5. Alex
The Legacies were going to pay for this.
I’d been stalking the perimeter of my room, every step laced with a fury I couldn’t shake, ever since I’d convinced my father I was alright and to go back home.
The parents weekend had ended, and now I was a joke—a punchline to the whole damn school.
I already knew I was in deep.
But this? This just poured gasoline on it.
I could almost see their smug faces.
The Legacies—those self-righteous, arrogant jerks—strutting around campus like they owned it.
And now this? The fountain.
My concussion. My mother .
They had crossed a line, and it wasn’t one I was going to let them forget.
They thought they were untouchable, the superior students of this university.
But they’d forgotten who they were messing with.
“Dolores, what do you think?” I asked my favorite roommate.
My beloved snake plant remained silent as always, her long green leaves stretched out toward the sky.
But I knew she understood.
She’d been informed of every slight, every whispered insult, since I arrived at Altair University.
“You’re right,” I muttered, reaching out to stroke one of her leaves.
“Sleep first, and tomorrow we start plotting how to get back at them.”
I retaliated against them once before, covering Bishop in a heap of glitter as payback for him breaking into my room.
But that was only after he had maliciously set the plumbing to burst directly above my bed in the dead of night.
He, along with the others, had tricked me into coming to the natatorium.
Then they somehow got my mom involved, and she completely lost it, pushing me into the pool, which led to a concussion.
Now, they were trying to make it look like I tampered with the fountains just because I ranked higher than them.
Bishop spun his story, claiming it was because I’d openly refused to participate in the Altair Games, but I knew the moment he started spewing that nonsense that it was just a well-crafted lie.
Too bad it worked.
The students at Altair were like eager streams of water, flowing toward the well-worn riverbed carved by the legacy of the popular families.
They didn’t question the course; they simply followed it, bound by the pull of tradition, as if destined to merge with the status quo already set in place.
I changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed.
Sleep eluded me as I tossed and turned, my mind racing with possibilities for revenge.
The rain, which had poured relentlessly through the night, continued its steady rhythm, tapping against the window.
The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting eerie shadows across my room.
I could almost hear the Legacies laughter echoing in my ears, mocking me all over again.
Sleep wasn’t happening.
Not with my heart still pounding and my brain rehearsing comebacks I hadn’t said, truths no one had believed, and consequences I hadn’t earned.
With a frustrated huff, I threw the blankets off and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
The floor was cold against my feet, but the chill only added to the static building under my skin.
I slammed my heel into one shoe, then the other, the force sharp, ungraceful.
I needed out—of the room, of my own head.
I hadn’t really had a destination in mind when I left my room.
I just needed to move.
To breathe. But apparently, some part of me knew where I was going before I did, because the next thing I knew, I was pushing open the doors to the dining hall.
The hush inside surprised me.
Then again, it was late—late enough that even the most restless students had finally retreated to their dorms. Still, not a single straggler?
No one lingering with a book, or scribbling last-minute notes in a forgotten corner?
The total absence of bodies gave the space an eerie, too-quiet kind of calm.
But I liked it. No one here to make fun of me.
No one to whisper behind their hands or try to provoke me into snapping.
And if my mother had been standing in the corner?
No one for me to perform for.
No one for me to impress.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t look away in time.
Maybe that’s why my eyes landed where they had.
And maybe that’s why I didn’t let them go.
The room was drenched in moonlight and shadows, the faint smell of old coffee and wood polish lingering.
But my eyes weren’t interested in the tables or the empty buffet line.
They went straight to the corner.
The piano.
It was as if it had been waiting for me.
Like it knew.
I hadn’t played in years.
Not since before everything got complicated.
But my feet didn’t care.
They carried me over, slow and certain, until I was standing right in front of it.
I sat down without thinking, the bench creaking softly beneath me.
The rain tapped harder now, like it was matching the pulse in my throat.
My fingers hovered above the keys.
Just hovering.
I didn’t press them down.
Not yet.
There was hesitation in the way my hands floated there, frozen mid-thought.
What was I even doing?
