8. Alex
Chapter 8
Alex
A s I settle in for the night, slipping into my pajamas and working through an assignment at my desk, I can’t help but feel the weight of another long night—one where I still haven’t gotten sufficient revenge on the Legacies and am exhausted from cleaning up the mess they framed me for.
Then a knock interrupts the quiet.
I open the door to find Sylvester leaning casually against the frame, his eyes scanning me with amusement.
“You’re really going to wear that to our one-on-one? Bold move, babe.”
I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms over my long-sleeved shirt and shorts combo.
He should know better than to think I was going anywhere with him.
I made it clear earlier in the week that I wasn’t attending our study session.
He could deal with O’Donnelly on his own.
“I told you already, I’m not going,” I say, my voice firm but unbothered.
Sylvester doesn’t back off, though.
He pushes off the doorframe, his tone soft but teasing.
“Come on, Alex. You know how important this is.” His eyes flash with something sharper now, but there’s still that playful edge.
“And besides, I figure I could walk you over.”
I snort, fighting the urge to shrink back from what he’d just said.
Walk me over? What were we, a couple?
No way would I ever consider dating a Legacy.
“This is your problem, not mine,” I reply.
He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping.
“Are you sure? Could be fun. You and me. Just a little walk. Or are you afraid you’ll have too good a time?”
I give him a hard, skeptical look.
“I’m sure. Or have you forgotten it was you and the other Legacies who turned my life into a cautionary story? Because, really, that’s been super helpful.”
For a brief moment, his expression flickers with something close to guilt, but he quickly recovers, keeping the same playful edge.
“That was a long time ago.”
I narrow my eyes, studying him.
“Was it? Funny, because I’m pretty sure it was less than a week ago.”
He falters, just for a second, before flashing that usual cocky grin.
“I’m just offering to walk you over. No strings.”
I don’t buy it.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s still your mess, not mine.” I stand firm.
Sylvester’s expression hardens, the casual smirk fading as he crosses his arms. “It’s not just about me,” he says, voice growing more authoritative.
“Go change into something warmer.”
I don’t bother hesitating this time.
I slam the door in his face.
But just as I reach to lock it, he forces the door open with a determined shove.
“Should I toss you over my shoulder again? Don’t tempt me,” he threatens, his voice laced with challenge.
A wave of irritation rolls through me.
I take a step back, not afraid, but making my stance clear.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say coolly, though there’s a flicker of hesitation in my voice.
I know he would. He already has.
Sylvester steps closer, not backing off, his eyes gleaming with something I can’t quite place—excitement, maybe?
“Try me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a hint of a challenge in there that makes me want to call his bluff.
I stand tall, not backing down.
“I’m not some obedient little puppy for you to drag around. Unlike you and the other Legacies, who are always bending to Bishop’s will, doing whatever he says like mindless drones. I’m not like you.”
His lips curl into a sharp laugh, one that feels almost like a challenge in itself.
“You think we just do whatever Bishop says?” His voice hardens, a little defensive now.
“We’re equals, Alex. We don’t follow orders, we make them.”
I stare at him, incredulous.
Equals? Please. I’ve seen enough to know I’m not wrong.
“Each of you are playing his game, he’s just great at pretending you’re not.”
Sylvester steps even closer, he’s not backing down.
“You’re coming tonight, whether you like it or not. I’ve given you more than enough chances to play nice.”
Before I can respond, his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist with surprising gentleness, but there’s an unyielding force behind it that makes it clear he’s not asking anymore.
I wrench my wrist back, but his grip tightens, just enough to remind me that he’s not letting go.
His eyes lock onto mine, and there’s something dangerous about the calm in his expression.
“You can keep fighting this, but it won’t get you anywhere,” he says, his voice low and steady, a hint of finality in his tone.
“You’re going. It’s already decided.”
I grit my teeth, trying to pull away, but it’s useless.
He’s stronger than me—he knows it, and so do I.
“Let go of me,” I snap, my voice trembling with frustration.
