Educational Suffering

Professor Aldridge adjusted the folders beneath his arm with the calm confidence of a man completely unaware he had just destabilized multiple people simultaneously.

“Mr. Arden consistently ranks first in Political Theory,” he said. “You ranked directly beneath him on the scholarship examinations.” Mara stared. Then slowly turned toward Alaric. “You’re academically threatening too?” Dave muttered something that sounded painfully close to, “Unfortunately.”

Aldridge continued speaking while students nearby pretended not to eavesdrop. “The assignment requires research into historical power structures, social hierarchies, and institutional authority. Your perspectives should complement each other.”

Mara looked deeply suspicious. “That sounds dangerously close to group work.” “It is group work.” “Tragic.” To her right, Alaric remained infuriatingly composed. Though Mara noticed something subtle now. He watched her reactions before answering anyone else. Like her responses mattered first.

That awareness struck again beneath her ribs, strange and unwelcome. The professor handed them both printed schedules. “You’ll present jointly at midterm.” Then, apparently satisfied with the destruction he had caused, he walked away. Dave watched him leave with visible resentment. “I think he hates us personally.”

Mara glanced down at the paper in her hands. The heading read: POWER AND OBEDIENCE IN CLOSED SOCIETIES Mara looked back up slowly. Then at Alaric. Then at the title again. "This feels ironic.” A faint flicker touched Alaric’s face. “Why?” “Because this entire school behaves like a monarchy pretending to be a university.”

Several nearby students abruptly became fascinated by the floor. Dave rubbed a hand over his mouth trying unsuccessfully to hide laughter. Mara pointed immediately. “See? That reaction.” “What reaction?” “The collective fear whenever I say accurate things.” Alaric studied her quietly for a moment. Then quietly said, “You notice more than most people.”

The statement settled strangely between them. It was not exactly flirtation but something heavier and more attentive. Mara’s pulse performed another deeply irritating malfunction. She decided her cardiovascular system lacked discipline.

Students gradually began leaving the gymnasium in clusters while instructors called final announcements overhead. The sharp smell of sweat, polished wood and cold autumn air drifted through the open side doors leading toward the athletic fields outside.

Mara shoved the project paper into her bag. “So,” she sighed, “how terrible are you to work with academically?” Dave answered immediately. “Extremely.” Alaric ignored him. “I prefer efficiency.” “That sounds like the beginning of a dictatorship.” “It usually is,” Dave muttered.

The silence afterward felt dangerous in a completely different way. Because for one tiny second, Alaric looked at Dave coldly enough to strip warmth from the entire hallway. Again, Mara noticed that territorial undercurrent. That strange silent friction between them. It was not open hostility but something older, quieter and more complicated.

Then she realized something else. Dave never fully relaxed around Alaric. Not ever. The thought unsettled her unexpectedly. “Alright,” Mara said slowly, “I need context.” Neither man answered immediately. Bad sign. “You two behave like divorced war generals.” Dave nearly inhaled his own laughter. Alaric’s expression remained unreadable. “We’ve known each other a long time,” Dave said carefully.

“That explains familiarity. Not whatever this is.” Mara gestured vaguely between them. “The energy feels historically complicated.” Dave looked exhausted suddenly. “You make normal conversations impossible.” “No,” Mara corrected. “You people just hide information like Victorian ghosts.”

Outside the gymnasium, cold wind swept across the campus pathways while students crossed between buildings beneath drifting clouds. The athletic fields stretched wide beyond the main courtyard. Soccer practice occupied one side. Track teams trained farther back. And near the fenced lower fields, several older students participated in something far rougher than ordinary drills.

Mara slowed slightly. “Is that rugby?” Dave followed her gaze. Technically it was. Unofficially, it was one of the safer ways young wolves burned aggression without openly shifting. “It’s intramural,” he said. “That man just tackled someone hard enough to rearrange ancestry.” “Competitive spirit.”

Mara watched another collision happen violently near the far goalposts. “Your school needs emotional support counselors.” A low sound escaped Alaric beside her unexpectedly. Not quite laughter but closer than before. Mara glanced sideways instantly. “There it is again.” “What?” “That almost-human reaction.” Something warmer flickered briefly in his eyes. Then disappeared.

For Mara's traitorous heart, that was extremely dangerous. Because the more human Alaric became around her…the less frightening he seemed. And that, Mara suspected, was exactly how people ended up kidnapped by charismatic cult leaders historically.

Ahead of them, students gathered near a large outdoor bulletin board layered with announcements. Club sign-ups. Sports schedules. Volunteer programs. Winter retreat applications. One bright red flyer immediately caught Mara’s attention.

ANNUAL LARKIN WILDERNESS RETREAT Three Days. Mountain Lodges. Team Activities. Bonfire Night.

Mara narrowed her eyes immediately. “This sounds like a survival documentary.” Dave looked over her shoulder. “It’s mandatory for first years.” Mara turned slowly. “Mandatory.” “Technically team-building.” “No.” She pointed at the flyer. “That says isolated forest cabins.” “Beautiful scenery?” “That says murder location.” Dave laughed outright this time.

Around them, several students smiled despite themselves. Even Alaric looked faintly less carved from stone now. Unfortunately, Mara noticed that too. And once noticed, it became difficult to ignore. Because when Alaric relaxed slightly around her, something shifted in him entirely. The intimidation remained. But beneath it lived glimpses of someone younger and lonelier. Someone trying very hard not to want things too openly.

That realization unsettled her more than all the cult behavior combined. Before she could examine why, a sharp female voice cut through the courtyard. “Alaric.” The atmosphere shifted instantly again. Students nearby straightened subtly. Mara turned.

Seraphina Valecrest descended the library staircase elegantly in a long cream coat, pale hair catching cold sunlight like polished silver. She looked beautiful and perfectly composed. She was watching Mara with a quiet calculation sharp enough to feel. Unlike Celeste’s hostility, Seraphina’s attention never looked emotional. It looked precise. Dangerously precise.

She stopped beside Alaric naturally, as though the space already belonged to her. “Your father called,” she said smoothly. Not greeting, just immediate familiarity. Mara noticed that too. Alaric’s expression cooled slightly. “I’ll return it later.” Seraphina nodded once before finally acknowledging Mara properly.

“Miss Vale.” “Mysterious blonde woman.” Mara blurted out without thinking. Dave choked violently beside them. For one brief horrifying second, silence held. Then Mara realized perhaps that had not sounded socially correct. “I don’t know your name yet,” she added helpfully.

Something unreadable flickered through Seraphina’s eyes. “Seraphina Valecrest.” “That sounds expensive.” Mara muttered as an innocent observation. Dave physically turned away laughing now. Even nearby students struggled visibly. Seraphina, however, remained perfectly poised. Which somehow made her scarier.

Mara studied her thoughtfully. Beautiful posture. Elegant voice. Predatory eye contact. Yes. Definitely one of the advanced rich people. And for reasons Mara could not explain…Seraphina looked at her like a problem already forming.