Hall.

I blink, squinting at the flyer, realizing it’s this weekend. That can’t be right. I thought this school prided itself on its independence, on molding young minds away from outside influence. Why else would I not be allowed a cellphone?

I glance around, half-expecting to see other students gaping at the sign, but the quad is nearly empty. A few stragglers hurry to their next class, heads down, not even noticing the billboard. Am I the only one who seems alarmed by this?

I stuff the letter from Elle deeper into my stack of mail, my palms suddenly clammy.

As I hurry back to my dorm, my mind whirls with possibilities. I could fake an illness. Or perhaps there’s a way to convince the administration this is a terrible idea. Who am I kidding? Chancellor Maxwell would march me out of her office and tell me to reschedule before allowing me to speak my mind if I showed up unexpectedly.

By the time I make it back to my room I can’t tell if I’m thinking clearly or if I have completely lost my mind. Why am I even worried? There’s no chance that my mother can actually come here. It’s simply impossible. And as for my father, Clara hasn’t mentioned him visiting in our recent phone conversations and letters. So really, why am I bothered?

I glance at the growing stack of letters from Elle that have accumulated in my drawer. Could she have mentioned visiting in one of them? I shake my head and slam the drawer shut.

Nope .

I don’t require her assistance, predictions, or anything else. I can handle this parents’ weekend on my own.

I flop onto my bed, trying to calm my racing thoughts. But the more I attempt to convince myself that everything will be fine, the more my anxiety grows. What if Elle did mention something about this in one of her letters? What if she knows something I don’t?

I sit up abruptly, eyeing the drawer where I’ve stashed her unopened messages. My fingers twitch with the urge to rip them open.

A knock at my door startles me out of my internal debate. “Come in,” I call, grateful for the distraction.

But nobody enters. After a few minutes, I decide to open the door and look outside, feeling confused. That’s when I spot a note hanging on my door.

My hand trembles as I reach for it. The paper is thick and cream-colored, folded precisely in half. I glance down the hallway, but it’s empty. Whoever left this is long gone.

Back inside my room, I unfold the note with trepidation. The handwriting is unfamiliar, intricate and loopy:

Meet me at the fountain outside the dormitories. Midnight. Come alone.

No signature. No explanation. Just those cryptic words.

I stare at the note. Who could have left this? And why? My mind races through possibilities—a secret admirer, a prank, or something more sinister?

The sensible part of me says to ignore it, to crumple up the note and forget about it. But curiosity gnaws at me, mingling with the anxiety already churning in my stomach from the parents’ weekend revelation.

I glance at the clock. It’s only 4:00 pm. Hours until midnight. I try to focus on my homework, but the words blur on the page. The note sits on my desk, taunting me.

As night falls, I pace my room, debating. Going could be dangerous. But staying could mean missing out on something important.

Screw it . When the clock finally hits 11:55, I pull on a dark hoodie and slip out of my room.

The campus is eerily quiet as I make my way to the fountain. The only sounds are the soft rustle of leaves. The eagle statues perched on their rail posts, silently judge me on my short walk over. As I approach the meeting spot, I scan the area, searching for any sign of movement. The fountain gurgles softly in the moonlight, its water shimmering like liquid silver. I’m alone.

I wait, and then I wait some more. Whoever left the note is late. Or maybe they’re watching me from the shadows, gauging my reaction. My breath catches in my throat as I wonder if this was all some cruel joke.

I’m about to call it quits and return to my dorm when I notice another folded piece of paper along the edge of the fountain, stuck to the side. It has the same handwriting as before.

The note has directions for me to follow. I’m supposed to go left and pass by the Ashbourne dorm, then keep walking for approximately half a mile until I reach the edge of the path.

Did I really want to go anywhere near Bishop’s building if I didn’t absolutely have to?

I hesitate, my feet rooted to the spot. The thought of going anywhere near my shadow’s dorm makes my skin crawl. But the mystery pulls at me, urging me forward.

The campus is bathed in shadows as I make my way toward his building. Every rustle of leaves makes me jump, and I find myself peering into dark corners, half-expecting to see Bishop’s scowling face. But the path remains deserted.

As I approach Ashbourne Dormitory, I slow my pace, my throat closing. The windows are mostly dark, but I can’t help tilting my head up, seeing a faint light flicker from the top floor. I hurry past, tucking my chin down.

Who cares where he is?

The half-mile stretch feels endless. The farther I get from the main campus, the more isolated I feel. Thick trees loom overhead, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers in the moonlight.

Finally, I reach the edge of the path. The darkness seems to deepen here, as if the trees are closing in around me. I fumble for my phone out of habit, wanting to use its flashlight to illuminate the area, only to remember the no phone rule.

