A deep tolling vibrated throughout the room, and Adair jumped back into the present moment. His chair squeaked underneath him. The smoke in the ice showed that it was twelve, and class was over. His classmates were oblivious to his unease, and their relief and chatter overtook everything as they relished in their new freedom.
Chairs squealed, books and pages ruffling as everyone else started to file out, Professor Jett yelling over them, “Now remember to read chapters twelve through fourteen! I will know if you don’t!”
Adair was frozen. How had the morning passed so quickly? He had felt in a daze throughout breakfast, and then like a ghost, he had sat through his classes. Advanced Ability Training. Advanced History. Advanced Weaponry.
Breathe, Stratton.
With shaking hands, Adair swept his useless books into his bag. These classes were just a time filler for him. With parents like Cesan and Bresslin, Adair had already read the textbooks several times.
Only the best.
Sighing, Adair forced his body to move, feeling Professor Jett appraising him the entire time. Adair didn’t look back as he left and was met with the pure chaos of the hallway. Pieces of paper with inked secret messages soared through the air, laughter and gossip spilling from the entourage of students. Ducking his head, Adair set for the library, desperately trying to ignore flashing shows of abilities, the catcalls, and squeals.
In a place like the Academy, it bred more emotion and hope than Adair liked to admit. A government built on dreams, to nourish the most gifted. But to him, there was no control, and it suffocated him.
Grinding his teeth, he allowed his feet to carry him, having walked the path a thousand times. He tried not to think about what waited for him in that room, tried not to think about last night. Everything was a blur, the people and the school washing out to a dull white noise, as those doors appeared.
Five steps.
Taking a deep breath, trying to stand a little straighter, he smoothed his hair to no avail.
Three.
Adair bit the inside of his cheek, his teeth breaking skin as iron filled his mouth.
Two.
He would not bow. He would not break. He was better than this.
Reaching the doors, Adair gripped the handle and pulled. For a place like the Academy, the library was simplistic. Just a room with a desk, filled with bookshelves and dull material no one with an imagination would find exhilarating.
Cesan leaned against the desk, impeccably groomed, causally inspecting his nails. The door clicked quietly shut behind them, cutting off the roaring commotion from outside. Adair tried not to flinch as his father raised his gaze to him. Indifference etched into his features, the burning promise and hunger for violence simmering behind his hooded eyes.
Adair waited, his lips pressed into a thin line as he desperately tried not to throw up or to dip into his ability.
It would be so easy.
He couldn’t do it, not against his Dad.
Protect yourself.
“Adair, do you believe in fate?”
The question registered slowly, and Adair paused, digesting that his father was talking to him. There was no anger, no violence, no accusations. Just a simple question that Adair was not prepared to answer.
Cesan didn’t wait for him to. “Fate. It is something that for a long time after I met your mother, I believed in. We were living in a dangerous world, but we knew what we wanted. To see the injustices paid for, to end the war Roque’s father had started. For years, I followed the Faes’ dream. I followed my best friend and didn’t doubt a thing. I had a life and a family, strung along with the promise of more.”
A chill snaked down Adair’s spine, when Cesan stepped forward, whispering, “Who wouldn’t want more? To be powerful, to rule? Roque promised me that our day would come, Adair, to have equal right to the Academy. That it would always be fair, that there would be no secrets. That he would always weigh our family’s opinion with an equal mentality.”
His face contorted, and Adair stepped back.
“It was all lies. Things have changed, Adair, and I’m not going to follow Roque into this trap. I refuse to stay in his shadow.”
“Dad?” Adair’s voice trembled, his heart trying to catch up with what his mind had already concluded.
“These people from the Shattered Isles shouldn’t be entertained or tolerated. And instead of making them our guests, I’m going to end them.”
“Dad, no.”
Cesan had backed Adair flush against the door, sneering down at him. “Are you with me?”
“What, and leave the Academy?”
“If you’re not with me, you’re with them.”
“Dad, you don’t have to do this! The Faes aren’t the enemy, even these people...” He should have seen the hand coming; Adair’s head snapped back as his father hit him. Tears welled in his eyes.
Cesan growled, “You are as weak as the rest of them. These people are a threat, Adair, and I am going to stop them.” Cesan’s face was flushed, and his eyes sparked with rage as he spat, “You are no son of mine.”
With that, he shoved past Adair, slamming the library door with such force Adair was sure the door would splinter.
‘You are no son of mine’, played in his mind.
He couldn’t breathe as he blindly grappled with the doorknob. The door swung toward him, the explosion of noise surreal to him as he looked down the hallway, seeing his father getting further away with every step.
He had to stop him.
Lurching forward, his breath caught in his lungs, burning against his ribcage.
Move.
He was numb; he was nothing but the stinging remainder of how his father saw him.
Weak.
The word turned to ash in Adair’s mouth, and the hallway spun sickly on its axis. He was anything but weak.
Someone caught his arm, their cool fingers brushing against his burning flesh, bringing him slamming back into reality.
“Stratton?”
Rounding on
