22. Alex
Chapter 22
Alex
“ W hat are you in the mood for?” I ask Dolores, holding up two potential snack options for our night in. It was the night of Altair’s masquerade ball, but I had no desire to attend. Initially, I thought it could be a way to gather information from the Legacy's, but that desire has since faded. Staying in my room for the night sounds much more enjoyable.
My snake plant doesn’t answer.
“You’re right, I’m not really hungry anyway.” I sigh and put the snacks back down. Dolores has never been much for conversation, but she’s a good listener.
The silence of my room feels oppressive, broken only by the faint sounds of revelry drifting in through the open window. Chatter and laughter as students leave Prescott Dormitory to attend the party in the main building.
I find myself drawn to the window, peering out at the stream of well-dressed figures in suits and gowns making their way across the moonlit quad. Their masks glint in the silvery light, transforming familiar faces into mysterious strangers.
“Maybe we should have our own party,” I muse aloud. “What do you think? A little punch, some mood lighting?”
Dolores remains stoically silent, but I swear her leaves perk up a bit at the suggestion.
I hear a thump at my door, followed by the sound of Aubrey’s muffled voice saying, “Let me in.”
I open the door to find her standing there, her lacy mask shielding her large blue eyes, silky black dress shimmering in the dim hallway light.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised. “And what is that?” I inquire, eyeing the oversized box in her hands.
Aubrey pushes past me into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. “I’m here to rescue you from your self-imposed exile,” she declares, setting the box down on my desk with a thud. “Professor Margot isn’t the only one who has a rebellious streak against this school.”
I eye the box warily. “Aubrey, I’m not going to the masquerade. I’m perfectly content here with Dolores,” I say, tilting my chin in the direction of the window.
She glances at my roommate in the corner, staring blankly. “Yeah, I’m sure you two are having a riveting conversation. Now are you going to open this box, or do I have to do everything myself?”
I sigh, knowing by now that resistance is futile when Aubrey sets her mind to something. I slowly make my way toward the box, hesitant to see what’s inside. With a deep breath, I lift the lid, revealing a breathtaking gown in a vibrant shade of crimson. The rich red fabric is adorned with delicate black tulle and intricate beading that cascades from the waist. To complete the ensemble, there’s a matching mask adorned with shimmering jewels in shades of black.
“Aubrey, I can’t—” I start to protest, but she cuts me off.
“You can, and you will,” she insists, her eyes sparkling with mischief behind her mask. “I didn’t spend hours in the wardrobe room picking this out for you to waste it on a plant. It may not be a formal gown like mine,” she gestures to her own floor-length dress, “but I think this one suits you much better.”
I run my fingers over the soft fabric, feeling a mixture of excitement and anxiety stirring in my chest. “Won’t you get in trouble for taking this? What about—”
“Margot?” Aubrey finishes my thought. “She may not be your biggest fan after your clumsiness, but I know her well enough to know that she’ll be more impressed by your boldness than upset about the dress. Besides, what’s the benefit of having a cousin who’s a Legacy if I can’t pull a few strings now and then?”
My eyes go wide in shock. “Your cousin is a Legacy?”
“Camden,” she says with a drawn-out sigh. “Our dads are half-brother’s. Same mom, different dads,” she says casually, like she’s told this a thousand times before.
I stare at Aubrey, my mind reeling from this revelation. Camden Whitlock is her cousin?
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I ask, still processing this new information.
Aubrey shrugs, her gaze full of playful amusement. “It never came up. Besides, I like to make my own way. Now are you going to put on this dress, or do I have to force you into it?”
This explains so much about Aubrey’s confidence and her ability to navigate the complex social hierarchy of Altair with unaffected ease.
I exhale, my fingers still tracing the intricate embroidery on the dress. “Alright, alright. I’ll wear it.”
Aubrey’s face lights up with triumph. “That’s my girl! Now hurry up and change. We don’t want to be late.”
As I slip inside my bathroom, my mind is still buzzing with the revelation about Aubrey’s family connections.
The dress fits like a glove, hitting above the knee, and hugging my curves in all the right places. When I step out, Aubrey gasps.
“Alex,” she breathes. “You look absolutely stunning. Every eye will be on you tonight.”
“Yeah, because it’s a black-and-white themed masquerade and I’m showing up in a vibrant red dress,” I say, turning to examine myself in the full-length mirror. The scarlet fabric shimmers under the soft lighting, making me look like a dancing flame.