Sylvester doesn’t even flinch, his grip still firm around my wrist. “I don’t think you’re hearing me. This isn’t just about you and me. It’s about your grade. We’re not in this situation just because you hate the idea of tutoring sessions, but you do need to catch up on Altair’s history. This isn’t a punishment, it’s a requirement.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes even though I know he’s right.
“I know what it’s for,” I mutter.
“But it’s not like I’m going to magically start caring just because you’re dragging me to a lesson.”
His lips twitch into a smirk as he studies me.
“It’s not about caring. It’s about surviving. The sooner you can prove to O’Donnelly that you know your stuff, the sooner these one-on-ones are over.” He pauses, watching me carefully.
“You want that, don’t you? To stop wasting your time with me?”
His words hit harder than they should.
The thought of not having to deal with him anymore, of finally getting out of this mess, is tempting.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy on him.
“Fine,” I snap, my jaw clenched.
“But don’t act like I owe you anything for this.”
Sylvester’s expression softens slightly, the hint of a grin returning to his lips.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, babes.” He finally releases my wrist and takes a step back.
“This better not turn into another one of your stupid power plays…” The warning is clear on my tongue.
He shrugs casually, clearly unfazed.
“I’m just trying to help you get out of this. And believe it or not, this is me being nice.”
I don’t respond, but my mind is already ticking, knowing he’s right.
The sooner I prove I know the history of this stupid university, the sooner this whole nightmare will be over.
Well, at least one of them will be.
“Let’s go, then,” I demand, turning toward the door.
Sylvester’s eyes gleam as he steps into my path.
“You know, if you’re really trying to destress before all this, I’m sure I could offer some…alternatives to the history lessons. Worked pretty well for you last time, didn’t it?”
“Is that your idea of a study break?” I say, voice laced with sarcasm.
His smile doesn’t waver; if anything, it becomes flirtier.
“Just an offer. You seem a little tense tonight.”
Gee, I wonder why.
Maybe it has something to do with him showing up at my door and manipulating this into my problem when I already made it clear where I stood.
I scoff. He could keep his help to himself.
I yank the door open and step into the hallway without waiting for him, not even bothering to glance back.
I only grab my hoodie on the way out—no point in changing the rest of my clothes.
The assembly hall, usually teeming with students, is eerily quiet and empty at this hour of night.
Sylvester leads the way toward the stage where O’Donnelly usually stands during class.
A table is set up beside the podium, and he gestures for us to approach.
He disappears behind the side curtain and returns moments later, setting up two chairs.
With a simple gesture, he indicates I should take a seat in the one he pulled out.
I walk over to the opposite chair, pulling it out and sitting down firmly.
Sylvester stands there for a moment, a hint of amusement flickering across his face, before he sits in the chair he’d offered me, clearly not bothered by my defiance.
He pulls the thick book of Altair’s history from the table, but the silence between us stretches out, thick and uncomfortable.
Sylvester clears his throat, but I refuse to meet his gaze, instead keeping my eyes fixed on the empty auditorium.
“We should go over some key points of Altair’s history before O’Donnelly arrives, so it looks like I’ve actually taught you something,” he says.
“I’ve learned enough in class,” I shoot back, my tone firm as I keep my focus ahead.
Opening the book to a random page, Sylvester says, “Let’s start with the fundamentals.” His finger hovers over a drawing of Altair’s main building—the same one we’re sitting in now.
“Tell me what you know about it.”
I stay silent.
He shifts in his chair, his finger firm on the page.
“Okay, what do you see in this?”
I remain silent again, my lips pressed together in quiet resistance.
Sylvester sighs, his patience clearly wearing thin.
“Alex, I’m trying to help you here. The least you could do is cooperate.”
I turn to face him.
“I didn’t ask for your help.” I didn’t ask to be here at all .
But I was too stubborn to leave.
Funny how pride makes a better jailer than any locked door.
His expression hardens, and for a moment, I almost expect him to lose his temper.
But then he exhales sharply.
“Look, I know you’re not happy about this. But this is happening whether you like it or not. Wouldn’t you rather be prepared?”
“Nope,” I reply flatly.
“Students are expected to have this knowledge if they want to succeed in the games.”