My adrenaline surges as I approach a circular, glass-domed building. This has to be the spot. But what am I supposed to do now?

As if in answer, a faint light starts reflecting off the glass inside.

I take a step back, my mind spinning. This can’t be real. Yet here it is, right in front of me.

I hesitate for a moment, every instinct screaming at me to turn back. But curiosity wins out. With trembling hands, I push open the glass door and step inside.

“Hello?” I call out, my voice echoing in the space. No response.

The plants inside brush against fingertips, some with soft petals, others with rough stems and thorns as I make my way toward the faint light in the center. I’m met with what appears to be a sundial, its intricate pattern catching my eye. It resembles a compass, with lines stretching out in all directions, and a pool of crashing water is etched into the stone at its base. I run my fingers along the design, admiring its beauty and precision.

I lift my head, taking in this new space. Moonlight filters through the curved glass panels of the greenhouse, casting a pale glow on the plants within the circular structure. Shadows dance across the leaves and vines, creating an otherworldly atmosphere.

I’m amazed. How had I not found out about this place before? Who left those notes for me to discover it? Was there a purpose behind bringing me here? I had no answers to any of my questions.

As I stand there, lost in thought, a sudden movement catches my eye just outside the glass walls. I whip around, pulse hammering, but see nothing. Just shadows and plants. I’m about to dismiss it as my imagination when I hear it—a soft rustling, too deliberate to be the wind.

“Who’s there?” I call out, my voice trembling slightly. Silence answers me.

I take a step back, bumping into the sundial. My fingers glide over the dial’s pointer. A sharp pain shoots through my thumb as I notice a small drop of blood forming from a deep cut on my skin.

I curse at my stupidity as it drips along the surface of the dial, coating it’s delicate pattern with my blood. The sound of grinding stone fills the air as the sundial begins to rotate. I leap back, watching in awe as the pool at its base splits open, revealing a spiral staircase descending into darkness.

My body buzzes. A secret passage? Here? Part of me wants to run, the other part wants to see where this leads.

I stand frozen, staring at the gaping entrance that has suddenly appeared before me. The staircase spirals down into an inky blackness that seems to swallow all light. A cool draft wafts up from below, carrying with it a musty scent of earth and age.

My heart pounds in my chest as I weigh my options. Every rational thought screams at me to leave, to run back to the safety of my dorm and forget this ever happened. But a smaller, more insistent voice urges me forward. I’ve come this far, haven’t I?

Taking a deep breath, I place my foot on the first step.

A loud thunk startles me, causing me to pause mid-action. It almost feels like my heart is about to jump out of my chest. Did someone throw something at the glass walls, or am I being paranoid?

I turn back to look at the stairs, convinced this is some elaborate prank, and I see a glimmer of light below.

The noise outside sounds again, louder this time. I freeze, my foot still hovering above the first step. The glimmer of light below flickers, then grows stronger. It’s moving, I realize with a jolt. Moving upward.

My instincts scream at me to run, but curiosity roots me to the spot. The light grows brighter, illuminating the rough stone walls of the staircase. I can hear footsteps now, echoing off the walls, growing louder with each passing second.

My breath quickens as I debate what to do. Should I flee? Hide? Confront whoever—or whatever—is coming up those stairs?

I spin around, ready to bolt, but my foot catches on a plant’s coiled stem. I stumble, arms flailing, and crash to the ground. Pain shoots through my elbow as I land hard on the stone floor.

The footsteps below pause, then quicken. Panic floods through me as I scramble to my feet, ignoring the throbbing in my arm. I lunge for the glass door, yanking it open and bursting out into the darkness.

I don’t stop to look back, just run. My feet pound against the path as I sprint back toward campus, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Branches whip at my face, but I barely notice. All I can think about is putting as much distance as possible between myself and whatever was coming up those stairs.

As I near Ashbourne Dormitory, a figure steps out from the shadows. I skid to a halt, my heart leaping into my throat. But as the figure moves into the light cast by a nearby lamppost, I recognize Sutton.

“Whoa, easy there,” she says, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “What’s got you running like the hounds of hell are after you?”

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. How can I possibly explain what just happened? Would she even believe me?

Sutton’s brow furrows with concern as she takes in my disheveled appearance. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I manage to croak out, my voice hoarse from running. “Just…went for a late-night walk.” I shouldn’t even be talking to her right now after how she betrayed me. Lied to me.

Sutton’s pupils tighten, clearly not buying my flimsy excuse. “A late-night walk that has you looking like you’re scared of your own shadow?”

I hesitate, torn between my desire to confide in someone, and my fear of sounding crazy. But then I remember how she deceived me and decide against it. She’s not my friend, she’s a Legacy. That’s where her loyalty lies.