Aubrey grins, her reflection appearing beside mine. “Exactly. You’ll be unforgettable. That’s the whole point.”
I bite my lip, uncertainty creeping in. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Trust me,” Aubrey says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “In these circles, it’s better to be bold than boring.”
“Okay, fine. But if this backfires spectacularly, I’m blaming you.”
Aubrey laughs, a tinkling sound that fills the room. “Fair enough. Now, I’m going to turn on the curling iron while you do your makeup.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re too much?” I ask.
“Every day of my life,” Aubrey says, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. “But that’s why people love me.”
I can’t help but smile, shaking my head as I begin applying my foundation. She’s right, of course. Aubrey’s larger-than-life personality is precisely why we’ve become fast friends.
She emerges from the bathroom, curling iron in hand, just as I’m blending one side of my face. She whistles appreciatively. “Damn, girl! You’re looking fierce already. But just wait until I’m done with you.”
I tsk, but can’t suppress the grin tugging at my lips. “Alright, work your magic.”
Aubrey weaves her artistry through my hair, creating soft, bouncy curls that frame my face while I work on perfecting my makeup.
“Okay, now for the pièce de résistance,” Aubrey announces dramatically, producing the black beaded mask from the box once we’re both finished.
I stay perfectly still as my friend carefully positions the mask over my eyes, securing it with delicate ribbons. The weight of the beads feels foreign, but not uncomfortable. When I look in the mirror again, I barely recognize myself. The mask transforms my face, lending me an air of mystery and allure that I’ve never possessed before.
“There,” Aubrey says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You’re perfect.”
I stand up, straightening out the tulle dress before I give one final glance at myself in the full-length mirror. After some consideration, I had opted for a bold lip color to match the deep red of my dress. My shoes are a strappy black that perfectly tie in with the dark beading on the dress and mask.
Aubrey beams, her eyes sparkling with pride beside me. “Alex Prescott, are you ready to set Altair ablaze?”
I have to admit, I look hot, really hot. No, scratch that—more than hot, I looked…absolutely stunning. The shimmering red dress hugs my curves in all the right places, accentuating my figure in a way that makes me feel powerful and alluring. Aubrey and I had crafted the perfect hair and makeup, with the perfect winged eye and tousled waves.
My pulse kicks into overdrive, but this time it’s with anticipation and excitement. I give her a firm nod. “Let’s do it.”
Altair’s expansive ballroom has been transformed into a dreamlike world of black and white. The walls are adorned with intricate lace cascading from floor to ceiling like delicate spiderwebs. Sparkling chandeliers hang from the ornate vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow upon the room. A grand staircase leads down to the center of the ballroom, where a sea of students in elegant black-and-white attire mingle and dance under the twinkling lights. Masquerade masks add an air of intrigue to the already enchanting atmosphere. Fragrant flowers and flickering candles dot the room, creating a sense of whimsy and romance.
The university spared no expense creating a lavish atmosphere for the students, promising an unforgettable evening of mystery and glamour.
As Aubrey and I descend the grand staircase, I feel the weight of every eye in the room upon us. The sea of black and white parts as we make our way down, whispers and gasps rippling through the crowd.
“Chin up,” Aubrey murmurs beside me. “You’re a vision, and they all know it.”
I square my shoulders and force myself to relax. Because she’s right, I know I look amazing tonight.
As we reach the bottom of the staircase, the crowd parts, creating a path for us. I can feel the energy in the room shift, a palpable buzz of excitement and curiosity. Aubrey links her arm through mine, guiding me forward with a reassuring squeeze.
“Remember,” she whispers. “Tonight, you’re not just Alex. You’re whoever you want to be.”
I nod, feeling a thrill of anticipation at the thought. The mask isn’t just a disguise; it’s an invitation to reinvent myself. I’m a Prescott, after all, and maybe it’s time I start reminding people what that means.
We make our way to the center of the ballroom, where couples are already swaying to the music. The orchestra is playing a hauntingly beautiful waltz, the melody weaving through the air like tendrils of smoke. I scan the room, taking in the sea of masked faces, each one a mystery waiting to be unraveled.
As we navigate through the crowd, I catch snippets of whispered conversations.
“Who’s that in the red dress?”
“Is that Alex Prescott ?”