“Well, lucky for you, I have no intention of participating.”
Sylvester lets out a sharp snort, but his expression remains mostly neutral.
“Glad to see you’re still adamant about that. I’ll be sure to let the others know.”
“Don’t you mean Bishop?” I raise an eyebrow, my tone laced with subtle sarcasm.
He glances away briefly, but he keeps his voice even.
“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.”
“Really?” I ask innocently, leaning in slightly.
“What am I trying to do, then?”
“Trying to get under my skin to distract me.”
I shrug, feigning indifference.
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just offering you a different perspective to think about.”
“You think you’ve got us all figured out, don’t you?” His tone is even.
Too controlled. “But you don’t know the first thing about us, about our history, or about what it means to be a Legacy.”
I bat my lashes, playing up my innocence.
“Well, isn’t that your responsibility to teach me? Isn’t that why you forced me here?”
He sighs sharply, his patience fraying.
“This isn’t a show. I’m not here to entertain you.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, leaning back in my chair, arms folded.
“But you sure are trying to. You don’t actually care about teaching me anything, do you? You’re just rushing me through this so O’Donnelly doesn’t show up and make this worse for you.” He was all but a glorified babysitter at this point.
Sylvester takes a deep breath, the slight twitch of his lip giving away the crack in his calm demeanor.
He takes a moment, clearly weighing his response.
“You think it’s that simple, huh?” His tone drops slightly.
“I’m trying to help you pass, so O’Donnelly doesn’t come in and make this worse for both of us.”
I tilt my head, flashing him a smirk.
“Worse for both of us?”
He leans back in a huff.
“You don’t get it. I’m just trying to keep this from being worse than it has to be.”
I pause, eyes narrowing slightly as I study him, noticing the tension in his shoulders.
For a split second, I almost feel bad.
Almost. Then I remember how I still wince sometimes when I sit down or how my back knots up if I move too quickly.
A twelve-foot fall onto my back wasn’t exactly easy to shake off.
Hell, I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.
“Guess I didn’t realize you were so selfless, Sylvester,” I say, my tone laced with a touch of reluctant sympathy that even surprises me.
There was no way I was feeling sorry for this guy, right?
Right.
I glance at him, watching as his expression flickers as if he’s holding something back.
I let out a quiet exhale, already sure I was going to regret this.
“The main building of Altair was originally designed by a group of scholars in the late 1800s to house both the university’s administrative offices and its central library. Later, the library was moved to a separate building, and the main structure was converted to classrooms, giving it a more academic feel. The architecture combines both Neo-Gothic and Romanesque elements, clearly visible in the high vaulted ceilings and the intricate stonework at the entrance.”
I gesture toward the image in the textbook.
“And if you look at the foundation, you’ll see that it was deliberately built on a higher elevation—some say to symbolize the intellectual rise of those who would study here. Even the front steps were meant to represent the journey one must take to gain knowledge.”
I pause for a second, then give him a wry smile.
“So yeah, I’ve been paying attention.”
I glance at Sylvester, noticing a hint of approval in his gaze?
“Impressive,” O’Donnelly’s voice suddenly rings out from behind us.
We both turn, and my gaze lands on the professor standing in the doorway.
There’s a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes, but something else too.
Suspicion, maybe? She steps forward with that same purposeful stride, as if every move is calculated to take control of the room.
“I overheard your lesson, Miss Prescott,” O’Donnelly says, her smile curling with something that almost resembles amusement, but there’s a sharper edge to it.
“Not bad at all. But then again I always knew you were smart , Mr. Oliveri,” she adds, her gaze lingering on him a bit too long.
Okay, weird.
Her eyes flick over to me, and I can feel the air shift.
Sylvester looks…nervous?
Grossed out? Fidgety?
All of the above. “But of course, I’m sure you know just how bright Sylvester is.”
What is going on right now?
O’Donnelly gives a small, casual wave of her hand.
“Alex, go ahead and grab me a chair, would you?”
Sylvester opens his mouth immediately, rising from his seat.
“You can have mine, Professor.”
