9. Alex
Chapter 9
Alex
A s the clouds hung heavy in the overcast sky on this gloomy Friday morning, I’m almost to the shoreline, waiting for Atlas to arrive and begin our Oceanic Reflection class.
The sooner it starts, the sooner I can finish the last of my punishment.
I’m certain today will be the final day of the tedious task.
The stone basins, weathered and rough to the touch, have absorbed hours of scrubbing over the past week.
Its coarse surface seems to mock me with every stroke, and after days of cleaning their jagged edges, I can honestly say I never want to touch another fountain again in my life.
A yawn slips out before I can stop it, the kind that clings to your bones after a long night.
Even after a hot shower, I swear I can still smell the faint, chemical tang of rust and something sharper—like whatever clung to the vents had decided to cling to me, too.
Luckily, the rancid stench didn’t linger—though considering the cocktail I crammed into those ducts, it’s honestly a miracle.
I raided the dining hall for anything that wouldn’t survive the night without refrigeration—milk, eggs, some blue cheese, that weird seafood medley no one ever touches.
And just to be petty, I added a bottle of stagnant water from one of the fountains.
If I had to suffer scrubbing it, they could breathe it in.
The air’s already starting to turn crisp in the mornings, which means the dorms will be cranking up the heat any day now.
When that happens—when the warm air kicks through the vents and pushes that rot into every corner—they’re really going to notice.
It was payback. But also…
not. Not really.
Because compared to what they did to me—what they let happen—this barely even counts.
It wasn’t the move. It wasn’t the endgame.
Just a placeholder. Something to fill the space while I worked through what real justice would look like.
Something to remind them I’m still here, still breathing, still not giving up.
This wasn’t forgiveness.
This was a warning.
As I approach, something shifts in the air.
Conversations stop mid-sentence, and it’s like the entire class collectively holds its breath.
The usual hushed whispers fall into complete silence.
I don’t think much of it at first. After all, I’m used to this by now.
I’m not exactly well-liked here.
But something feels different this time.
What stands out, though, is the smug smirk plastered across Ophelia’s face.
My eyes narrow in suspicion.
Something’s off.
“What’s going on?” I demand, cutting straight to the point as I stop in the center of the group.
Reith, the guy I vaguely recognize from a ridiculous prank involving the giant fake octopus weeks ago, steps forward.
His voice laced with quiet empathy.
He glances at Ophelia briefly before looking back at me.
“I think Ophelia’s been going through your stuff. She found something personal you left for Bishop and, well…she’s been threatening to share it with everyone.”
Ophelia’s smirk widens as she holds up something in her hand.
I recognize it instantly.
It’s one of the several notes I’d planted for Bishop to find, to get him to leave me alone—ones I never expected would come back to haunt me like this.
My stomach drops for a moment, but I quickly mask the feeling with a raised brow.
How did she get a hold of those?
I’d planted them in my mailbox for Bishop to find after I discovered he’d been breaking into it.
Had she somehow gained access to my mailbox too?
Had Bishop—or the other Legacies—helped her?
The corner of my mouth lifts and I cross my arms. “What’s this, Ophelia? Couldn’t find anything of your own to hold onto, so you’re picking through my trash now?”
Ophelia’s smirk falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, lifting her chin defiantly.
“I’m just showing everyone what you’ve been up to. Trying to seduce my boyfriend, no less. It’s not my fault you left your little love notes lying around. It’s pathetic, really.”
I shrug, feigning indifference.
“I’m sure he was flattered.” Why else would he have kept them, if not?
But I don’t bother wasting my breath pointing that out.
“But if you’re really that desperate to share, go ahead.”
Ophelia’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes flashing with a barely veiled irritation.
“You think you’re special?” she sneers, jealousy dripping from her words.
“Bishop gets things like this all the time. Girls across campus send him stuff every day. Gifts. Letters. It’s nothing new.”
So why does she sound so upset right now?
A small, knowing smirk tugs at my lips.
“Has he ever opened one from you?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
Ophelia’s face flushes with a mix of anger and embarrassment, the flush creeping up her neck as her eyes dart away for a moment, caught off guard.
It’s obvious she wasn’t expecting things to go this way.
