I nod again, slower this time.
Her gaze flicks to the boys.
“Ravencourt,” she says sharply.
Jace raises a brow.
“You made contact too late. She reached the objective. Explain.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “She was faster than expected.”
Luca coughs out a quiet laugh, but Briar doesn’t so much as blink. “Excuses are for the dead.”
Jace’s mouth curves slightly, but he doesn’t argue.
She turns to the others. “Silvain. You played. Next time, commit. Vexley—good placement, but your trap was too slow to trigger. Ward—strong form, poor timing.”
Tex gives a grunt of acknowledgment, jaw flexing.
Then Briar looks at all of us. “You think this is a game? That your bloodlines make you untouchable?”
Her gaze lands on me. “This girl outran you. Outmaneuvered you. And some of you underestimated her because she doesn’t look the part.”
Jace’s jaw ticks.
“Don’t make that mistake again,” she finishes. “Class dismissed.”
14 WELCOME
The days start to blur, the bruises don’t.
The new classes are harder than I thought possible. Strategy lectures that make my head spin. Guild ethics where every answer feels wrong. Combat drills that leave me gasping for breath, my muscles screaming before we even hit the halfway point.
And always…them.
They take turns picking me apart.
Jace never touches me during sparring, but his words cut like blades.“You’re not fast enough.” “Maybe you’d be better at playing victim again.” “You’re wasting space.”He never raises his voice. He doesn’t have to.
Luca teases with a grin and a voice like silk, but there’s venom behind it.“Nice stumble, sunshine. Want me to tattoo a target on your back so they know where to hit next time?”
Tex is worse in silence. He hits hard and holds back just enough to remind me he’schoosingnot to break me. His eyes are haunted. And when I catch him staring too long at the scars on my arm, he looks away in disgust.
Noah barely speaks. When he does, it’s surgical, like he’s dissecting me.“Emotion makes you predictable.”“If they know where your weaknesses are, they’ll never stop exploiting them.”
They don’t let up. I don’t back down.
Every time I get knocked flat on the mat, I stand up. Every stare, every shove, every cutting remark—I swallow it like bitter medicine and keep going.
I train until my knuckles bleed. Run laps and simulations until I throw up. I learn. Adapt.
I’m not leaving until I earn my place here and every last one of them knows they picked the wrong girl to underestimate.
The school looks older at night. Colder. Shadows move differently. The hallways are dead silent when I creep out, dressed head to toe in black. My hair tied back in a sleek ponytail.
I follow the directions that were sent. Down a back stairwell. Behind a locked panel that opens with a thumbprint I don’t remember giving. The air changes. Damp stone. Hidden heat. The weight of something ancient presses against my ribs.
Two massive oak doors, carved with the Guild’s crest—a fox head and a blade—open easily as I push.