“I thought this was supposed to be black and white only…”
I grip Aubrey’s arm a little tighter, grateful for her steady presence.
Suddenly, the music shifts, and a familiar figure materializes before us. Even with his face obscured by an ornate black-and-gold mask, I recognize Camden Whitlock’s, lean frame and the confident set of his shoulders.
“Well, well,” he drawls, his voice rich with amusement. “What have we here? A rose amongst the thorns?”
“Don’t you have a hairbrush to find?” Aubrey mocks.
Camden’s gaze hardens behind his mask, but his smirk remains firmly in place. “Ah, Aubrey. Sharp-tongued as ever. Always making our grandmother so proud.”
“Well, there can only be one disappointment in the family, Camden,” Aubrey retorts, her voice dripping with disdain. “And you’ve claimed that title so thoroughly, so who am I to get in the way?”
The conflict between them is palpable, a mix of competition and underlying bitterness that hangs in the air. They start to exchange harsh words, each trying to outdo the other. Suddenly, my skin prickles with a sudden chill, and I have the distinct feeling that someone is watching me.
Standing up on the balcony beside the top of the grand staircase is a figure in all black, their face obscured by an elaborate mask of the same color. Eyes a striking shade of green meet mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
My shadow. He’s found me.
An invisible current thrums between us, making my body stir with a mix of longing and confusion. I tear my gaze away and turn back to Aubrey and Camden.
They’re still locked in their verbal sparring, as I tug on her arm.
“I need a drink,” I whisper urgently. “Now.”
Aubrey glances at me, puzzlement flickering across her face before she nods and turns back to Camden with a saccharine smile.
“As delightful as this little reunion has been, dear cousin, we really must mingle. Wouldn’t want to monopolize your charming company all evening.”
With that, Aubrey steers me away from Camden, whose smirk has faded into a look of annoyance. As we weave through the crowd, I can’t help but glance back at the balcony. My shadow is gone, vanishing as quickly as he appeared.
“What’s wrong?” Aubrey murmurs, her grip on my arm tightening.
I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of unease that’s settled over me. “It’s nothing.”
Aubrey raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. We make our way to the bar, where she orders us both glasses of champagne. I down mine in one gulp, ignoring her concerned look.
“Easy there, girl,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got a looong night ahead of us.”
My eyebrow shoots up in suspicion. The way she elongates that word, drawing it out with a knowing tone. Does she know something I don’t?
“Hey, don’t you find it weird that they’re allowing us to drink?” I ask her, grabbing another glass.
Aubrey’s lips curl into a sly smile. “You really think the university would let us have all this fun without ulterior motives?” She leans in closer, her voice dropping. “The champagne is to help ease our nerves. It’s all part of the game.”
I nearly choke on my second glass. “What game?”
“The pre-trial,” Aubrey says, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Did no one tell you? Tonight isn’t just a masquerade ball. It’s a taste of what to expect for the games. A pre-trial, where all third years will be scored and ranked based on how they do.”
My stomach drops. “Scored and ranked? On what?”
Aubrey grins. “Everything. How we interact, how we present ourselves, our ability to navigate social situations, even how well we hold our liquor. The faculty are everywhere, watching and evaluating.”
I scan the room, suddenly hyper-aware of every glance in our direction. How many of these masked figures are professors in disguise?
Aubrey’s eyes widen, a mix of surprise and concern flashing across her face. “I thought you knew. The masquerade, the drinks, the mystery of it all—it’s all part of the initiation.”
I shake my head, trying to process this information. “Initiation into what?”
“The Altair games,” Aubrey explains. “The staff and the fourth years, but mainly the staff. They’re always watching, always testing. And tonight, they’re especially measuring us up for this year’s festivities.”
Right. I remember Sylvester mentioning how the seniors assist with the games, that it was some kind of strange reward for participating the year prior. That was right before he’d left me stranded on that cliff after our one-on-one tutoring session.
Sylvester’s cryptic words now take on a new, ominous meaning. I feel like I’m drowning, the weight of this revelation pressing down on me.
“Alex,” Aubrey’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Breathe. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
I force myself to take a deep breath, steadying myself against the bar. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” I hiss.
“I thought you knew. Everyone’s been talking about it for weeks. I’m sorry, I should have made sure.”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “It’s fine. I just… I need a minute.”