After a brief, sharp inhale, she scoffs and pulls the note open, clearing her throat in a deliberate, almost forced motion.
“ Every time you look at me, I feel this heat burning through me , scorching my every rational thought. I need to know what it’s like to have you take what you want from me, to have you in control, making me beg for it. I can’t stop thinking about how you’d feel, how you’d move inside me, pushing me until I can’t think straight… I need you— ”
Her voice stutters slightly as she gets to the juicier parts, but she’s trying to make it as dramatic as possible.
That is, until just as she gets to the most vulgar part, Bishop steps in—his movements so sudden, it catches everyone by surprise.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Ophelia?” His voice is low, guttural, like a predator’s snarl before it strikes.
He strides over to her in two long, furious steps, his hand shooting out so fast that she doesn’t even have time to flinch.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he rips the note from her grasp and, with a brutal flick of his wrist, crumples it into a tight ball.
The paper makes a muffled sound of protest, but the fury in his face drowns it out.
He shoves the crumpled note into his blazer pocket with a swift, almost mechanical motion, but his eyes never leave her.
His jaw is tight, teeth clenched so hard it looks like his face might crack under the strain.
The other students instinctively take a step back, not just from the shock of his sudden movement, but from the raw, simmering rage radiating off him like heat from a furnace.
Smart.
Ophelia stumbles, blinking in confusion.
“Bishop, I—”
“Don’t!” he barks, his voice was a razor-sharp weapon, slicing through her words with a ferocity that made her recoil.
“Don’t even try to explain yourself right now.”
He takes another step closer, and she takes one back, but there’s nowhere to go.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice cracks like thunder, the fury in it so thick it fills the area.
“I warned you— warned you —not to go through my stuff again!”
He’s trembling, the kind of shaking that comes from barely contained rage, from a volcanic eruption just waiting for the right trigger to make it explode.
“You think this is funny?” Bishop’s voice cuts through the air, thick with contempt.
“You think my privacy is some kind of joke ? Like it’s something to be tossed aside whenever you feel like it?” He spits the words out, each one heavier than the last.
Ophelia’s eyes widen in shock, her face flushing with a mix of shame and confusion.
Had she ever seen him this mad?
Has he ever been this angry before?
His voice lowers, but it still drips with venom.
“You’ve crossed a line, this time.” A vein in Bishop’s neck pulses visibly, the tension radiating off him like a physical force, his whole body is coiled tight as a bowstring, jerking with the force of his anger.
For the first time since I arrived at Altair, I’m nothing but an observer in this battle—not the target.
It’s jarring, unexpected.
Normally, his anger and cutting words have been aimed at me, but now…
now , they’re directed at Ophelia.
And oddly, I realize that in a strange way, they’re almost in my defense.
It’s an unexpected shift, a surprise that leaves me off balance.
Ophelia stammers, trying to speak, but Bishop isn’t having it.
“Shut. Up,” he growls, each word like a punch to the gut.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. You don’t get to twist this into something it’s not.”
For a moment, the air is thick with suspense, and then, with a swift motion, Bishop turns toward me.
His gaze sharpens instantly, cutting through the crowd of students as if nothing else exists but me.
In that brief flicker, I catch something darker in his eyes, something dangerous, before he exhales roughly, like he’s trying to release some of the rage building up inside him.
I can’t help but wonder…
is he using me as an anchor for his anger?
The thought is absurd, but it creeps in anyway, gnawing at me.
Maybe I’m going crazy, maybe this is just the aftermath of the fight, but no—his focus, the intensity of it, is unmistakable.
But then…why did he stop Ophelia from reading that note?
Why did he cut her off when she was trying to embarrass me?
Shouldn’t that be exactly what he wants?
What does he get out of defending me in this way?
For another heartbeat, our eyes stay locked, and I feel the weight of his gaze settle over me, heavy and intense, like it’s pulling something from me.
I don’t move. Instead, my heart stills.
There’s a heat radiating off him, something almost magnetic, and I can smell the faint trace of cigarette smoke clinging to him, adding to the rawness of the moment.
But strangely, I don’t feel fear.
This is different. It’s something unfamiliar, a pull I can’t ignore, and it unsettles me.
