Family Secret

Chapter 11

The tour continued deeper into Star Academy. The headmaster, led the families through gleaming corridors lined with gas-lit lamps and copper piping. The walls hummed faintly with steam-driven engines that powered the lifts and moving walkways. Students in sharp uniforms bustled past in orderly rows, carrying leather satchels and small handheld gear-driven calculators.

Ryan walked close to Kyan, his jaw tight. He hadn’t told her what he learned — not about Nate’s mission, not about Alexia’s possible assassin ties. If she knew, she would say something without thinking, and then they’d both be in danger. He decided the safest option was to keep it all locked inside his head. As long as we’re useful, Nate will protect us. As long as Alexia sees us as family, maybe she won’t… His thoughts spiraled, and he quickly cut them off.

He forced himself to smile when Clint came bouncing up again, chattering about the Academy’s mechanical fencing class, where students sparred with sabers powered by small steam pistons for extra force. Clint was already gushing about joining, while Kyan gasped like it was the most exciting thing she’d ever heard.

But then Kyan froze mid-step. Her pupils dilated, her chest rising sharply. Ryan immediately knew what was happening.

Kyan’s seeing the future again.

He grabbed her elbow, whispering, “What is it?”

She blinked rapidly, whispering back so only he could hear. “Someone’s going to trip… no — YOU’RE going to trip. Over something right in the middle of the courtyard. You’re gonna knock over the Headmaster’s assistant. She’s gonna drop her clipboard, her skirt will rip, and everyone will laugh. She's going to be very upset.”

Ryan’s eyes went wide. “That’s ridiculous. That can’t—”

But Kyan looked dead serious. “It’s going to happen. I saw it.”

Ryan groaned under his breath. “We can’t afford that. If we get kicked out, Nate will kill us — maybe literally.”

So for the rest of the tour, Ryan was painfully aware of his every step. He refused to walk near anything mechanical on the ground, sidestepped every gear, bolt, or uneven stone. He even avoided being close to the assistant headmistress, the tall, severe-looking woman with her hair pinned high and her leather corset cinched tight.

Of course, the harder he tried not to think about it, the more nervous he got. His palms sweated, his mind spinning.

Clint whispered, “Why are you walking so funny?”

Ryan snapped, “I’m not!” which only made Clint and Kyan snicker.

The tour group reached the central courtyard again, where a massive steam fountain hissed and puffed with elegant bursts. The assistant headmistress walked ahead, scribbling notes on her clipboard. Ryan forced his eyes to the ground — and then, as if the world wanted to prove Kyan right, his boot caught on a stray wrench left by a mechanic.

He flailed forward. “No no no—”

Just as predicted, he crashed directly into the assistant headmistress. Her clipboard went flying, her skirt snagged on a jagged bolt from the fountain, and the entire courtyard gasped as fabric tore in a loud rip.

Kyan clamped her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing, but she was already red-faced and shaking. Clint was laughing so hard he wheezed. Even some of the other parents chuckled.

Ryan scrambled to his feet, mortified. She was right. She’s always right!

The Headmaster’s monocle gleamed in the sun as he turned slowly toward Ryan, his expression unreadable.

Ryan swallowed hard, sure they were about to be thrown out.

The courtyard went deathly silent except for the hiss of steam from the fountain. Ryan’s heart pounded in his ears.

The assistant headmistress stood frozen, her clipboard at her feet, her skirt torn nearly to the knee. Her pale face was flushed crimson, but her eyes burned with fury. “You—child!” she hissed, pointing a trembling finger at Ryan.

Ryan stammered, “I-I didn’t mean—”

But before she could continue, the Headmaster lifted one gloved hand. “Enough.” His voice cut through the courtyard like a blade. The laughter died instantly. Even Clint stopped snickering and clamped his lips shut.

The Headmaster’s cane tapped once against the cobblestone as he walked toward Ryan, his polished boots gleaming. His monocle caught the light, making it impossible to read his expression. He stopped directly in front of Ryan, towering over him.