I hadn’t touched a piano in ages—not seriously.
Not since then . Not since everything changed.
My fingers still knew what to do.
I could feel it in the muscle memory pulsing beneath my skin, the way my wrists aligned instinctively, the way the keys almost leaned in toward me.
I’d been good— really good.
Enough to earn a full ride to one of the best music schools in the country.
A prodigy, they said.
A successful future.
One to be remembered.
But when the acceptance letter came, I realized I didn’t want it.
And when I told my mother.
..
She’d gone quiet.
Too quiet.
Then there was glass.
Everywhere.
Blood.
So, so much blood.
A low buzz began to build in my ears, like static under water.
My hands were still hovering over the keys, trembling just slightly.
I didn’t press down.
Couldn’t.
Then—
A soft creak above me cut through the noise.
My head jerked upward.
The Legacies’ mezzanine loomed directly overhead, lined with rich wood and fancy-trimmed railings.
It was supposed to be empty, same as the rest of this room.
But I swore I saw it—just for a second.
A shift in the dark.
Movement. A silhouette pulling back from the edge.
My heart leapt to my throat.
I was already on my feet before I registered it, charging toward the staircase without thinking.
My bare feet slapped against the floor, echoing too loud in the silence.
I took the stairs two at a time.
When I reached the top—nothing.
No one.
No sound, no presence.
Just the hushed hush of an empty corridor, the faint scent of a lingering cigarette and leftover rain.
But he’d been here. He had to have been here.
Bishop.
My shadow, always just one step behind.
Or in front. Or inside my head.
I scanned the stairway again.
I’d come from the only entrance.
The only exit. There was no other way out.
So where had he gone?
Unless…
I leaned against the railing, my pulse still racing.
Was my mind really playing tricks on me?
The concussion. The exhaustion.
The rain.
Maybe I wanted to see him.
Maybe I needed to see my target.
Someone to throw all this chaos at and say, there.
That’s who to blame.
But that didn’t explain the feeling still crawling up my spine.
Or the way the scent of ash lingered—faint, just a whiff—but enough to make me wonder if I’d imagined it…
or if he’d really been here.
I glanced back toward the Legacies’ private dining area—polished oak table gleaming like it had been waxed just for them.
No, scratch that—it definitely had.
The chairs were tucked in with eerie precision, not a scuff or smudge in sight.
The whole space felt smug.
Like it knew it belonged to the elite and didn’t care who noticed.
They thought they were untouchable.
Unbothered. Above it all.
I let out a low breath—half groan, half laugh.
Of course they did.
So I got to work.
I slid one of the chairs back and dropped into a crouch.
Then, with quick flicks of my wrist, I loosened the screws on each of the chairs—just enough that they wouldn’t fall apart, not right away.
But the next time someone leaned back too far, they'd get a sharp reminder that the world didn’t always support them the way they expected it to.
It wasn’t chaos. It wasn’t vengeance.
It was discomfort, delivered quietly.
And for tonight, that was enough.
The rain still beat against my window, steady and unrelenting, but this time, it wasn’t just the sound of it that was keeping me up. My mind churned, a storm of thoughts swirling just beneath the surface. I hadn’t slept well, how could I, after everything that had happened? But something about the small, subtle act of discomfort I’d left for the Legacies had settled a little weight off my shoulders. It was like slow payback, a simmering frustration finally finding its outlet. I wasn’t done with them—far from it—but for the first time in what felt like days, I could breathe a little easier.
It wasn’t victory. It wasn’t even close. But it was something. And that something, even as small as it was, let me sleep, if only for a few hours.
I rolled over, squinting at the slivers of daylight pushing their way through the curtains. The dull glow of another gray morning filtered in, and I couldn’t help but notice how still everything felt. The rain’s rhythm had slowed, a lullaby in its own right. I sat up, my body stiff but not quite exhausted.
I glanced at Dolores, stationary at her usual spot by the window. The Legacies might have been sleeping easy, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t even bring myself to walk through the woods last night. The thought of being alone out there, without any real sense of safety, felt stupid. It was dark and stormy. I had made my own escape just fine—thanks to the piano, even if I hadn’t played.