But then, just as quickly as the moment started, it’s broken.
“Good morning, students!” Atlas greets us enthusiastically, clapping his hands.
Another man steps up beside him.
Coach Barkley, the rowing coach, looks as though he’s permanently upset, his forehead creased in deep scowl lines.
He’s dressed in a black tracksuit with white stripes down the arms and legs, radiating no warmth whatsoever.
“You may be wondering why the rowing team has joined us today, and why our class is here with them,” Atlas says, his eyes glinting playfully at Barkley, who remains stoic with his arms crossed.
I quickly realize why Coach Barkley and Bishop seem to get along—they’re practically twins in temperament.
“After much discussion ,” Atlas glances at Barkley, who answers with a grunt.
“We’ve decided to combine a portion of our classes indefinitely. This will help foster better relationships between our peers. Isn’t that exciting, everyone?”
Why do I feel like this has something to do with my near-drowning in the first class?
Bishop’s face twists into an almost imperceptible scowl as he clenches his fists.
Without a word, he turns on his heel, clearly ready to storm off.
Coach Barkley steps forward with surprising speed, his hand pressing at Bishop’s chest. “Not so fast, Ashbourne. If I’m stuck doing this, then so are you,” he says, his voice harsh and unwavering.
Bishop mutters something under his breath but doesn’t make another move.
He glares at Barkley, looking like he’s ready to break him into a million pieces from sheer frustration.
Meanwhile, Atlas claps his hands again, his cheerful tone never faltering.
“Alright! Now, let’s pair up. One member of the Oceanic Reflection class with one member of the rowing team. I want everyone to work together. Let’s make the most of this!”
Bishop scans the shoreline, his eyes settling on me with a look that could curdle milk.
His features harden, and a hint of exasperation flickers in his eyes.
“Prescott. You’re with me,” he orders, his words clipped, a threat wrapped in command.
I give him a look that clearly says try again .
“Yeah, no.” Bishop wasn’t exactly at the top of my list—more like the bottom, buried under a mountain of better options.
Especially not after the way he’d just tried to storm off.
I might be newish to Altair, but I’d learned quickly when to avoid poking the lion in its cage.
Bishop’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t relent.
“I’m not asking.”
“Yeah, and I’m still saying no.” I cross my arms, unimpressed.
“Ever heard that word before?”
He stares at me, his gaze cold as ice, but I don’t flinch.
“I don’t do ‘no,’” he growls in response.
I arch an eyebrow, unfazed.
“Really? Because ‘no’ seems to be the only word I’m hearing right now.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
Bishop fixes me with a glare that could cut through steel.
“You really want to test me right now?”
“No, I just don’t find your tantrums all that entertaining.”
Coach Barkley’s voice rings out, his permanent scowl deepening as he surveys the group.
“This isn’t some kumbaya circle,” he barks.
“Finish pairing up. Immediately.”
I look around, then yank at the first student’s arm I find—which just happens to be Reith’s.
I loop my arm around his like I’m claiming prime real estate.
“Found my partner,” I announce with a flirty wink in his direction.
Bishop notices, his gaze snapping to Reith, his posture rigid.
“Reith. Hands off.”
It’s almost comical— I’m the one who reached for him, not the other way around.
But there’s no denying the edge in his voice, like he’s staking a claim.
I glance at Reith, who looks utterly caught in the middle.
He hesitates for a second, eyes flicking between us before he slowly shrugs me off.
“Bishop, you don’t need to—” he starts, but Bishop cuts him off, grinding out the words.
“It wasn’t a question.”
I stare at my shadow for a moment, trying to figure out what’s going on.
Why is he acting like this?
He’s made it clear from day one that he doesn’t like me, and he’s been trying to get me to leave since we met.
So what’s this sudden push for control?
Was this still about that note he intercepted from Ophelia earlier?
Or was this something more…
I don’t get the chance to think much more on it before Atlas steps in, clapping his hands to break the tension.
“Alright, alright, students. We’ll be starting shortly. Please, head over here once you’ve chosen a partner.”
I’m still processing Bishop’s strange behavior as I give Reith a half-apologetic look and pull him back to my side, walking us over to where Atlas instructed.
Bishop says nothing, but his silence is louder than any words.
