THE DISCARDED LUNA‘S REVENGE

Chapter Five

"If you move any slower, commuter, you’re going to become part of the masonry."

The voice came from behind me, sharp and wet with aggressive amusement. Before I could even twitch my fingers within the cavernous depths of my unhemmed sleeves, a heavy leather binder clipped the edge of my canvas backpack. The sudden momentum sent me stumbling forward into the stone doorframe of the grand auditorium. My shoulder took the brunt of the impact, a dull ache instantly blooming through the cheap, unpadded wool of my state-allocated blazer.

I didn't turn around. I didn't give them the satisfaction of an altered breath.

"Oh, look, she doesn't even have a response," a girl with a flawless French braid giggled, her voice bouncing loudly off the high, vaulted ceiling of the corridor. She stepped right into my path, her uniform blazer nipping in so perfectly at her waist it looked like a second skin. Her small silver name tag read Chloe. "Maybe the air is too thin for her up here on the ridge. Do you need an oxygen tank, valley transfer? Or just a smaller jacket?"

"Leave her alone, Chloe," her companion drawled, a tall boy wearing a gold watch that caught the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. He deliberately dropped his empty plastic water bottle onto the floor right in front of my moving shoe. "The charity department forgot to tailor her ears along with her clothes. She can’t hear you."

A ripple of snickers went through the cluster of seniors waiting to exit the building. It had been like this for the last two hours. The formal orientation presentation inside the auditorium had been a blur of high-society expectations, rigid academic metrics, and the stifling scent of expensive perfumes. But the real orientation was happening out here in the hallways, where the student body was making it perfectly clear that the class divide wasn't just a financial reality, it was the law of the school.

I kept my head level, my eyes fixed on the exit doors at the end of the long gallery. I could feel the bruises forming under the bulky, sagging shoulders of my jacket where three different students had "accidentally" rammed into me during the seating transition.

"Excuse me," I said, keeping my voice entirely smooth, level, and devoid of any emotion that they could weaponize against me.

Chloe didn't move. She leaned against the limestone pillar, crossing her arms. "What if we don't want to? What are you going to do? Tell the financial aid office that we're hurting your feelings?"

"She'd have to find the office first," the boy with the gold watch laughed, stepping closer until his shadow completely swallowed mine. "Look at her. She looks like a lost puppy in a burlap sack."

"That’s enough, Julian."

The new voice was distinct—clear, authoritative, but lacking the sharp, jagged edge of malice that usually accompanied the voices at Garrison Heights.

The crowd shifted instantly. Chloe’s smirk faltered, her arms dropping to her sides as she looked over her shoulder.

A tall boy with neatly parted sandy hair and a relaxed, easy posture stepped out from the shadow of the library entrance. His uniform was immaculate, the silver crest on his breast pocket gleaming, but his blazer was unbuttoned, revealing a crisp white shirt beneath. His name tag read Asher Williams. Unlike Gabriel Jakes' terrifying, dark amber stare, Asher’s eyes were a calm, steady gray as he looked at the group blocking the path.

"Asher," Chloe said, her nasal tone instantly softening into something sweet and accommodating. "We were just helping the transfer find her way. She’s been wandering around the gallery looking a bit... detached."

"You're blocking the main exit, Chloe," Asher said smoothly, his voice level but completely unyielding. He didn't look at me yet; his focus remained entirely on the circle of legacy students. "And Julian, pick up the bottle. The maintenance staff isn't here to clean up after your lack of manners."

Julian’s jaw tightened, his fingers twitching near his gold watch. "Come on, Asher. It’s just a joke. She hasn't even complained."

"I'm not asking you if it's a joke," Asher replied, his gray eyes darkening just enough to make Julian shift his weight uncomfortably. The Williams name clearly held enough weight in the ridge hierarchy to command instant silence. "I'm telling you to move. Some of us actually have our trimester schedules to finalize before the administration office closes."

Julian lingered for a fraction of a second, casting a foul look toward my boots, before he reached down, snatched the plastic bottle from the floor, and muttered something under his breath. "Whatever. Let’s go, Chloe. The air in this corridor is getting tedious anyway."

The group moved off down the hallway, their loafers clicking against the terrazzo floors until their voices faded into the general murmur of the departing crowd.

The silence that settled between Asher and me was thick, heavy, and instantly uncomfortable. I kept my hands tucked inside my oversized sleeves, my spine remaining as rigid as a steel rod. I didn't want a savior. In a place like this, kindness from a legacy student wasn't charity, it was just another form of leverage.

Asher turned to face me, a polite, gentle smile appearing on his face. "Are you alright?"

"I am fine," I said, my voice completely formal. I gave him a small, polite nod. "Thank you for the assistance."

He blinked, looking slightly taken aback by the sheer lack of warmth in my response. His eyes drifted down to the rolled-back cuffs of my blazer, then up to my face, his expression softening with what looked like genuine pity. "Don't let them get to you. Julian and Chloe like to make a show of things on the first day to establish their territory. It’s pathetic, really. Once classes actually start, they usually stick to their own circles and ignore everyone else."

"I see," I replied, keeping my words short. I didn't want to chat. I didn't want to become the ridge boy’s good deed for the day.

"I'm Asher, by the way," he continued, extending a hand toward me. The leather band of his watch was sleek, understated, and probably cost more than my family’s rent for the entire year. "Asher Williams. You're Lyra, right? The stipend transfer from the valley?"

I hesitated for a beat before slowly withdrawing my hand from the bulky sleeve. My fingers looked small and fragile against his well-groomed palm as we shared a brief, stiff handshake. "Yes. Lyra."

"Well, Lyra, if anyone else gives you trouble during the orientation walkthrough, just let me know," Asher said, his smile widening slightly as he tucked his hands into his pockets. He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "A lot of people in this school think their family registries give them the right to act like animals. But some of us actually believe in basic decency. You earned your spot here based on your entrance metrics. That’s more than most of these legacies can say."

The words were meant to be comforting. They were meant to be an olive branch. But as I looked at his kind gray eyes and his perfect, easy smile, a cold, prickly sensation began to creep up my neck.

He was pitying me. He was standing there, looking down from his pedestal of absolute security, throwing me scraps of validation like a man throwing breadcrumbs to a stray bird in the park. His words only highlighted exactly how unequal we were. He could afford to be decent because nothing could ever touch him. I couldn't afford to accept his decency because if I lowered my guard for even a second, the rest of them would tear me to pieces.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Asher," I said, my voice dropping an octave, becoming entirely professional as I stepped back, creating a deliberate two feet of distance between us. "But I don't need anyone to fight my battles. I am here to study, not to seek protection."

Asher’s smile faltered, a flash of genuine confusion crossing his face. He clearly wasn't used to valley girls rejecting his benevolence. "Lyra, I didn't mean it like that. I was just trying to help…"

"Thank you for the direction," I interrupted smoothly, adjusting the heavy, sagging strap of my canvas backpack over my oversized shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, I need to catch the three o'clock valley transit bus. Have a good afternoon."

I didn't wait for him to respond. I walked past him, my cheap boots clicking a steady, unhurried rhythm against the pristine stone floor. I could feel his eyes tracking me all the way down the long gallery, but I didn't look back.