I decided it was just something to focus on, something to drown out the thoughts gnawing at me. But the real escape, the one I needed, had been that small, quiet rebellion I’d left in the dining hall. It wouldn’t solve everything, but it was a start.
I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated that I’d spent the night lying in bed half-conscious, letting the storm of thoughts get to me. My eyes flicked to the clock.
I jumped out of bed and quickly changed into my uniform for my morning class. It was Monday, which meant my seminar on Altair’s History with Professor O’Donnelly and Sylvester was my first class of the week.
I grab the giant book and tuck it under my arm before opening my door to leave. My book bag that I’d originally brought with me from home had been rendered untouchable by the Legacy boys. As a result, I was forced to continue to carry everything with my hands. On my way out, I spotted a note attached to the wooden frame of my door. My teeth clench as I realize it’s a personal summons from Chancellor Maxwell herself. The scheduled time exactly ten minutes after my class lets out, as if she couldn’t be more predictable.
The perfect start to another glorious week here at Altair.
I crumple the note in my fist, shoving it deep into my blazer pocket. Chancellor Maxwell can wait, and honestly, I’m not even sure if I’ll show up. She may have stood up for me once, but after last night? Who knows where we stand now. I’ve got more important things to focus on, like making sure those Legacies regret ever crossing my path.
As I make my way across the sprawling campus, the crisp air nips at my cheeks, and it’s starting to get a bit chillier. The rain had mostly stopped during the time it took me to change, now only a light mist drifting through the air. It clung to my skin, like the weather couldn’t decide if it was going to pour or give up entirely.
Students milled about, laughing and chatting, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. I spot Bishop and Ophelia near the fountain, their faces betraying whatever nonsense they’re discussing. Ophelia’s expression is tight, her frustration clear, while Bishop stands there, as emotionless as ever. The sight of them sends a wave of raw heat through me, especially Bishop. He’s the reason this all went down, and yet he acts like he’s untouchable.
As I walk past them, I don’t slow down. My eyes betray me, flickering toward Bishop. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. The smirk on his face widens, smug and self-satisfied, a look that’s designed to get under my skin.
Ophelia, notices. She’s quick like that. Her sharp eyes thin, and I can already tell she’s about to sink her claws in. She flicks a glance at Bishop—he’s still watching me—and then turns back to me, like she knows she’s about to have her fun.
Ugh, I should’ve just kept walking.
“Jealous?” she asks, flipping her hair over her shoulder, clearly emphasizing her meticulously perfect appearance. “You always look so... exhausted, like effort’s a foreign concept to you. Maybe if you spent less time looking like you crawled out of a dumpster… but then again, only trash lives in Prescott dormitory,” she sneers, loud enough to catch the attention of a few passing students.
Her words sting, but not enough to make me react. I’ve been here before. Let her take her shot; she won’t land it.
I let a low chuckle slip from my mouth, turning just enough to catch her eye, my expression steady. “Hey, Prescott dormitory has got its charm. Mildew, rats, and peeling paint—it’s practically a luxury. Wanna join for a sleepover? I’m having a few rats over tonight. I’m supplying the room, and they’re bringing whatever mildew they can find from the walls for face masks.”
Her face screws up in disgust, and she doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, with a sharp exhale, she mutters, “You’re disgusting.”
I let the contempt on my face show plainly, my lips curling in a sneer as I respond with a biting, “I’ll pencil you in as a maybe.”
Bishop’s smirk widens, that self-satisfied look settling into place, like he knows exactly how much my words—and my reaction—are getting under his girlfriend’s skin. It only seems to make him more insufferable. He watches me with that smug, untouchable air.
I don’t bother holding back. My face says everything. As I turn and walk away, I can feel his gaze on my back—sharp and certain.
Whatever. If he needed my fury to feed whatever ego trip he was on, he could choke on it.
“Watch where you’re going, mudslide,” a student sneers as I enter the main Altair building.