16. Sutton
Chapter 16
Sutton
T he scent of lead and charcoal hangs in the air, a heady mix of chemicals and creativity.
Ah, my favorite smell.
I’m just finishing up my work when I notice Cam and my brother making their way up the final flight of stairs to our designated area in the dining hall.
Even in this space, Legacy is held above everyone else.
I quickly tuck away my sketchbook, not wanting them to see my latest designs.
Cam’s eyes light up as he spots me, his smile as bright as ever, despite the exhaustion that seems to cling to him.
“There you are!” Cam is slightly out of breath but I know it has nothing to do with the climb.
“We’ve been looking all over for you.”
My twin, ever the stoic one, simply smiles in greeting.
Sly’s gaze, however, lingers on the charcoal smudges on my hands.
I resist the urge to hide them behind my back.
“What’s happening?” I ask casually.
“I thought you guys were going to practice fencing together?”
Cam and Sly exchange a knowing look before bursting into laughter.
“Well, that was the plan,” Cam explains taking a seat at the table.
“But your brother here decided to show off and ended up pulling a muscle,” Cam finishes, playfully nudging Sly.
He winces slightly, though I can’t tell if it’s from the memory or Cam’s touch.
“I didn’t show off,” he protests weakly.
“I was just…demonstrating proper form.”
I raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at my lips.
“Proper form for what? Injuring yourself?”
Sly scoffs, but I can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Very funny. I’ll have you know it was a very impressive move. Just…poorly executed.”
“It was impressive, alright,” Cam chimes in, his eyes twinkling in memory.
“Impressively disastrous. You should have seen him, sprawled out on the mat like a starfish.”
I can’t help but laugh at the mental image.
My brother, always so confident and effortlessly charming, completely out of sorts on the fencing mat.
It’s a rare sight, that’s for sure.
“My only regret is no one else was there to witness your moment of glory,” I tease, unable to resist.
Sly shoots me a playful glare.
“Keep it up and I’ll tell Cam about what happened when we were ten.”
I feel my cheeks flush at the memory.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” he challenges, a promise in his eyes.
Cam looks between us, clearly intrigued.
“Oh, now this I have to hear.”
I can feel how my face flushes slightly, a mix of embarrassment and amusement.
“Yes, well, perhaps it’s for the best you don’t. My reputation should remain intact.”
“Come on,” Cam pleads.
“You can’t just dangle that tantalizing tidbit and not follow through. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
I shoot a warning glance at Sly, but he’s already grinning, clearly ready to spill the beans.
I sigh, resigning myself to the inevitable.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But only if you swear on your honor as a Legacy to never breathe a word of this to anyone else.”
They both nod solemnly, though I can see the mirth dancing in their eyes.
We each raise our thumbs and twist our wrists to the left, connecting our fingers in a familiar promise.
It’s a gesture we’ve been doing since we were children, locking in our agreement.
“Alright,” I begin, my voice lowering conspiratorially.
“It was when Sly and I were kids, one of those endless summer afternoons when time seemed to stretch on forever. Our father was buried in work, as usual, and Mom was off on one of her diet-focused retreats, obsessing over some cleanse or another, leaving us to entertain ourselves. We were bored out of our minds, stuck in the house with no one around to supervise. So naturally, we decided to play hide-and-seek in the far wing of the manor, where no one ever went.”
Cam leans in, clearly enthralled.
I can see Sly’s smirk widening from the corner of my eye.
“I thought I’d found the perfect hiding spot behind this tapestry mother got when they’d vacationed in Europe,” I continue, the memory vivid in my mind.
“But as I was shuffling backwards, I miscalculated and…well, let’s just say my head found its way between two of the banister rails.”
Cam’s eyes widen.
“No way,” he breathes.
“Yes,” Sly chimes in.
“And that’s not even the best part. When I finally found her, she was stuck there, red-faced and panicking. She begged me not to tell anyone, but I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to even consider it.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands.
