Inside the Crest: The Fall of Eli Kingston

Chapter 2: The Watchers

The morning after move-in, Ivory Crest came alive in calculated chaos.

Suits and sweatpants mingled in the main dining hall like they’d always belonged together. Girls in designer boots rolled their eyes at boys with art-school tattoos. Freshmen clutched coffee cups like lifelines, trying to act like they weren’t afraid of looking lost.

Eli wasn’t lost. He walked into the dining hall as if it were already his.

The architecture was ridiculous, high ceilings, stained glass windows, gold chandeliers that looked like they belonged in Versailles. Everything was polished, exaggerated, intentional. That was the Ivy Crest way: make it grand, then make it rot underneath.

He scanned the tables, found an empty booth near the back, and claimed it without a word. Zayn showed up five minutes later, tray stacked with waffles, eggs, and some kind of smoothie that looked radioactive.

“You eat like you’ve never been fed before,” Eli muttered.

“I’m a growing boy.” Zayn slid into the seat across from him. “Besides, breakfast here is bomb. Don’t ruin this for me.”

Eli barely acknowledged him. He’d grabbed only a black coffee. It tasted like it was brewed out of guilt and expense.

Zayn noticed the envelope sitting on the table, half-tucked under Eli’s phone. “Fan mail already?”

Eli didn’t smile. “Hate mail.”

Zayn leaned in. “You serious?”

Eli pushed the note toward him wordlessly.

Zayn read it twice, brows rising. “Creepy. But weirdly poetic.”

“Nothing poetic about it.”

“Think it’s some hazing thing? You know, rich kid jealousy, screw-the-legacy-type crap?”

Eli sipped his coffee. “Maybe.”

He didn’t believe that.

There was something too specific in those lines. “Your family’s sins.” It sounded like whoever wrote it knew something. Not just that he was rich, not just that his name was powerful — but that the Kingston name carried baggage.

He’d lived with that weight for nineteen years.

Zayn tapped the note. “You want me to help you find out who sent this?”

“No.” Eli grabbed the paper and folded it sharply. “I want you to forget it existed.”

Zayn grinned. “So that’s a yes.”

Eli didn’t respond. But Zayn had already seen too much.

The first class of the day was Political History of Elite Institutions, taught by a Professor Harlow. Eli had heard of him before. Eccentric, unreadable, rumored to have taught three prime ministers, two royalty, adjacent billionaires, and at least one war criminal.

Perfect.

Eli entered the lecture hall early and claimed a seat in the third row. Not too eager. Not too removed. The room filled slowly, some students loud and bright, others quiet and calculating.

Then she walked in.

He didn’t know her name yet, but he noticed her instantly.

She wasn’t flashy. No designer bag. No pretense. Just jeans, a black sweater, and a silver necklace shaped like a crescent moon. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose braid, and her eyes were the kind that didn’t just look, they searched.

She scanned the room. Her gaze paused on Eli. A flicker of recognition? Disdain? Curiosity?

Eli stared back, unflinching.

She chose a seat one row behind him, slightly to the left.

Zayn appeared just as Professor Harlow strode in, wearing a tan trench coat like he’d come from a spy film set. He dropped a stack of papers on the desk and looked around like he was already disappointed in everyone.

“I won’t waste your time,” Harlow began, voice low and razor-sharp. “Ivory Crest is not about learning. It’s about becoming. Some of you will become legends. Most of you will become irrelevant. A few if you’re lucky, will survive.”

The room went quiet.

Zayn leaned toward Eli and whispered, “He seems fun.”

Eli smirked.

Professor Harlow continued. “This course will explore how institutions like this one shape power, how truth is weaponized, how history is curated by the winners, and how you are all participants in that machine, whether you like it or not.”

Then his eyes met Eli’s.

For a second too long.

Eli held his gaze.

Harlow didn’t blink. “Mr. Kingston. Since you come from a family so deeply embedded in Crest’s legacy, perhaps you can start us off. What do you believe is the most dangerous kind of history?”

Eli didn’t flinch. “The kind written by people who think they’re untouchable.”

A pause. Harlow smiled, thin and sharp. “Good. And how does one stay untouchable, Mr. Kingston?”

Eli’s voice was steady. “By making sure the bodies stay buried.”

A few students turned to look at him. Zayn let out a low whistle.

Professor Harlow nodded, clearly amused. “Excellent. You may actually survive this course.”

The girl behind Eli wrote something in her notebook, eyes still fixed on him.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling the edge of the note still in his pocket like a second heartbeat.

Later that night, campus grew quieter. The light took on that hazy, golden wash that made the red bricks glow like embers. Eli walked the east path behind the main library alone, needing air.

There were statues along this path — old university founders with stern faces and hollow eyes. Someone had spray-painted one of them with the word liar in red.

Eli stopped walking.

There, taped to the statue’s base, was another envelope.

Same style. Same clean type.

This one said:

“You’re being watched.

The fall doesn’t happen all at once.”

Eli ripped it open.

Nothing else. No signature. No explanation.

A faint sound made him turn — the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Quick. Purposeful.

He caught a glimpse of a figure in a grey hoodie disappearing behind the trees bordering the old chapel.

He took off after them.

Down the path. Around the side of the chapel. Into the narrow archway that led to the courtyard behind it.

Empty, Like they’d vanished into the bricks.

His breath fogged in the cool air. His heart wasn’t racing, but his fists were clenched.

Whoever was leaving these notes was doing it deliberately. They wanted to get under his skin — and they were succeeding.

Eli wasn’t the paranoid type. But this… this wasn’t hazing. This wasn’t some bitter scholarship kid with a grudge. This was something older. Sharper.

He turned to head back and nearly collided with the girl from class.

“Whoa,” she said, stepping back.

Eli didn’t move. “You following me?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You ran past me back there. I was headed to the library.”

“You always walk alone in the dark?”

She crossed her arms. “Better than pretending you’re not scared.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not scared.”

She tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle she already half-solved. “Maybe not. But you’re definitely being hunted.”

He stiffened. “What did you just say?”

She gave a faint smile. “See you in class, Kingston.”

Then she turned and disappeared down the chapel path, leaving him with the night and the unanswered questions burning in his chest.