"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
Dante Alighieri clearly never rode public transit in August. If he had, there would be a Tenth Circle of Hell dedicated entirely to the smell of unwashed bodies and the sound of a crying baby three rows ahead. I would know. I was currently experiencing both.
The bus lurched. My shoulder slammed into the window for the fourth time in ten minutes. The glass was hot enough to fry an egg on, and the air conditioning had surrendered to the summer heat approximately thirty minutes ago. Now it just wheezed pathetically, like a dying animal begging to be put out of its misery.
I understood the feeling.
My shirt was sticking to my back. My hair was plastered to my forehead. And somewhere in the depths of my pocket, my phone displayed a banking app that read $4.52.
Four dollars. Fifty-two cents.
This was my net worth. My entire liquid assets. The culmination of eighteen years of existence on this planet.
I could have taken an Uber. I should have taken an Uber. But no. Last night, Xavier Valentine decided that his final meal as a free man deserved to be a $47 wagyu steak from that place downtown.
Worth it? Absolutely.
Intelligent? Not even close.
But that was the Xavier Valentine philosophy in a nutshell. Live now, suffer later. The suffering was currently happening, and past-Xavier was probably laughing at me from twenty-four hours ago while wiping steak juice off his chin.
That bastard.
The bus hit a pothole. The baby started crying again. I let my head fall back against the headrest and stared at the ceiling, contemplating all my life choices that had led to this moment.
A commotion near the front drew my attention.
An old man had boarded somewhere around the last stop. Probably seventy, maybe older. He was wearing a hat that looked older than me and a jacket despite the heat.
He was also standing.
The priority seating at the front was occupied by three students. I could tell they were headed to Athelgard because they were already wearing the uniform. Crisp white shirts. Blue ties. Blazers despite the heat.
They were also taking up approximately twice the space they needed. Legs spread wide. Arms draped over adjacent seats. The universal body language of "I am extremely important and the world exists to accommodate me."
The old man swayed with each movement of the bus. His hand gripped the overhead rail with white knuckles.
One of the students, a guy with slicked-back hair glanced up at the old man. Made eye contact for exactly half a second. Then went back to laughing with his friends about something on his phone.
I felt a flicker of something. Disgust, maybe. Or annoyance. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.
But I didn't move.
Look, I'm not proud of it. But I was in the back corner. Getting up would require squeezing past approximately seventeen people, most of whom looked like they'd been marinating in their own sweat for hours. And for what? So I could play white knight for some random grandpa I'd never see again?
Survival of the fittest, baby. Darwin didn't write that book so we could ignore it.
Besides, those priority seating jackasses would probably just take my seat the second I stood up. Then I'd be standing AND feeling morally superior, which is a terrible trade.
The bus kept moving. The old man kept swaying. I kept watching.
Eventually he found a pole to lean against. Problem solved. Natural selection in action.
I turned my attention to the window.
We'd been on the road for about an hour now. The city had long since given way to industrial zones, then to empty coastline, and now to something that made my breath catch slightly in my throat.
The bridge.
It stretched out across the water like a concrete spine, connecting the mainland to a place that shouldn't exist. The island of Athelgard loomed in the distance, rising from the ocean like some kind of fever dream. Spires and domes and glass towers that caught the afternoon sun and threw it back in blinding sheets.
From here, it looked like a mirage. A city in the clouds.
My ticket out.
I glanced down at the seat next to me. My backpack occupied half of it, and on my lap sat the sleek black box that had arrived at my address three weeks ago. "WELCOME TO ATHELGARD NURTURING ACADEMY" was embossed on the lid in gold lettering. Below that, in smaller text: "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL ORIENTATION."
I hadn't opened it. Not because I was obedient, but because I figured whatever was inside wasn't worth the potential consequences of getting caught.
The box was heavier than it looked. Whatever was inside, it felt important. Like my entire future was sitting in my lap, wrapped in cardboard and mystery.
I treated that box better than I treated most people.
The bus lurched to a stop. Hydraulics hissed. The doors folded open with a mechanical groan that suggested they hadn't been serviced since the Clinton administration.
The old man shuffled off. He didn't look back at the priority seating students. Didn't say anything. Just disappeared into the afternoon heat like a ghost.
For a moment, the bus was quiet. The baby had stopped crying. The air conditioning continued its death rattle.
Then she got on.