“It took us nearly an hour to get me unstuck. We had to use an entire bottle of cooking oil from the kitchen.”
Cam raises an eyebrow.
“Why didn’t you just ask the staff to help?”
“Would you want people seeing you like that?” I respond in my defense.
“We were trying to sneak without anyone noticing, but of course, the house was full of staff running around. We might’ve gotten away with it, but I was caught on the way back to my room.”
“Was your hair alright?” Cam asks, instinctively reaching up to adjust his own dark locks.
“My hair was a disaster, but you?” I give him an exaggerated look of sympathy.
“You probably would’ve had a meltdown.”
He shoots me a look, his expression sharp and confident, like he’s already imagining how he’d handle the disaster of messy hair.
He smooths his hair again with a decisive motion.
Sly is practically howling with laughter now, clutching his sides at the memory.
“It was priceless, Cam! Picture Sutton—all dignified and proper, with her head wedged between the rails like some sort of demented owl.”
“Go ahead, laugh all you want,” I mutter, though a small smile creeps onto my face at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“But it can’t be any worse than how you did in fencing tonight.” I toss back at him.
Cam loses it, his laughter spilling out uncontrollably as Sly’s face shifts from amusement to a more resolute expression, clearly trying to keep his composure.
After a moment, Cam wipes a tear from his eye, still grinning.
“I don’t know about that. At least Sly’s embarrassment was confined to just me. You had to face others covered in cooking oil.”
I groan again, the memory of the servants’ barely concealed grins still fresh in my mind.
“Don’t remind me. I smelled like a greasy kitchen for days.”
My body shudders involuntarily at the recollection.
To this day, anytime I get a whiff of the overpowering scent of cooking oil it makes my stomach churn.
Cam leans back in his chair, still chuckling—right as the weakened legs give out beneath him with a violent CRACK.
The collapse is instant and chaotic: wood splinters, silverware clatters, and Cam crashes to the floor in a heap of limbs and shattered furniture.
The noise is so loud, so sudden, it cuts straight through the usual clamor of the dining hall like a knife.
Conversation dies mid-sentence.
Forks freeze halfway to mouths.
For a suspended moment, the entire room is silent—stunned, breath-held silent.
Even the ever-clanking kitchen doors seem to hush.
Then the first gasp breaks the stillness.
A snort. A muffled giggle.
And suddenly, like a dam giving way, the room erupts—scattered laughter ringing out across the hall, rising in volume as students turn to stare.
“What the hell—?!” Cam shouts, flailing upright, his face flushed and furious, bits of chair still hanging off him like sad, broken armor.
He jumps to his feet, spinning and looking down toward the nearest tables.
“You think that’s funny?” he snaps, voice sharp and cutting.
For a second, the laughter falters.
A few students glance at each other, uncertain.
The silence returns—but this time, it’s thinner, tenser.
From somewhere near the back, a voice pipes up, high and clear over the hush: “Hey it’s not just you. I think maybe one of the Leaky Legacy Twins pissed themselves—smells like boiled diapers down the hallways in the dorms!”
Laughter explodes anew, louder than before.
A few students even slap the table.
Someone mimics a gagging sound, exaggerated and theatrical.
No one looks away in shame or apology—they’re watching Cam now with something bordering on open amusement, yes, but also something bolder.
Bolder and aimed not just at him, but at all of us.
The Legacies.
My stomach knots.
I glance around the room, trying to read the faces.
There’s a strange energy hanging in the air—sharp, almost electric.
They wouldn’t have dared say something like that a few months ago.
What’s going on with the students lately?
When did we stop being feared.
.. and start being fair game?
The room settles down after Cam’s outburst, but the atmosphere is still charged, buzzing with that faint, new energy.
The moment lingers, awkwardly, before Sly drapes an arm over my shoulder, his usual ease returning as if nothing happened.