“Alright, listen up,” Coach Barkley’s gruff voice cuts through the chatter.
“Today’s exercise is simple.”
“You’ll be running a paired obstacle course along the shoreline. One partner from each pair will be blindfolded, while the other guides them through the course using only verbal instructions. The goal is to work as a unit, relying on each other’s strengths to overcome obstacles and improve communication,” Atlas explains further.
I can’t help but smirk.
If Bishop had gotten his way and partnered with me, I have no doubt he would have “accidentally” guided me straight into the water again.
“And remember, students, this isn’t just about speed. It’s about teamwork and conversation,” Atlas adds, his enthusiasm a stark contrast to Barkley’s gruff demeanor.
Coach Barkley mutters his agreement.
“The quicker you all finish your task, the sooner rowing team can turn our attention back to what’s important,” he remarks, not showing the same level of enthusiasm as Atlas for this new endeavor.
I glance at Reith, sizing him up.
He’s tall but not necessarily lanky, with dark hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose breaking up his otherwise dark complexion.
“So who’s wearing the blindfold?” I ask him.
Reith grins. “Ladies first?” he suggests, holding up the cloth between us.
“Fine, but if you lead me into a sand trap or something, I’m going to make you regret it,” I say, allowing Reith to secure the blindfold over my eyes.
The world goes dark, and I immediately feel vulnerable.
My other senses heighten, and I become acutely aware of the sound of waves crashing nearby, the feel of sand shifting beneath my feet.
“Okay, you ready?” Reith’s voice comes from my left, closer than I expected.
“As I’ll ever be,” I mutter.
“Alright, everyone!” Atlas calls out.
“On your marks…get set…go!”
Suddenly, the shoreline erupts into a cacophony of voices as partners start guiding their blindfolded teammates.
I stand still, waiting for Reith’s instructions.
“Take three steps forward,” he says calmly.
I obey, my shoes sinking slightly into the soft sand.
“Good,” Reith says. “Now turn about 45 degrees to your left toward the tree line and take five big steps.”
I follow his instructions, moving cautiously.
The sounds of other pairs shouting and stumbling around us fill the air.
“Stop!” Reith calls out suddenly.
“There’s a small dip in front of you. Take a big step over it.”
I do as he says.
Then I hear a yelp followed by laughter—someone must have fallen.
“Nice job,” Reith encourages.
“Okay, now we’ve got a series of small hurdles. I’ll count them out for you. Ready?”
I nod, then realize he probably can’t see me.
“Yeah, go for it.”
“Alright, lift your right foot…now! Good. Left foot…now! Perfect. Right foot again…now!”
We continue like this for what feels like ages, Reith’s steady voice guiding me through the course.
Despite my initial reservations, I find myself relaxing into the rhythm of his instructions.
He’s surprisingly good at this, his directions clear and precise.
Unlike my shadow, who prefers to order rather than instruct.
Speaking of which…
Suddenly, I hear a commotion to my right.
“Left! I said left !” Bishop’s frustrated voice cuts through the air.
“I’m trying!” Ophelia whines.
“You try covering your eyes next time. It’s not as easy as it looks!”
Bishop huffs, clearly done with the situation.
“If I had a dollar for every time you’ve blamed your mistakes on something else, I could afford a second pair of eyes for you.”
I can’t help but smirk beneath my blindfold.
Looks like Bishop’s getting a taste of his own medicine.
I guess he found someone as delightful as him.
Serves him right for being so pushy earlier.
“You’re doing great, Alex,” Reith says encouragingly.
“We’re making good time. Now, there’s a balance beam coming up. It’s about six inches off the ground and ten feet long. Think you can handle it?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself.
“Let’s do this.”
Carefully, Reith guides me onto the beam.
I wobble slightly at first, but his voice keeps me focused.
“That’s it, nice and steady. You’re about halfway there.”
I concentrate on Reith’s voice, blocking out the chaos around us.
My arms are outstretched for balance as I inch forward on the beam.
“You’re almost there,” he says.
“Just three more steps.”
I take another cautious step, then another.
Just as I’m about to take my final step, I hear a shout from nearby.
“Watch out!” someone yells, followed by a loud thud and a yelp of pain.