As I turn to leave, I catch a flash of black in my peripheral vision. My shadow, watching from across the room. Our eyes lock once more, and I feel how my pulse thrums. He watches me imperceptibly, then melts back into the crowd.
“Alex?” Aubrey’s voice snaps me back to reality. “Where are you going?”
I hesitate, torn between the urge to flee and the knowledge that every move I make is being scrutinized. “I…I need some air. I’ll be right back.”
Before Aubrey can protest, I weave through the throng of masked figures, my blood rushing my veins. The weight of unseen eyes follows my every step as I make my way to a set of French doors leading out to a balcony.
The night air hits my face as I step outside, and I inhale deeply, trying to calm my now twisted insides. The grounds below are shrouded in darkness, punctuated by the soft glow of lamps along the winding cobblestone paths.
“You seem distressed,” a deep voice says behind me.
I whirl around to find my shadow standing there, his green eyes piercing through the darkness of his mask.
“Bishop,” I breathe. “I…I… Did you follow me?” I ask, already knowing the answer. He’s my shadow, of course he did.
“I did,” he confirms. “I told you it was my job to keep an eye on you.”
I swallow hard. “And what exactly does that entail? Watching me have a panic attack at a party?” I’m filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and upset, while he…well, he has a way of being incredibly, calmly irritating.
A hint of amusement creeps into his tone. “Among other things.”
“Well, stop it!” I demand, not wanting anyone around me right now. Especially him.
“Why should I? Just because you asked?” he says with growing amusement. “And why should I listen to you?”
“Because I’m asking nicely,” I say through gritted teeth, though my tone is anything but nice. “And because I need a moment alone.”
“Alone? In this place? You’ll never have solitude here.”
The way he says this is so confident, so ominous. I’m not sure what to think of it. “Leave me alone, Bishop.”
But does he listen? No. The asshole takes a step closer, his tall figure casting a shadow over me in the night. “You’re not having a panic attack, Prescott. You’re processing information and adapting to it.”
I scowl at him. He could just walk away, leave me to settle in peace.
“You have a thing for plants, right?” His eyes were now fixed on the Rosa Setigera growing behind me. I never would have guessed he was capable of gentleness as he strokes one of the lush petals.
Why did he have to be so close?
“You know, only fake flowers are perfect,” he muses softly. “Real beauty isn’t afraid of flaws. Something may be tainted and scarred, but it should embrace its imperfections.”
A lump forms in my throat, unsure of how to respond to his sudden shift in demeanor. His words resonate within me. And for a moment, I forget my current dilemma, captivated by the gentle way his fingers caress the pinkish-white petals.
“What’s your point?”
Bishop’s eyes meet mine, and I’m struck by the intensity in his gaze. “My point, troublemaker, is that you’re trying too hard to fight what you really are, instead of embracing it. You’re rebelling against your own nature, and that’s what’s causing your distress.”
I want to argue, to prove him wrong, but I’m rendered speechless, because he’s right. All my life, I did what my mother asked of me simply because it was her will, not mine. But as I stand next to him, I feel a pull toward him, my gaze fixed on the flower that he still holds so delicately in his hand. He leans closer, his mask just inches away from my face. “These games are meant to test us,” he says. “They force us to confront our imperfections instead of hiding them. And in doing so, we triumph over all that we have survived.”
“Why are you out here, really? Shouldn’t you be happy? I thought it was your goal to scare me off and get me to leave Altair,” I say, hoping to shift the conversation. It all feels too raw and intense.
His eyes are intense and unreadable. “Who say’s I’m not happy?”
I feel a jolt of surprise at his words, unsure if he’s being sincere or if this is just another mind game. With Bishop, it’s impossible to tell.
“What game are you playing?” I ask.
“The same game as you,” he murmurs. “But unlike you, I always win.”
“Do you ever think that your confidence borders on arrogance?”
“Have you considered that it’s your lack of self-assurance that holds you back?” he retorts, his expression serious and unwavering.
I scoff, feeling the sting of his words. “I don’t need to belittle others to feel good about myself.”
He shrugs, indifferent. “Confidence can be expressed in many ways. I choose to embrace mine and use it as fuel, while not letting the flames consume me. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”
Before I can respond, he abruptly turns and walks away from me. Now I am alone with my feelings and a flower that has been violently plucked from its stem, much like how he tries to tear down my confidence whenever he's near.