But I can sense a subtle edge to his touch—like he’s trying a little too hard to pretend things are fine.
“Come on, sis. You have to admit the banister ordeal was pretty funny. And hey, at least you learned an important lesson about spatial awareness.”
I elbow him in the ribs, forcing my focus away from the twisting in my stomach.
“And you learned a lesson about showing off in fencing, I hope?”
“Alright, alright,” Sly concedes, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
“I admit defeat. Anyway, we came to see if you wanted to join us for dinner, but it looks like you beat us to it.”
I glance at the half-eaten sandwich still on the table from my lunch, suddenly realizing how long I’ve been up here sketching.
The quiet feels heavier now, and I wish the tension would just break already.
“I guess I lost track of time.”
Concern creeps into Sly’s voice.
“Have you been up here all day? You know it’s not healthy to skip meals, especially with all the training we’ve been doing lately. The extra cardio is going to catch up to us if we’re not careful.”
I roll my eyes, brushing off his worry.
“I’m fine, really. Just got caught up in a new design idea.”
“You always say that.” Sly crosses his arms. “You need to take care of yourself. You’re going to pass out in the middle of the Altair Games, and then what? Who’s going to save your butt then?”
“Pfft, I’m not going to pass out. I’ve got this under control.” I wave him off, trying to sound casual.
“Besides, we’ve all been pushing ourselves hard lately, trying to be ready for whatever’s coming.”
Sly narrows his eyes at me.
“Yeah, but if you keep ignoring basic stuff like eating, we’re going to have a problem. You can’t design your way out of that.”
Before I can think of a sharp comeback, Cam claps his hands together, a bit too eagerly.
It’s the kind of quick change in topic I recognize all too well.
“Okay, guys. I’m starving after all that laughter at your brother’s expense.”
I notice the shift in his tone—the way he suddenly jumps to food to avoid the subject—and I catch a quick glance from Sly, who seems to pick up on it too.
Neither of us says anything to correct him, though.
We let it slide, the moment passed in the wake of Cam’s interruption.
Sly mock-glares at Cam, but there’s no real heat behind it.
“Keep it up, and I might just have to challenge you to a rematch.”
“In your current state?” I chuckle, standing up and stretching.
“I don’t think that’s wise, brother dear.”
As we’re about to leave the dining hall, a girl from a nearby table approaches, her gaze flicking over our small group before she awkwardly makes her way toward me.
She holds out a small folded piece of paper, her voice deliberately casual.
“Hey, can you give this to Bishop for me?” she asks, her tone almost too sweet, as if trying to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
I glance at the paper without thinking.
It’s a familiar routine—girls doing this all the time with the Legacy boys, passing messages.
I take the paper, not even questioning it, but then something in the way the girl and her friends are watching us gives me pause.
Their eyes are fixed on me as if waiting for something, and the tension in their stares feels.
.. off. There’s an edge to it.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s enough to make me pause and glance down at the note.
“My mom’s a psychiatrist, by the way,” the girl adds lightly, her smile widening just a little too much.
“After his outburst the other day at the shoreline, she’d be happy to recommend someone for him.”
I look down at the paper again, noticing an address scrawled neatly beneath what I now assume is some kind of smug little jab—probably her mother’s office.My fist tightens around the note.
“Give it to Bishop yourself,” I say coldly.
“Or better yet—if Bishop were here right now, we both know you wouldn’t be nearly this bold.”
The girl's smirk falters, her mouth opening slightly like she wasn’t expecting pushback. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, glancing back at her table, where her friends suddenly look a lot less entertained.
Cam steps up beside me, his grin from earlier completely gone, replaced by something harder, darker. As we move past the girl, he shoots her a glare and mutters, just loud enough for her to hear, “You’d need more than your mommy’s office hours to handle Bishop.”
Sly, never one for subtlety, shoulder-checks her on the way out—not enough to knock her over, but enough to make her stumble a step, just enough to remind her and everyone else they aren’t not as untouchable as they think.