Startled, I lose my balance.
I feel myself starting to fall and brace for impact with the sand below.
But instead of hitting the ground, I feel strong hands grip my arm at the last second, steadying me.
“I’ve got you,” Reith says.
“You’re okay. Dude—”
“Whoops.” I hear Bishop deadpan.
“I swear, if you knocked into us on purpose…” Reith’s voice trails off, a hint of anger in his tone.
“Hey, it’s not my fault Ophelia can’t follow simple directions,” Bishop retorts.
“She practically bulldozed into you two.”
“Did not!” Ophelia protests.
“You told me to go right!”
I feel Reith’s hands slowly release my fingers as I regain my footing on solid ground.
“Can I take this blindfold off now?” I complain, reaching up to touch the fabric covering my eyes.
“Not yet. We’ve still got one more obstacle to go. But you’re doing great. Don’t let those two throw you off.”
“Okay” I say, steadying myself.
“What’s the last obstacle?”
“It’s a rope swing,” Reith explains.
“You’ll need to grab onto it and swing across a small pit to the finish line.”
My stomach churns with anxiety.
“A rope swing? While blindfolded? Are you serious?”
“I know it sounds daunting, but I’ll be right here guiding you the whole time,” he assures me.
“You’re doing awesome.”
I swallow hard and nod.
“Alright, fine.”
Reith leads me forward a few more steps until I feel the rough texture of rope against my palm.
“Grab on tight with both hands,” he instructs.
“You’ll just have to pull the rope back, and when I say ‘now,’ I want you to lift your feet off the ground and swing forward.”
I grip the rope tightly, my palms already starting to sweat.
The rough fibers dig into my skin as I pull back, feeling the tension in the rope.
“Ready?” Reith asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I reply, blandly.
“On three. One…two…three…now!”
I push off with my feet, my stomach lurching as I leave the ground behind.
For a moment, I’m suspended in darkness, the wind rushing past my face as I swing forward.
It’s both terrifying and exhilarating.
“Let go…now!” Reith shouts.
I release the rope, my body flying through the air.
For a heart-stopping moment, I’m falling, and then I hit the ground with a soft thud, stumbling forward a few steps before regaining my balance.
“You did it!” My partner’s voice is filled with excitement.
“You can take off the blindfold now. We’ve crossed the finish line!”
My hands fly to the soft fabric, yanking it off.
I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust to the sudden shift in brightness.
Reith stands before me, grinning from ear to ear.
Behind him, I can see other pairs still struggling through the course.
“We did it,” I breathe, a smile spreading across my face as the adrenaline begins to fade.
Reith laughs and pulls me into a quick hug and high five.
“Of course we did.”
I look around, taking in the obstacle course we just conquered.
The rope swing dangles innocently behind us, it no longer seems as daunting now that I can see it.
Other pairs are still navigating the course with shouts and laughter.
“Did we win?” I ask, breathless.
“Not quite,” Reith says with a chuckle, “but we definitely did alright. Look.”
He points to where Atlas stands, marking down other students on a clipboard.
We’re the second pair to finish.
“Second place,” I say, a smile spreading across my face.
“Not bad at all.”
“Not bad?” Reith raises an eyebrow.
“That was incredible! You should have seen yourself on that rope swing,” he continues, his eyes shining with excitement.
“It was like watching a pro. I barely had to guide you at all.”
I feel a flush of pride at his words, but before I can respond, we hear a commotion from the course behind us.
Turning, we see Ophelia stumbling across the finish line, a disgruntled-looking Bishop stomping just behind her.
“Finally!” Ophelia exclaims, ripping off her blindfold.
Her usually styled hair is disheveled, and there’s a smudge of sand on her cheek.
“I thought we’d never make it through this stupid course.”
Bishop trudges past her, not sparing her another glance as he heads for the boathouse.
“We’d be done by now if someone hadn’t insisted on taking a left every time I said right ,” he mutters, his voice dripping with exasperation, before disappearing inside.
I can’t help but laugh at their bickering.
“Well, at least you made it,” I say, forcing a sweet smile.
“That’s something, right?”
Ophelia glares at me, still fuming.