O’Donnelly raises an eyebrow at him, a flicker of irritation flashing in her eyes before her smile tightens.
“No need for that, Sylvester,” she purrs, her voice both sweet and cold.
“Just a chair for me, please, Alex.”
I rise from my seat and grab another chair from behind the curtain and then sit back down.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say O’Donnelly’s acting like a jealous girlfriend, then immediately remind myself how ridiculous that sounds.
The only other person I’ve seen act possessively like that is Ophelia whenever Bishop’s around.
Bishop.
I catch myself clenching my jaw.
I can’t stand him—every little thing about him disgusts me.
I want him to suffer, to feel the weight of everything he’s done to me.
No, I don’t just want that—I want to destroy him.
Completely. Make him regret ever crossing me.
But wanting it isn’t enough.
I need to figure out how to hurt him—really hurt him.
“Do you not know the answer?” Professor O’Donnelly asks, snapping me from my thoughts.
I blink, looking up at her.
“Uh, could you repeat that?” I ask.
She quirks a smile and repeats the question without hesitation.
This time, the answer comes to me almost immediately, and I respond without missing a beat.
“Correct,” she says, her smile still faint but laced with something subtle, like a touch of approval that feels almost patronizing.
“Very good, Sylvester’s tutelage seems to have paid off,” she adds, her voice sweet but with a definite undercurrent of something else.
“You must have learned well from him, hmmm?”
Her praise, though directed at Sylvester, makes my stomach churn.
I knew these things from my own study, not because of him.
But then, as she speaks, I suddenly feel something—a soft brush of skin against my bare ankle.
I hadn’t bothered to change out of my pajama shorts when I stormed out of my dorm room, so my legs are still exposed.
At first, it’s subtle, almost like an accident, but the longer it continues, the more unsettling it becomes.
At first, I try to ignore it, focusing on her next question.
But every time she speaks, the sensation lingers, slow but deliberate.
I glance over at Sylvester, but he’s engrossed in his textbook, flipping through pages to confirm my answer.
He doesn’t give the slightest indication that anything unusual is happening.
Okay, so it’s definitely not him doing this.
O’Donnelly asks another question, her voice soft and calculating, and I answer it.
Her foot hovers, brushing against my bare leg as if it’s some sort of twisted reward for my correct response.
That can’t be right…
can it? Her leg shifts, pressing a little higher, nearly to my knee now.
The transition from accidental to deliberate is undeniable.
Her presence is too close now, her leg brushing mine with an intimacy that feels wrong, but she seems to be enjoying herself.
Before I can respond, O’Donnelly smiles again, though it’s colder now, as if she’s savoring some secret I’m not a part of—except I am.
“Well done, Alex,” she purrs, her voice dripping with sweetness that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Clearly, Sylvester’s been an excellent tutor.”
The pressure against my leg increases, this time unmistakable.
O’Donnelly’s leg is deliberately rubbing against mine.
My stomach flips in equal parts confusion and disgust.
Sylvester must sense my discomfort because he glances down, and even from my peripheral, I can see how his face contorts.
He lets out a grunt and tugs me out of my seat, as if it’s his natural reaction to do so.
I’m up and standing before I even have time to fully process what just happened.
I glance at him, confusion flaring as I try to make sense of the strange situation.
O’Donnelly watches us, her smile slowly fading.
She takes her time, glancing between Sylvester and me.
It’s almost as if she has the audacity to be slightly confused.
She’s confused? I’m the one getting felt up by her, and I’m not even sure if those advances were meant for me.
Her voice breaks the silence, but it’s softer, almost pouty.
“Ah, is our time up already?” she murmurs, as if she didn’t expect things to turn out this way.
I stand taller, still a little dizzy from the sudden shift.
I’m trying to piece together what just happened.
Sylvester’s hands, now released from mine, linger in the air for a moment before he folds his arms, his posture stiff.
He doesn’t speak right away, but when he does, there’s something about him that’s closed off, like he’s no longer playing along with O’Donnelly’s little game.
“Yeah, we’ve had enough for the night,” Sylvester says, his voice flat but firm.