None of us look back. The dining hall’s gone too quiet behind us.
Seriously. What is going on around here?
Not in the mood to unpack what just happened back there, I stay quiet as we make our way toward the parking garage. The tension still hums under my skin, but I push it down for now.
After a beat, I turn to the other Legacies. “So… where is Bishop tonight?”
“He mentioned something about going home to help his mom with some family stuff,” Cam says, running a hand through his hair. “He seemed pretty quiet about it, so you know whatever it is… it’s probably stressing him out.”
Right.
We all know Bishop well enough to understand that he doesn’t exactly spill his guts, but when it matters, he opens up—just not in the way most people would expect. It’s more in quiet moments, when he feels the weight of something heavy, and even then, it’s never an overshare. Given all his faults, though, his dedication to his family is something I can’t help but admire, even if it means he sometimes skips out on our group activities. As we reach the parking garage, I can’t help but feel a twinge of envy. My own family dynamics are…complicated, to say the least.
“So, where are we headed?” I ask, pushing those thoughts aside—just like the ones from the dining hall.
Sly pulls out his keys, twirling them around his finger. “Cam was thinking we could try a new fusion place in town. The one with the weird name… What was it again?”
“Nebula’s Noodles,” Cam supplies, a slight glint in his eye.
“Works for me,” I say with a shrug, climbing into my brother’s luxury vehicle.
Our parents’ money certainly helped us buy cars in whichever style we desired. Sly went for the sportier model while I opted for something with a little more speed. As we exited the parking garage, the sky above is back to its usual dull grey overcast. Any chance of seeing a vibrant sunset is overshadowed by thick clouds, blocking out any colors of orange and pink that would normally paint the sky beautifully at this hour anywhere else.
As we drive through the winding streets of the town, the neon sign above the restaurant and flickering streetlights create an otherworldly glow against the dreary backdrop. It’s almost as if the town itself is trying to compensate for the lack of natural beauty in the sky.
“So, about this new design idea of yours,” Cam says, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled in the car. “Care to share with the class?”
He was always the most supportive of our small group when it came to trying to understand my passion. Sly, though, had never been shy about his doubts. “You really think this is going to work out? Art doesn’t exactly have a clear future,” he’d said more than once, his voice full of skepticism, just like our parents. “This isn’t practical, Sutton,” my mom had said when I first told them I was switching my major. “You can’t just throw away everything you’ve worked for.” Dad didn’t voice his concerns as loudly, but I could tell by his silence that he thought I was making a mistake. They’d always pushed for something more stable, something more “real.” It was frustrating, but after months of trying to defend my decision, I’d stopped bothering. We simply weren’t going to agree on this.
But Cam—Cam never hesitated. While everyone else seemed to question me, his support remained quiet but unwavering. He’d been through things none of us could fully understand, things that had changed him, made him softer, in a way. Not that he didn’t still have sharp edges, especially with people like Alex. But with us? He seemed to know what it meant to not take anything for granted. Maybe that’s why he was always there when I needed him most.
I pause briefly, tapping my fingers on my lap. “It’s still in the early phases. I’m not sure if it’ll pan out yet.”
“Is it for the carnival?” Cam inquires with interest. “You know, the archery club is hosting a game we call ‘Fun Shot.’ We’re going to have a board set up near our booth and participants can shoot arrows at clear bulbs containing slips of paper. The prize inside depends on which bulb you break.”
Sly snorts, “What’s the grand prize, a list of recommended hair product suggestions?”
“Even better,” Cam replies nonchalantly. “The winner gets to go on a date with me,” he adds with a bold wink.
“Is this why you wanted to try this place?” I ask with a grin. “Scoping out the scene before your lucky date joins you? Trying to make sure the place is good enough to impress?”
Cam laughs, a rich sound that fills the car. “Please, as if I need to impress anyone. I’m a catch, and everyone knows it.”
