THE HEIR'S AGONY TRIAL BY FIRE

shadows in spotlight

Aidan stood under the harsh fluorescent lights of the robotics lab, his fingers trembling as they hovered over the intricate machinery on the table. His world had always been about logic, precision, and the solace of creation. But now, everything felt disjointed, every shadow too long, every noise too sharp.

"You're late again, Cross." The sharp voice of Professor Calloway cut through the tension like a scalpel.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I was—" Aidan began, but the man’s raised hand silenced him.

"Excuses won’t help you here. You might be brilliant, but brilliance without discipline is a waste."

Aidan swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. Calloway’s words, though clinical, weren’t what stung the most. It was the muffled snickers from the corner of the room, where his peers gathered in their usual cluster of disdain.

"Discipline," one of them whispered mockingly. "The charity kid needs discipline."

Aidan clenched his fists, ignoring the sharp stab of humiliation. He kept his focus on the wires and circuits, knowing his only way out of their cruel gaze was through his work.

---

"Hey, Cross," came the voice of Liam Hayes, the loudest of his tormentors, as Aidan packed up his tools later that night. "Why don’t you show us what you’re building in the corner all the time? Or is it another one of your pathetic junkyard projects?"

Aidan didn’t look up. "It’s none of your business, Liam."

"Everything about you is our business," Liam sneered, stepping closer. His gang of sycophants followed, forming a half-circle around Aidan. "You think you’re better than us because you can solder a couple of wires together?"

"No," Aidan replied, his voice cold but calm. "I don’t think about you at all."

That struck a nerve. Liam’s smirk faded, replaced by something darker. He shoved Aidan’s shoulder hard, making him stumble into the workbench.

"Careful, Liam!" one of the others chuckled. "You don’t want to break his precious toys."

Aidan straightened, his knuckles white against the edge of the bench. His voice was low but firm. "Leave me alone."

"Or what?" Liam challenged, leaning in. "You’ll build a robot to fight us off? Face it, Cross. You don’t belong here. You’re nothing but a charity case. Without your scholarship, you’d be—"

Aidan snapped.

Before Liam could finish, Aidan grabbed the nearest piece of equipment—a heavy wrench—and slammed it onto the table, the clang reverberating through the room.

"Enough!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the stunned silence that followed. His chest heaved as he glared at each of them, his eyes blazing with a fire they hadn’t seen before. "Say whatever you want about me, but don’t ever disrespect my work."

For a moment, no one spoke. The tension was thick, the air electric. Then Liam laughed, a harsh, cruel sound that broke the silence.

"Wow," he said, clapping mockingly. "You’ve got some fight in you after all, Cross. Too bad it’s wasted on someone like you."

They left, their laughter trailing behind them, but Aidan stood frozen, his pulse hammering in his ears. His outburst had felt like a release, but it also made him feel more exposed than ever.

---

Later that night, alone in the darkened lab, Aidan sat surrounded by the remnants of his latest project. He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the schematics in front of him, but his mind wasn’t on his work.

The feeling of being watched hadn’t left him. Every creak of the building, every flicker of the fluorescent lights, felt like a signal. He shook his head, trying to convince himself it was nothing.

"You’ve been in here all night," a voice said, making Aidan jump.

He turned to see Professor Calloway standing in the doorway, his face unreadable.

"Sorry," Aidan muttered. "I’ll clean up."

Calloway stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Aidan. "You’re a brilliant student, Cross. But brilliance isn’t enough if you let people break you."

Aidan frowned. "What do you mean?"

Calloway crossed his arms, his tone softening. "You think I don’t see the way they treat you? They push because they see you as a threat. But if you keep reacting the way you did today, they’ll win."

Aidan wanted to argue, to say he didn’t care what they thought. But the weight of the professor’s words settled heavily on his shoulders.

"Do you know why you’re really here, Aidan?" Calloway asked suddenly.

Aidan blinked. "For the scholarship."

"Partly," Calloway said, his gaze sharp. "But someone ensured you got that scholarship. Someone with a vested interest in your success."

Aidan’s breath caught. "What are you talking about?"

Calloway hesitated, as if debating whether to say more. Then he shook his head. "Focus on your work, Cross. Everything else will fall into place."

And with that, he left, leaving Aidan more confused—and more determined—than ever.

That night, Aidan received an anonymous email. The subject line read: The truth about your scholarship. Attached was a single file—a photograph of a younger William Cross standing in front of a familiar building: Pacific West University.