Ryan forced himself not to fidget. Kyan clutched his arm, whispering urgently, “Just stand still. Don’t talk. Don’t even breathe wrong.”

The Headmaster bent slightly, eyeing Ryan as though he were a strange insect pinned under glass. “A stumble,” he murmured. “A mistake. Accidents happen.”

Relief washed over Ryan — until the man’s lips curved in the faintest, coldest smile.

“But here, at my academy,” he continued, “we do not tolerate chaos. We train the future protectors of order and stability. We do not harbor fools who cannot control their own feet.”

Ryan’s stomach sank.

Nate, standing nearby, cleared his throat. “With all respect, Headmaster… the boy is bright. I’ll ensure it doesn’t happen again.” His tone was calm but clipped, the way only a soldier or spy could sound.

The Headmaster studied Nate for a long, tense moment. Then his gaze returned to Ryan. “See that you do,” he said, voice quiet but deadly serious. “One more disruption, and your place here will vanish as quickly as steam in the wind.”

The assistant headmistress gathered her shredded dignity and stormed off, clutching her clipboard.

The tour continued, but the mood had shifted. Ryan’s cheeks burned as families whispered behind their hands. Kyan tried to cheer him up with a whispered, “See? I told you so!” but he only glared at her.

Still, as they moved on, Ryan realized something important. The Headmaster hadn’t expelled him. He’d warned him. Which meant, despite the embarrassment, they still had a chance.

And Ryan silently vowed: If I have to glue my shoes to the floor to avoid another accident, I’ll do it.

The tour ended with the Headmaster sweeping off in a trail of hissing steam and ticking gears, leaving the families in a wide, cobblestone courtyard shaded by towering brass lamps. A servant in a stiff gray uniform announced in a crisp voice, “There will be a fifteen-minute recess before the family interviews. Refreshments are available in the side hall.”

Clusters of parents drifted toward the tables, teacups and pastries in hand, while children whispered excitedly about the automaton sparring dummies they’d glimpsed in the training hall. The air buzzed with nerves.

Ryan hung back, still mortified by the accident. He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at his shoes.

“Ryan.” Nate’s clipped, accented voice cut into him like a whip. He crooked a finger, pulling him away from the milling crowd. Once they were a few steps clear, Nate crouched slightly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “Listen here, lad. You must pull yourself together. You’ve already painted a target on your back, and you’re not even through the bloody door yet.”

Ryan’s brow furrowed. “It was an accident.”

Nate’s jaw tightened, his voice low and edged. “There is no room for accidents in this world. Not here. Not ever.”

Ryan flinched, swallowing hard. He wanted to argue, but Nate’s tone left no room.

A soft voice cut through the tension. “Nate.” Alexia stepped up kneeling next to them, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. Her golden hair glinted in the afternoon sun, her tan skin warm against his sleeve. “He’s just a child. Accidents happen. He didn’t do it on purpose. He’s already nervous enough—give him a break.”

Nate froze. For a moment, the argument trembled on his tongue. He knew he should press the point—that their acceptance into this academy was too crucial to risk—but her touch disarmed him. Calmed him in a way he couldn’t explain. His shoulders loosened, his lips pressing into a thin line.

At last, he sighed. “Just… mind your footing.”

Ryan glanced at Alexia. She winked, conspiratorial, and it almost—almost—made him smile.

They rejoined the crowd, Kyan skipping at their side. She leaned up to whisper, giggling, “Mommy’s very nice. She knows how to calm Daddy down.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but her words lingered. He cast another look at Alexia. She was laughing politely at something Miha’s mother said, her poise flawless.

Maybe, Ryan thought, unease crawling along his spine, she isn’t as scary as I thought.

But then the memory of her thoughts resurfaced—sharp, cold, efficient, dripping with blood and steel. He knew the truth. She was an assassin. Deadly. Beautiful. Dangerous.

Ryan shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, a knot forming in his chest. I can’t forget what she really is… even if she seems kind.