Sly snorts, smirking. “Yeah, unlike this one, who never seems to go out on a date.”
I scoff, shooting back quickly. “I’m selective, thank you very much. I don’t just date anyone who flashes a smile. Besides, who needs men when I have my one true love? Art.”
“Yeah, right. As if art is ever going to take you out to dinner or—”
“At least art has never walked away from me,” I cut him off, throwing him a pointed look.
I lean in a little closer, relishing the discomfort on his face, and my mind drifts back to that night outside the natatorium. The night Sly had confided in me, explaining how things went down with Alex—how it ended, and how he was still trying to piece it all together.
As we pull into the parking lot of Nebula’s Noodles, the neon sign casts an eerie blue glow over our faces. The restaurant’s exterior is a mishmash of futuristic designs and retro diner aesthetic, somehow managing to look both cutting-edge and nostalgic at the same time.
“Well, this place certainly lives up to its name,” my brother mutters as we step out of the car.
The interior is even more bizarre, with swirling galaxy patterns on the ceiling and tables shaped like flying saucers. As we’re led to our booth by a waiter wearing a silver jumpsuit, I can’t help but feel like we’ve stepped onto the set of a low-budget sci-fi film. I’ve lived here my entire life, same as the other Legacies, and I’ve never come across something as unique as this in the town of Altair or on campus, and I kind of am in love with it.
“So, about this design of yours,” Cam says, picking up where we left off in the car before the conversation shifted to what none of us were ready to talk about—what happened back in the dining hall. “Is it something for the carnival, or is the art club doing portraits again?”
I hesitate for a moment, running my fingers along the edge of the metallic menu. “I’ve been toying with an idea for something different this year. I’ve been thinking about creating interactive light installations—maybe something like glowing sculptures that people could walk through and, I don’t know, maybe even manipulate in some way.”
Sly raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued despite himself. “That sounds ambitious. How exactly would that work?”
“Well,” I begin, feeling a spark of excitement as I try to explain, “I’m still figuring out the details, but I’m thinking of using a mix of LED strips, motion sensors, and translucent materials. The idea is that when people move through the space, their movements would trigger changes in the light patterns. It’s kind of like…painting with light and movement, but I’m still ironing out the kinks.”
Cam’s eyes light up. “That sounds incredible! It’s like everyone becomes part of the art.”
“Exactly,” I nod, feeling a surge of excitement. “And at the end of the night, we could project the entire day’s light patterns onto a large screen, creating a unique, collaborative piece of art that represents the entire carnival experience.”
“That sounds impressive,” Sly admits, a hint of genuine admiration in his voice. “But will that be within the art clubs’ budget to set up?”
I nod, my enthusiasm dimming slightly. “But here’s the thing: the materials are pricey, and we’ll need a significant amount of space. I’m still working on how to present it to the other club members and the rest of Altair University’s board without sounding like a complete joke. You know how Maxwell feels about anything related to technology.”
“You know,” Cam says thoughtfully, twirling a strand of his perfectly coiffed hair, “I might be able to help with that. The archery club has a pretty big budget this year, thanks to our recent tournament wins. Maybe we could collaborate.”
I don’t have a chance to reply as our waiter suddenly reappears, still looking like he just stepped off a spaceship. It’s entertaining, and I always admire a strong dedication to a theme.
“That’s actually a really great idea,” I say, my mind already racing with possibilities. “A fusion of art and athletics could be just what we need to get the board’s attention.”
The waiter clears his throat, reminding us of his presence. “Greetings, earthlings,” the waiter intones in a robotic voice. “What sustenance shall I procure for you this evening?”
I can’t help but giggle at his commitment to the bit, while Sly clucks his tongue in dismissal.
“I’ll have the Black Hole Burger,” Sly says, barely glancing at the menu. “Medium rare, if you can manage that in zero gravity.”