I'm not being dramatic when I say the atmosphere changed. It's just what happened. One second the bus was a rolling sauna full of sweaty commuters and general misery. The next second, it was like someone had cracked open a window to another dimension.
She was small. Maybe five-one, five-two at most. Ash blonde hair that fell in soft waves around a face that belonged on a magazine cover, not a public bus. Purple eyes that caught the light in a way that seemed almost unnatural. And curves that her academy uniform did absolutely nothing to hide.
The smell of sweat faded. In its place, something light and sweet drifted through the recycled air. Vanilla.
Every head on the bus turned. Including mine.
The three jackasses in priority seating suddenly sat up straighter. One of them actually fixed his hair. Another started to stand, probably to offer his seat like the gentleman he definitely wasn't five minutes ago when an actual elderly person needed it.
She smiled at them. Radiant. Perfect. The kind of smile that launched ships and started wars.
"Oh, thank you so much, but I think I'll find something in the back!"
The priority seating guys deflated.
I watched her scan the bus. Those purple eyes swept over the seats, the standing passengers, the various desperate males who were suddenly very interested in whether she might sit near them.
Then those eyes landed on me.
More specifically, on the empty seat next to me. The one currently occupied by my backpack.
No.
Absolutely not.
I saw her smile widen slightly.
This girl was a threat wrapped in designer perfume and doe eyes. I didn't know how I knew it. I just knew.
Beautiful women who approached me on public transit wanted something. They always wanted something. And whatever she wanted, I wasn't interested in providing it.
I did what any reasonable man would do in my situation.
I closed my eyes. Slumped my head against the window. And committed to the most convincing "deeply unconscious" performance of my life.
I am asleep. I am definitely asleep. I have been asleep for hours. I am basically in a coma. Medical professionals would be concerned about my level of unconsciousness.
The clicking of heels on the bus floor got closer.
I added a slight snore for effect.
The vanilla scent grew stronger. Overwhelming. It was everywhere now, drowning out the bus fumes and the body odor and everything else.
A finger tapped my shoulder. Light. Gentle. Persistent.
Tap-tap-tap.
I didn't flinch.
Tap-tap-tap.
"Excuse me?"
That voice. Right next to my ear now. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath.
I maintained the act. Added a little mumble. Go away, demon. I am not available for social interaction. The Xavier Valentine you are trying to reach has been disconnected.
"Excuse me? I know you're awake."
A pause. Then, softer: "Your snoring isn't very convincing."
Damn.
I could feel the eyes of every other passenger on the bus boring into my skull. The male passengers, specifically. I could practically hear their thoughts.
Wake up, you idiot. A goddess is talking to you.
I would literally give her my kidney if she looked at me like that.
Some guys have all the luck and don't even appreciate it.
I let out a sigh and opened my eyes.
Her face was inches from mine. Close enough that I could count her eyelashes if I wanted to. Which I didn't. Because that would be weird.
Up close, she was even more devastating. Flawless skin. Perfect lips glossed in something that made them look perpetually kissed. And those eyes. Purple and bright and scanning me with an intensity that didn't match the innocent smile on her face.
Damn. Top-tier. S-rank. Would sacrifice my remaining $4.52 for.
"Hi!" She straightened up, beaming down at me like I was the only person on the bus. "I'm so sorry to wake you up. You looked so peaceful! But..." She gestured vaguely at the crowded aisle behind her. "There's nowhere else to sit, and my legs are getting a little tired."
She pointed one manicured finger at my backpack. Then at the mysterious Athelgard box on my lap.
"Would you mind?"
I looked at her. I looked at my stuff. I looked at the two hours of peace and quiet I'd been planning to enjoy before arriving at my new prison.
All of it. Dead. Murdered by a five-foot-nothing blonde with a smile that could melt steel.
"...Sure."
I moved my bag to the floor. The box stayed on my lap. Some things were non-negotiable.
She slid into the seat beside me with a grace that shouldn't have been possible on a moving bus. Her shoulder brushed against mine. The vanilla scent wrapped around me like a warm blanket I hadn't asked for.
"Thank you so much! You're a lifesaver." She extended a small hand toward me. "I'm Belle. Belle Fox. Nice to meet you!"
I stared at her hand. Then at her face. Then at the window, where the island of Athelgard was growing larger by the minute.
This was going to be a long three years.
"Xavier," I said, and shook her hand.
You're already screwed, buddy. Might as well enjoy the ride.