I stay outside a few more moments collecting myself. Bishop’s words echo in my mind, stirring up a mix of emotions I can’t quite untangle. Part of me wants to chase after him, demand answers, but I know it would be futile. He’d only respond with more cryptic statements and that infuriating smirk.
I raise my head, adjust my mask, and step back into the crowded ballroom.
The music and chatter wash over me, but I feel oddly detached from it all now. My eyes scan the room, searching for Aubrey, but instead I catch sight of Professor O’Donnelly, engaged in what appears to be an intense conversation with Chancellor Maxwell.
Their eyes flick toward me for a brief moment, and I quickly avert my gaze, pretending to be fascinated by the intricate mask of a nearby partygoer. When I dare to look back, they’ve disappeared into the crowd.
This place is so weird.
“There you are,” Aubrey’s voice comes from behind me. “I was starting to worry.”
I turn to face her, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I just needed a moment.”
She studies me closely, her brow furrowed with concern. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. “I’m fine,” I say. “Just a bit overwhelmed by all of this.” I gesture vaguely at the opulent surroundings.
Aubrey nods sympathetically, but I can tell she’s not entirely convinced. “Well, stick close to me. Safety in numbers, right?”
As we make our way through the crowd, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched. Every masked face seems to hide secrets, every whispered conversation potentially about us. The pressure of everything weighs heavily on my shoulders, and a low hum fills my ears.
As I look around at the sea of hidden faces, memories come flooding back in an overwhelming rush. The faceless strangers now seem like cruel versions of my mother, each one ready to judge and criticize me.
“No, no, no! I don’t understand why you can’t get it right,” my mother snaps. “I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s allegro , not adagio . Do you even know what those words mean?”
My fingers stumble over the keys, flinching at each biting word. I can feel her disapproving glare boring into my back, making my shoulders hunch. I exhale, willing my trembling hands to steady.
As I began to play once more, I can hear my mother’s impatient sigh behind me. The tempo is faster this time, but my fingers feel clumsy and uncoordinated. Each note seems to mock me, an audible reminder of my inadequacy.
“Stop, stop!” My mother’s voice cuts through the music like a knife. “This is hopeless. How do you expect to make it professionally if you can’t even play a simple piece correctly?”
I sit frozen, staring at the keys. This piece was far from easy, but she knows that and chooses to criticize me anyway. I remain silent, not daring to correct her. The silence in the room is deafening, punctuated only by the ticking of the metronome. I long to disappear, to melt into the polished wood of the piano bench.
“Useless!” she exclaims, throwing up her hands. “You are utterly, and completely useless , Alexandra.”
I feel my grip on reality slipping away as the memories flood my mind. The buzzing in my ears started off soft, but it’s growing into a piercing screech, threatening to overtake my senses. I snap out of it when Aubrey stands in front of me, blocking my view.
“Huh?” I say, disoriented.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I don’t focus on her, my attention scattered everywhere else. As I look around, I catch glimpses of familiar faces—or rather, familiar masks. There’s Sylvester, laughing loudly with a group of other students. But when he sees me, his smile falters, and a look of surprise crosses his face before he clears his throat uncomfortably. Sutton, deep in conversation with one of the professors, is wearing the ombre black and white dress I “stole.” And just for a moment, I swear I see Bishop again, his sharp eyes cutting through the crowd to find mine before he vanishes once more.
As the ringing in my ears fades and my mother’s familiar face returns to its rightful place in my memory, everyone around me goes back to being themselves.
A sense of fresh curiosity overtakes me. “Aubrey, what do you know about the games? About what to expect for tonight?”
“Not much,” she admits, almost ashamed. “But I do know that tonight is crucial. It’s not just about how we present ourselves or socialize. They’re looking for something specific.”
I lean in closer. “What do you mean?”
“They’re testing our adaptability, our ability to think on our feet,” Aubrey explains. “I overheard some seniors talking. Apparently, at some point tonight, there will be a…situation. Something unexpected. How we react to it will be a major factor in our ranking.”
Goosebumps pepper the back of my neck. “What kind of situation?”
Aubrey shakes her head. “I don’t know. It could be anything. That’s the point—they want to see how we handle the unexpected.”
I process this information. A test within a test, hidden beneath the glittering facade of the masquerade. It’s clever, I have to admit. And terrifying.