“Excellent choice, sir,” the waiter responds, his face devoid of expression. “And for you, madam?” he asks, turning to me.
“I’ll try the Cosmic Carbonara,” I reply, handing him the menu.
“And I’ll have the Martian Meatballs,” Cam chimes in last.
As the waiter glides away, his silver jumpsuit shimmering under the starry ceiling lights, we fall back into our earlier conversation.
“So about this collaboration,” I begin, leaning forward. “How exactly do you see it working?”
A wide grin spreads across Cam’s face. “Picture this: your light installation becomes the backdrop for our archery range. As people move through the space, they shoot at moving targets, which then trigger different light patterns. It’s not just about hitting a target anymore; it’s about creating a unique light show with every shot.”
“But what about your grand prize of a date?” Sly asks.
“We can still do that,” Cam says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But imagine how much more exciting it would be if the winner’s arrow triggered a spectacular light show to reveal the prize.”
I nod, my mind already racing with possibilities. “We could program special light sequences for bullseyes or near-misses. Maybe even have different color schemes for each archer.”
“Exactly!” Cam exclaims, his enthusiasm infectious. “And think about how it would look from a distance—a constantly shifting, glowing archery range. It would draw people in from all over the carnival.”
I can feel the excitement building in my chest, but I try to keep my voice level. “It would definitely be a showstopper. But we’d need to figure out the logistics. How to make the archery safe with all those people around, how to protect the light installations from stray arrows…”
“Leave the safety stuff to me,” Cam says, waving his hand. “I’ve been running the archery club for three years now. We know how to set up a range that’s secure.”
Just then, our waiter returns, balancing three plates that seem to defy gravity. “Your sustenance has arrived, earthlings,” he announces, placing our meals before us with robotic precision.
As we enjoy our meal, the conversation flows effortlessly, with Cam and I bouncing ideas back and forth in all directions. Sly sits quietly, his usual habit of arguing or interrupting absent for once, though he doesn’t offer any further input. The smile on my face doesn’t fade throughout the evening.
I can’t help but feel a surge of excitement about our new carnival plans. The fusion of art and archery seems like the perfect way to bring something fresh and exciting to this yearly event.
“You know,” I say, twirling the last bit of glowing pasta around my fork, “I think this could really work. We might actually pull this off.”
Cam grins, his teeth gleaming under the otherworldly lighting. “Of course we will. When have the Legacies ever failed at anything we set our minds to?”
Sly snorts. “And they say I’m the arrogant one.”
I interject, “No, everyone knows you’re the flirty one.”
“I believe the correct term is ‘slut’,” Cam adds with an unbashful smirk.
Sly clutches his chest in mock offense. “I prefer ‘connoisseur of affection,’ thank you very much.”
We all burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the dimly lit restaurant. As our mirth subsides, the waiter returns, this time with a sleek, silver tray holding what appear to be glowing orbs.
“Complimentary Nebula Spheres for our esteemed guests,” he announces, placing one in front of each of us.
Cam eagerly picks his up, examining it closely. “What exactly are these?”
“Molecular gastronomy at its finest,” the waiter explains, dropping his robotic act for a moment. “It’s a thin, edible membrane filled with a mix of fruit juices and a hint of vodka. You’re supposed to pop the whole thing in your mouth at once.”
Sly looks skeptical, but I’m intrigued. I pick up my sphere, feeling its delicate weight in my palm. The surface shimmers with an iridescent glow, like a miniature galaxy in my hand. I glance at Cam and Sly, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
“Shall we toast to the Legacies?” I propose, holding my sphere out between us. They both grab their own spheres in agreement.
“To the Legacies,” we all say in unison before popping the orbs into our mouths. The thin membrane bursts immediately, releasing a burst of sensations—tangy citrus, sweet berries, and a subtle hint of alcohol. It’s like a supernova on my taste buds.
To be a Legacy, what a fortunate emptiness.