“It’s nothing,” I insist, trying to steady my breathing. “I just got spooked by some shadows. You know how creepy Altair can be at night.”

I try to step around her, but Sutton blocks my path. “Wait,” she says, her tone dipping in volume. “I know things have been…tense between us lately. But—”

“Why are you out here lurking in the shadows, Prescott?” Bishop asks. His voice coming up from behind me.

I spin around, my stomach fluttering in response to his voice despite my inner objections. He emerges from the darkness, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim light. His eyes, cold and calculating, flick between Sutton and me.

“I’m not lurking, I have every right to be out here, same as you.” I snap, trying to keep my voice steady. “I was just—”

“Just what?” Bishop interrupts, impatient. “Sneaking around campus in the middle of the night? Up to no good, as usual?”

I clench my jaw, anger momentarily overriding my fear. “You’re one to talk about being up to no good. What are you doing out here?” I accuse back.

“That’s my business.”

Out of all the Legacies, why did he have to be the one to show up? He hates me more than anyone else. I can handle Sutton’s presence, but his is the most infuriating of them all. My mind catches up now that more of the shock has worn off, and I realize he’d come from the same direction I had. Was he the one lurking below the stairs, or was he responsible for the noise outside? Maybe it was none of the above.

“Well, whatever your business is, I’m sure it’s nothing good,” I retort, trying to keep my voice steady, despite the tremor of fear still running through me.

Bishop glares. “Watch your tone. You’re in no position to be making accusations.”

The weight of the moment presses down, both of us holding our ground. Sutton shifts uncomfortably beside me, her gaze darting between us.

“Look,” she begins, her voice placating, “it’s late. We should all just head back to our dorms and get some rest…”

“Not so fast,” Bishop interrupts. “I think Prescott here, owes us an explanation. What were you really doing, hmmm?”

The memory of the secret passage, the mysterious light, all feels like a fever dream now. But I know what I saw, what I experienced. And yet, how can I possibly explain it without sounding completely insane?

“I already told Sutton,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I went for a walk.”

Bishop’s gaze turns steely, his disbelief palpable. “A walk,” he repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose that’s why you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward?”

I glance down at myself, suddenly aware of my disheveled appearance. My clothes are smeared with dirt, and leaves and twigs are tangled in my hair. The scrape on my elbow throbs, a reminder of my fall.

“I tripped,” I mutter, knowing how weak the excuse sounds even as the words leave my mouth.

“You’re lying,” he says, his voice as dark as a storm cloud.

Sutton moves between us, her hand on Bishop’s chest. “That’s enough, Bishop,” she says firmly. “Let it go.”

His eyes flick to Sutton, a silent communication passing between them. For a moment, I think he might push past her, but then he takes a step back, his posture relaxing slightly.

“Fine,” he says, his voice bitter.

I suppress a shudder at his words, knowing it’s not an empty threat. Bishop has always had it out for me, but as the weeks trudge on, his animosity seems to grow more and more.

The other night, outside the abandoned natatorium, he looked like a puppet being controlled by two opposing forces: anger and defeat. I could see the desire in his eyes to give in to his primal emotions, but he was held back by his expectations. But none of that matters now because nothing happened between us. He has a girlfriend, and I refuse to pursue a Legacy, despite the temptation we both felt that evening.

“But don’t think this conversation is over, Prescott.”

He turns and stalks off into the darkness, leaving Sutton and me alone once more. My shoulders sag as a wave of tension leaves my body.

Sutton turns to me, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks softly. “I know we’re not…close anymore, but if something’s wrong—”

“I’m fine,” I interrupt, perhaps harsher than needed, but we aren’t friends.

Sutton’s expression hardens at my tone, a flicker of hurt crossing her face before she masks it with indifference. “Right,” she answers coolly. “Suit yourself,” She shrugs, turning away.

As I make my way back to my dorm, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. Every shadow seems to hide a potential threat, every creak of the old building makes me jump. By the time I reach my room, I’m a bundle of nerves, my hands shaking as I fumble with the key.

My thoughts are in such a jumble that I don’t even realize I have the wrong key until it falls to the ground with a loud clatter outside my door. The key Alfie gave me for my quest to join Club Bedlam. I curse under my breath and leave it to rot in the hallway out of frustration.

Fuck that key .

I finally manage to unlock my door and stumble inside, collapsing onto my bed with a heavy sigh.

I roll onto my side, my gaze falling on the discarded key glinting in the moonlight streaming through my window. Despite my frustration, I can’t bring myself to leave it there. With a groan, I force myself up and retrieve it, turning it over in my hand.

“You better open something soon,” I say, giving it a stern warning before shoving it into the drawer filled with all of Elle’s unopened letters.

Good riddance .