“So we just have to be ready for anything,” I muse, more to myself than to Aubrey.
She nods, a wry smile playing at her lips. “Exactly. Which, let’s be honest, is pretty much business as usual around here.”
I can’t help but chuckle at that. Aubrey’s right—as unsettling as this whole situation is, it’s not really that different from my day-to-day life at Altair. I was always being watched, always being tested by the Legacies, so what was the difference now?
As I’m about to respond to her, a commotion erupts from the main ballroom. The music stops abruptly, replaced by a cacophony of gasps and startled exclamations. Aubrey and I exchanged a quick glance before hurrying over.
The scene that greets us is chaos. The elegant crowd has parted, forming a circle around something—someone—on the floor. As we push our way forward, I catch a glimpse of a prone figure in a shimmering dark gown.
“Is that…” Aubrey whispers, her voice tight with shock.
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. “Professor O’Donnelly.”
The formidable professor lies motionless on the marble floor, her ornate mask askew. Chancellor Maxwell kneels beside her, her face ashen as she checks for a pulse. O’Donnelly’s chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, but her eyes remain closed.
“Someone call for help!” a voice cries out.
But no one moves. The crowd stands frozen, a sea of masked faces staring down at the fallen woman. I feel Aubrey tense beside me, her fingers digging into my arm.
“This is it,” she snaps, hushed. “The test.”
“Everyone, remain calm,” Maxwell intones, her voice carrying across the ballroom. “Medical assistance is on its way.”
As if on cue, two white-coated figures emerge from a side door, rushing to Professor O’Donnelly’s side with a stretcher. The crowd parts to let them through.
Something falls from Professor O’Donnelly’s hand as the medics lift her onto the stretcher—a small, folded piece of paper. Without thinking, I snatch it up, quickly tucking it into my palm before anyone notices.
As the medics whisk the professor away, Chancellor Maxwell turns to address the stunned crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. This unfortunate incident should not derail our evening. The masquerade will continue as planned.”
The music resumes, but there’s a nervous energy crackling through the air. Students huddle in small groups, whispering furiously behind their masks. I feel Aubrey’s hand on my arm, pulling me toward an alcove.
Before we reach it, an arm reaches for my wrist, gripping it tightly. I whirl around, heart thumping, to find myself face-to-face with a figure in a gold-and-black mask. Camden.
“You picked something up,” he says low, barely audible over the resumed music. “What was it?”
I keep my face neutral behind my mask, acutely aware of the paper burning in my hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply.
He leans in closer. “Don’t play games, mudslide. I know you grabbed something.”
Aubrey steps between us, her posture tense. “Back off, Camden.”
His lip curled as someone came up behind us. I spin around to see Sylvester, his silver mask glinting in the chandelier light.
“Problem here?” Sylvester asks, his tone deceptively casual.
“Hand it over,” Camden demands, his voice threatening. “What you picked up. Now.”
He violently yanks my hand toward him, prying apart my fingers and snatching up the paper with a sinister grin. The ticking of a clock echoes in the background, creating a deafening cacophony that matches the rapid beat of my heart.
“Fuck you,” Aubrey hisses at her cousin.
As we retreat from Camden and Sylvester, the paper now in Camden’s possession, I feel a mix of anger and disappointment. Whatever information was on that slip is now lost to us.
“What do you think was on it?” Aubrey whispers as we weave through the crowd and closer to the stage.
“I don’t know,” I admit, frustration coloring my tone.
After some thought, she concludes, “It doesn’t matter.” She gestures toward the crowd surrounding us. “The games,” she says, “they’re about to begin.”
The ticking clock grows louder, drowning out the murmur of conversation and strains of music. Suddenly, the lights dim, plunging the ballroom into an eerie twilight. A spotlight illuminates the stage, where Chancellor Maxwell now stands, her face grave behind her ornate mask.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announces, her voice carrying effortlessly across the hushed space. “The time has come for our first challenge.”
This is it. The real test begins now.
“As you may have noticed,” Maxwell continues. “A most unfortunate incident occurred earlier this evening. Professor O’Donnelly’s collapse was no accident.”
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. I feel Aubrey tense beside me.
“The time has come for our annual tradition. The Pre-trial Games are about to commence.”
A ripple of excitement runs through the crowd. I feel Aubrey’s hand slip into mine, squeezing tightly.