He doesn’t look at O’Donnelly as he speaks, his gaze fixed firmly on me, as if silently making sure I’m okay.
Why should he care if I am?
I push the thought aside and stand straighter, brushing my shorts down.
I don’t look at him as I start heading toward the door, my mind already running through ways to escape the situation.
I don’t want to deal with any of this right now.
Not with him. Not with O’Donnelly and her weird, uncomfortable flirtation.
“My roommate’s probably freaking out,” I mutter dismissively.
“I should probably get back.”
The evening air outside hits my skin, but it’s not as cold as it was the other day, and thankfully, it’s not raining.
Still, it doesn’t do much to shake the discomfort swirling in my stomach.
I keep walking, needing distance from the situation.
“You know, you’re pretty fast for someone so short,” Sylvester jokes, easily catching up to me.
I wouldn’t call myself short, just average.
But compared to the rest of the Legacies, who all seem to have freakishly tall genes, I definitely didn’t inherit that particular trait.
Regardless, I don’t respond to his attempt at humor and continue down the cobblestone path back to my dorm room.
“There’s a party happening tomorrow night down by the shoreline,” he says, trying to pull my attention away from my thoughts.
I keep walking, ignoring him completely.
“You should come,” he continues, his voice more persistent now.
“Everyone will be there. It’s kind of a weekly thing.”
I quicken my pace, hoping he’ll get the hint, but of course, he doesn’t.
Sylvester’s long strides easily match mine, his presence still lingering like a shadow.
But he wasn’t my shadow…
that was Bishop.
“Look,” he says, his voice shifting to something more serious.
“I know what you thought you saw back there with O’Donnelly. It’s not what you think.”
I can’t help but scoff, dismissing him.
Really? Because it seemed pretty clear to me.
Sylvester sighs, dragging a hand through his blond locks like he’s trying to gather his thoughts.
“It’s complicated. O’Donnelly, she…has a thing for younger guys, especially those from Legacy families. It’s not what you think.”
I stop walking and turn to face him.
“Really? And what exactly do you think I think?”
He’s defensive now, his voice sharp.
“ I think you’re being judgmental.”
“Judgmental?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing, but then again, maybe I can.
“She’s a professor. A really, really old professor.” But a professor, nonetheless.
“I know that,” he responds defensively.
“Have you swallowed too much water swimming all those laps in the pool?”
“I didn’t expect her to act that way when she insisted on coming tonight,” he defends himself.
“She’s never been so…forward.”
Is he serious?
I can’t even comprehend his reasoning.
I let out an exasperated sigh.
“And that makes it okay?”
“I told you, you don’t understand how things work here.”
“Clearly not,” I snap back.
“And frankly, I don’t want to understand a system that allows this kind of behavior.”
He rubs the back of his neck, the tension clear in his posture as a frustrated sigh slips out.
“It’s not that simple. There are…expectations. Traditions. Things we have to do to maintain our status.”
“And that includes letting professors feel you up under the table?” I ask incredulously.
Sylvester winces. “No…well, yes. Look, I didn’t ask for this. None of us did. But sometimes…sometimes we have to make compromises, let things slide if it means we get things in return.”
I stare at him, waiting.
“Like what?”
He sighs.
“Access. Favorable placements. Letters of recommendation. Grades that keep you eligible. And sometimes… information.”
I shake my head, disgust welling up inside me.
“That’s not a compromise. That’s exploitation.”
And yet…
if the Legacies are really so powerful, so influential—why is someone like O’Donnelly allowed to get away with this?
Is this what they were raised to believe success looks like?
That doing whatever it takes means letting things slide, even when it’s gross and humiliating?
If that’s the cost of staying at the top, then maybe the whole system is already rotten.
Then again, I already knew that—had seen it in a hundred smaller ways since the day I got here.
So why am I even surprised?
He looks away, unable to meet my eyes.
“You don’t get it. The pressure we’re under, the expectation—”
“Stop,” I cut him off, holding up a hand.
I don’t want to hear about Legacy pressures or expectations right now.
“I’m just trying to explain—”
“You don’t need to explain anything,” I interrupt again.
