6
1109 Words
Sasha’s POV
I didn’t sleep.
Not after the note. Not after the photo.
Even after I burned them, watched the paper curl and blacken in the tiny sink basin like it could take my fear with it, I felt them. Like ash caught in my lungs. Heavy. Bitter.
Someone had seen. Not just seen, but watched. Had crept close enough to capture the shift in my hoodie, to notice the binding beneath. Someone had come too close to the lie I wore like skin.
By morning, the world felt sharper. Like the Academy itself had teeth.
I kept my hood up, shoulders tense, eyes down. But I could feel them, eyes tracking me down every corridor, whispers thickening the air. And one stare in particular…
Alex Knight.
He didn’t say anything when I returned to our room last night. He didn’t need to. He’d watched me like I was a puzzle missing just one piece, like if he looked long enough, hard enough, I’d fall open and spill the truth.
Now, he was standing by the window as I moved stiffly, lacing up my boots. The bruises under my shirt ached with every breath. My ribs burned where Cael’s elbow had crushed into them.
“You didn’t sleep,” Alex said without turning.
I froze, just for a second.
He didn’t move. Just stood with his back to me, one hand braced against the glass.
“I wasn’t aware you watched me that closely,” I said, voice flat.
“Hard not to, when someone flinches like they’re being hunted in their dreams.”
I yanked the laces tighter, harder than necessary. “Thanks for the analysis, Doctor Knight.”
He turned slowly then, silver eyes glinting in the morning gloom. “It’s not just last night.”
I stood, facing him, letting my hoodie hang low over my face. “You keeping notes now?”
His gaze sharpened. “Maybe.”
Something in the air between us went tight. The room was suddenly too small. The silence was too loud.
“You’re hiding something,” he said.
It wasn’t an accusation. It was a fact.
I kept my expression still, even though my heart lurched.
“You don’t want help,” he added. “You just want everyone to look away.”
“Then look away,” I said. “Problem solved.”
But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.
Instead, he took a step forward, slowly, deliberately. “That’s not how this place works. Secrets don’t stay buried here.”
“Neither do bodies,” I muttered.
A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Amusement? Approval? I couldn’t tell.
“You’re not like others,” he said. “You don’t walk like someone who wants to be here. You walk like someone who has to be.”
I clenched my jaw. “Are you done psychoanalyzing me?”
He didn’t answer. Just watched me for another moment before turning and walking out.
Training was brutal.
I was paired with Vale, a second-year player with a broken nose and a reputation for being merciless. My body protested every movement, each strike a reminder of Cael’s killer hands on me, each dodging a slow dance with exhaustion.
I didn’t care. I fought anyway.
If I stopped, if I showed weakness, they’d circle like wolves. And whoever sent that note?
They already had.
Alex watched from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Always watching. Like he was waiting for me to slip.
But I didn’t. Not yet.
After drills, I slipped into the archive wing.
It was cold and empty, a maze of stone and parchment where no one bothered to wander. Too quiet. Too forgotten. Which made it perfect.
I dug through the discipline logs, eyes scanning until they burned.
Cael Thorn. Multiple infractions. Unchecked aggression. A sealed incident from months ago involving a first-year and a late-night ambush. No expulsion. Just a closed case and a note from House Eldrod.
My blood ran cold.
The royals.
They were tied to it. Maybe not directly, maybe not by choice. But the royal family had protected Cael once. Why?
And more importantly, what else had they buried?
I shut the file and backed away, heart hammering. My head spun. I needed time. I needed space to think.
But when I pushed open the dorm room door that night, I found neither.
Alex was there, sitting on the edge of his bed, one boot still on, a candle flickering low beside him.
He didn’t speak at first. He just looked up from a scrap of parchment in his hand.
Then he held it out to me. No words.
My chest tightened.
Another envelope. Unmarked. Familiar.
He didn’t need to say anything. I could feel the blood draining from my face.
“I found it outside the door,” he said calmly. “Someone wants to scare you. Badly.”
I took it, slowly, fingers shaking. Ripped it open.
Another photo.
Me, falling mid-spar. My hoodie caught in motion, the binder beneath pressing against the fabric. Not enough to scream the truth, but enough to suggest it.
Too much.
I couldn’t breathe.
“You’re being watched,” he said quietly. “Stalked.”
“No s**t,” I whispered, staring at the image like it might catch fire on its own.
Alex rose. His movements were slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
“I don’t care what it is you’re hiding,” he said, voice low. “Not yet. But if someone else is threatening you, that makes it my problem.”
“Why?” I snapped, throat tight. “Why would it be your problem?”
“Because we share four walls and a door that doesn’t lock.” His gaze narrowed. “And because someone out there is playing a long game with you. Which means it’s only a matter of time before I get pulled into it.”
I folded the photo and shoved it into my pocket. My hands were trembling.
“I don’t need your protection,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “But you do need a plan.”
He moved to the window again, back turned, as if the conversation were over.
“Secrets like yours,” he said after a long moment, “don’t rot from the outside in. They tear you up from the inside out. And when they break through…” He glanced over his shoulder, voice dark. “There’s no putting them back.”
I didn’t answer.
Because deep down, I knew he was right.
And that terrified me more than whoever left that photo.
- Writer