Maxwell continues. “These games are designed to test not just your intellect, but your courage, your adaptability, and your loyalty. Tonight, your third-year peers will face challenges that will push them to their limits. Some of you will rise to the occasion. Others…...” She pauses, her eyes scanning the crowd. “Will fall.”
A sudden tremor races down my back, and the atmosphere grows heavy with anticipation.
“Your first challenge has already concluded,” Maxwell announces, her voice ringing out clear and sharp. “And nearly all of you have failed.” Her eyes seem to find mine at this comment.
I feel the blood drain from my face as Chancellor Maxwell’s words sink in. Failed? How could we fail a challenge we didn’t even know had begun?
Aubrey’s grip on my hand tightens, her nails digging into my palm. I can feel her trembling beside me, but I don’t dare look away from the stage.
“The true test,” Maxwell continues, her voice cutting through the stunned silence, “was not in solving a puzzle or completing a task. It was in your ability to observe, to notice the unusual, to question what you saw.”
She gestures to the side of the stage, and Professor O’Donnelly steps into view, looking perfectly healthy and very much alive. Another gasp ripples through the crowd, this one tinged with confusion and dawning realization.
“Professor O’Donnelly’s collapse was a ruse, a carefully orchestrated arrangement that provided an advantage for the student or students clever enough to pay attention.”
I feel a surge of anger and frustration wash over me. The paper was an advantage? My mouth twists. Stupid Legacies.
Chancellor Maxwell’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Only one student had the presence of mind to retrieve the professor’s fallen paper. Congrats are in order for Mr. Whitlock.”
Camden and the rest of the Legacy members huddle in the corner, looking smug and pleased with themselves for having an advantage over the rest of us.
“Like they need it,” Aubrey huffs under her breath as the chancellor continues.
“This information will give a significant advantage in the Pre-trial,” Maxwell announces. “The rest of you will need to work twice as hard to catch up.”
I process the implications of Maxwell’s words. Not only have I failed the first challenge, but we’re already at a disadvantage for the Pre-trial. I glance at Bishop, who’s wearing a smirk that makes me want to punch him.
“As you know, the Altair games are played in teams of four,” Maxwell continues, her voice cutting through my anger. “Tonight, you will be playing as individuals. You will be scored individually as well. Your objective is to navigate through a series of obstacles and challenges, both physical and mental, as you race around campus collecting these.” She unveils a red cloth.
A low murmur ripples through the crowd. I exchange a tentative look with Aubrey.
“You will have until sunrise to collect as many as you can. Some are hidden easily, some require more effort, but all can be found within Altair’s gates. Each one you collect will contribute to your individual score. The more you gather, the higher your ranking.”
The crowd erupts into excited chatter, but I feel my stomach twist into a tight knot. A night full of solo challenges wasn’t what I had in mind, especially since I didn’t plan on coming here tonight to begin with.
“Silence!” Maxwell’s voice booms, and the noise dies down instantly. “There’s more. As per tradition, the top five scorers from tonight’s challenge will have the privilege of choosing their teammates for the official games. The rest will be assigned randomly.”
Great. So not only do I not want to play, now I don’t even get to pick who I play with?
“The game ends either at sunrise, or when the gold flag, identical to this one other than color,” she holds up the piece of red cloth again, “is discovered. At that point, the timer will stop, and all flags will be tallied for each player. The owner of the golden flag will be declared the winner, regardless of how many red flags they had previously obtained.”
The tension in the room is palpable as Maxwell’s words sink in. I can feel the competitive energy radiating from my fellow students, their eyes gleaming with determination.
I feel a gentle squeeze on my skin and turn to see Aubrey’s concerned face. She leans in close. “We’ll find each other, okay? No matter what happens.”
I nod, trying to muster a smile, but it was like trying to push a stone through a keyhole. Maxwell’s voice cuts through the air again, sharp and commanding.
“When the bell tolls, the challenge begins. Good luck, students! May the best competitors prevail.”
The spotlights is suddenly extinguished, plunging the room into darkness. When they flick back on seconds later, Maxwell is gone, leaving only her final words echoing in our ears. The bell tolls, a deafening knell that reverberates through the ballroom like a warning of impending doom.
Pandemonium breaks loose as students scramble and scream, their panicked voices blending into a cacophony of chaos as they run in all different directions, Aubrey among them, while I stay absolutely still.