Chapter 15: The White Mark of Suspicion
The following days after the welcome party were marked by an uncomfortable stillness. Quinn had helped Lena, sure, but the ripple of his actions hadn't gone unnoticed. Whispers began to surface around the academy, subtle at first, as if testing the waters. The girl he had helped, Lena, remained a quiet presence in his life. Her gratitude lingered, her occasional glances at him in the hallways seemed a little more intentional, but Quinn kept his distance. He couldn't afford to be distracted, not now.
Yet it wasn't Lena's curiosity that would come to trouble him in the days ahead.
It started innocently enough—casual questions about his white hair. In the beginning, it wasn't anything too out of the ordinary. It was easy enough to chalk up to curiosity. After all, white hair wasn't something most people wore as naturally as he did. But there was something unsettling about the way people were starting to look at him—like he wasn't just another transfer student. They looked at him like he was... different.
"Hey, O'Reilly!" A voice called out behind him one afternoon as he walked across the courtyard, books clutched in his hand. Quinn didn't need to turn around to know who it was. A group of freshmen, the ones who had attended the welcome party, were gathered near the fountain, eyeing him like a piece of prey.
He didn't acknowledge them at first, pretending as if he hadn't heard. But the voice came again, louder this time.
"Oi! O'Reilly!"
Quinn sighed, turning around slowly. He was in no mood for another round of idle chatter. Not when he had so much to consider about his next move with the nobles, and certainly not when he was still dealing with the internal weight of the mark on his palm.
"What do you want?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
The ringleader of the group, a tall boy with a mess of brown hair, grinned widely. "Just wondering about your hair, man. It's pretty… distinct, right? White as snow. Never seen anyone with hair like that in a place like this."
The others laughed, the sound of their amusement like a ripple of tension spreading through the air. Quinn's eyes narrowed.
"Yeah? What's so weird about it?" he asked, his voice steady but with an edge beneath it.
The boy shrugged, an exaggerated motion. "Nothing, nothing, just wondering, you know? People around here are always so obsessed with fitting in. You stand out with that—people talk, man."
Quinn felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He didn't need to be told that people were already talking. It didn't help that the rumors about his appearance had spread like wildfire. He had seen the stares from other students. The curious glances that lingered too long, the hushed voices that followed his every move.
"Yeah, well," Quinn said, his gaze flicking to the group, "I don't really care what people think about my hair. It's none of your business." His tone was flat, but he could feel the tension in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the cold indifference.
One of the other boys stepped forward, his voice quieter but still laced with a hint of suspicion. "It's just, well… aren't people with hair like that… different? You know, special or something?" His eyes flicked over Quinn, as if searching for something deeper. The implication hung in the air.
Quinn's blood ran cold for a moment. Special. He had been called that before, but in a way that felt dangerous—like a target had been painted on his back. He knew what the rumors were—students with unique traits, with powers or abilities beyond the norm, were often viewed with suspicion. The academy was known for its elitism, and anything outside the ordinary was quickly labeled as a potential threat—or worse, an anomaly to be studied.
He clenched his fists, hiding his discomfort behind a mask of indifference. "I'm just a transfer," he said, forcing the words out with as much confidence as he could muster. "Don't make a big deal out of it."
For a moment, the group fell silent, their eyes studying him. Then, the boy who had first spoken grinned again, though there was something a little darker in it this time. "Sure, man. No need to be touchy. Just… we were curious. That's all."
Quinn didn't say another word. He turned on his heel and walked away, his pace quickening as the sound of their laughter faded behind him. He could feel the weight of their gazes on his back, but he didn't dare look back.
As he walked through the campus, the whispers seemed to grow louder. He passed groups of students, and though they weren't directly addressing him, the way they eyed him—quick glances, sudden silences—made it impossible to ignore. His hair had become an unspoken question, something that hung in the air like an unanswered riddle. The feeling of being watched, of being scrutinized, began to weigh heavily on him.
Later that day, Quinn found himself in a quiet part of the campus, beneath the shadow of the old library. He leaned against the stone wall, his mind racing. The stares. The whispers. They were only the beginning. His white hair had become a symbol, a signpost that people couldn't stop pointing to. He couldn't let it distract him, but the feeling of being marked was almost suffocating.
What was it about his hair that drew so much attention? Was it just a coincidence, or was it something deeper? His transformation—his powers—had come with no warning, no explanation. Was his appearance somehow connected to whatever force had awakened inside him?
He touched his palm, feeling the faint warmth of the snowflake mark beneath his skin. He couldn't ignore it any longer. Whatever it was, his appearance—his white hair—wasn't just a physical anomaly. It was a signal, one that was beginning to stir interest from more than just curious students.
And if the whispers were anything to go by, it wouldn't be long before the people who truly mattered—those in power—started paying attention to him as well.
Quinn's thoughts raced. He needed to figure out what the mark meant—and fast. The system, the nobles, and even the royal family… they would all be looking for answers. And soon, they would want to know exactly what he was.
But for now, Quinn could only try to ignore the feeling of the eyes on him. He had more immediate concerns. The system would come for him soon enough.