“Easy for you to say. I’m sure Reith was a saint the entire time.”
“He was,” I confirm with a grin, sending him a warm smile.
He gives a soft chuckle, his cheeks tinged pink.
“Unlike some people,” Ophelia mutters under her breath, brushing excess sand off her uniform.
“Alright, everyone! Gather ’round, gather ’round,” Atlas announces loudly.
Then, with a sigh, he adds, “Well, I suppose that was an enjoyable experience for everyone, wasn’t it?”
Some students look triumphant, others disappointed, and a few are still catching their breath.
“Can we get back to the actual purpose of my employment at this university now?” Coach Barkley requests.
Atlas chuckles, not the least bit annoyed at Coach Barkley’s impatience.
“All in good time, Coach. Let’s wrap this up first.” He turns back to address the group.
“Alright, everyone. Great job out there today. This exercise was about trust, communication, and teamwork—skills that will serve you well both on and off the field, but especially those third years partaking in the games this year.”
I glance at Reith, thinking about how seamlessly we worked together.
He catches my eye and gives me a small nod of acknowledgment.
A sharp twinge runs through me as I watch the others, knowing they’re all gearing up with anticipation.
I’m currently ranked at the top—no thanks to Maxwell—but I still refuse to take part in something as archaic as the games.
I can already hear the arguments they’ll make when the topic comes up again: the tradition, the honor, the glory.
But to me, it’s all just a way to keep things the same, to bind us to the past instead of moving forward.
I feel like I’m stuck watching a dying ritual from the sidelines, while everyone else cheers it on.
“Are we done now?” Barkley grumbles, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes, Coach, we’re done. Your rowing team is all yours again.”
As the group begins to disperse, I turn to Reith.
“Thanks for being such a great partner,” I say, offering him a genuine smile.
“You really saved me back there.”
He grins back, running a hand through his dark hair as the groups begin to disperse.
“Anytime. It was fun. Maybe we can team up again next time.”
Before I can respond, I feel a presence behind me.
I turn, already bracing myself, and there stands my shadow, his green eyes fixed on me with that intense, unsettling focus of his.
“Prescott,” he says, his voice deep and authoritative.
“A word?”
“I think we’ve already said enough today,” I reply, annoyance creeping into my tone.
I’m not in the mood for any more of his outbursts, especially now that I’m the focus of them again.
His jaw clenches, a slight twitch of muscle as his gaze flicks briefly to Reith, then back to me.
“In private,” he insists, the command clear in his voice.
I glance at Reith, who looks between us with an unreadable expression.
He hesitates for a moment, then nods, his face guarded.
“Sure. I’ll catch you later, Alex.”
As Reith walks off, I can’t help but think, traitor.
I turn back to Bishop, crossing my arms over my chest. “You didn’t win,” I say, irritation bubbling up.
“Deal with it.”
“This isn’t about winning or losing,” he snaps, what little patience he normally has long gone.
“It’s about you.”
I raise my chin, taken aback.
“Me? What about me?”
“Next time I tell you to do something, you do it. Got it?” His tone is stern, final.
I step closer, letting my voice drop low.
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“Same as before. I’m not asking,” he snaps, his voice sharp as a razor’s edge.
I stand my ground, my smirk biting back.
“Funny, because I wasn’t asking either. Same as before ,” I spit back.
“You think this is a negotiation?”
“I wouldn’t call it that. More like a one-sided conversation.”
He smirks, he seems almost…
entertained? Was he actually amused by this?
By my defiance? It’s strange, unsettling even—one minute, he’s yelling, and now he’s acting like…
well, like a normal person.
Except for the whole demanding part.
“Cute, troublemaker,” he mutters, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth.
“But fine.”
Fine.
“ Fine ?” Was I really talking to the same Bishop?
“You can make up for disobeying me today by joining me tomorrow.”
Ah, there’s the condescending Bishop I knew—wait.
What? I blink, caught off guard by his words, and his grin tells me he’s already won.
It was a smile that conveyed both condescension and victory, leaving me feeling off-balance and outmaneuvered.
“That’s not happening.”
He shrugs, his indifference almost palpable.
“Tomorrow. I’ll meet you at your room. Dress however you want. I don’t really give a fuck.”