“What you need to do is report her behavior to the administration and board.”
Sylvester lets out a humorless laugh.
“Report her? Man, you really are new around here.”
“I’m going inside,” I snap, cutting him off before he can say anything else, already stepping away from him and toward my dorm building.
Without another word, I push through the door and head inside.
As I make my way down the hallway, I feel a hand suddenly block my path.
It’s Victoria, my RA, standing in the middle of the hall like she’s got all the time in the world.
I exhale sharply and turn on my heel, fully prepared to keep walking past her.
“Rough night?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, already sizing up my less-than-thrilled expression.
I give a short, exasperated huff, but otherwise let the silence linger like a thick, suffocating fog.
She doesn’t back off.
Instead, she steps even closer, her lips curling into a slight smirk.
“Still the delightful charmer I see.”
My eyes tighten, not in the mood to entertain her game.
“What do you want?”
She leans in, her lips pressing together before twisting in an almost dismissive way.
“Mandatory hall meeting tomorrow night. You’ll be there. I’ll only say this once—don’t be late. I’ve got plans after with my girlfriend, and I’m not waiting on a bunch of lazy residents who can’t follow directions. Got it?”
I let out a long breath, the weight of the night already pressing on me.
“What time?”
“7:00 PM, sharp. Common room,” she says, and I can already hear the finality in her voice as she turns, giving me her back.
“Be there, or I’ll make you regret it.”
As she walks off, her shoes bounce with the rhythm of someone who thinks they’ve got it all figured out.
I mutter under my breath, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I keep walking, slower now, the warped wooden floor creaking beneath my feet.
The hallway reeks of dampness and something vaguely metallic—like old pipes and mold I know no one bothered to clean.
I wrinkle my nose, pausing as I glance at the vent just above the doorframe.
“Hey, Victoria?” I call out, keeping my voice neutral.
She sighs loudly and turns, hands already on her hips.
“What now?”
I lie.
“My room’s had this… smell lately. Like something’s crawling through the vents and died.” I gesture vaguely toward the ceiling.
“Is there a way to access the pipes or grates? Like, to clean them out or whatever?”
Victoria scoffs, clearly annoyed.
“You’re welcome to try. Maintenance barely touches anything in our building, so if you wanna scrub grime out of decade-old ducts, knock yourself out.” She starts walking away again, but pauses long enough to add, “Just don’t break anything. I’m not dealing with the paperwork and I’ll have to write you up.”
I raise an eyebrow, keeping my tone casual, but pushing just a little.
“Yeah, of course. But, like, what’s the best way to get to the grates without causing too much damage? You know, so I don’t make more work for you?”
She shoots me a side-eye, but begrudgingly answers.
“You just twist the edges of the grates—no big deal. As for the main pipe system… you’ll find the access hatch in the basement. Don’t expect it to be clean though. It’s a maze down there.”
“Got it,” I say, giving her a nod as she walks off, clearly done with the conversation.
I let the silence settle around me again.
Sylvester’s words echo in my mind.
Sometimes we have to make compromises…
let things slide if it means we get things in return.
I had. I let the fountain incident slide—not for them, but because it had affected my friend too.
And I wasn't about to let her suffer just so I could make a point. That was my compromise. But that didn’t mean I was giving in. Not the way Sylvester had. Not the way the Legacies do.
The professors, the system—they’re all in on it. They look the other way, give passes, and in return, they get access—grades, resources, control. And they let the rest of us play along, scraping by just to stay in the game.
I tell myself I’m exhausted—and maybe I am. Maybe I should crawl into bed and pretend tomorrow might be better. But something about Victoria’s flippant little dismissal sparks something in me.
A different kind of energy surges beneath my skin. Cold. Focused. Familiar.
I tug my hoodie up over my ears and head back outside, the door clicking shut behind me with a quiet finality.
Across the courtyard, the Legacy dorm buildings sit like monuments in the dark—polished on the outside, rotting at the core.
My eyes drift over each one, slow and deliberate. And then I smile.
Let’s see how they like the smell of compromise.