"Nova Bardot." He uses my full name, formal trial language. "No pack. No bloodline declaration. No family connections to any recognized line. Guardian deceased. Parents deceased, cause of death listed as vehicle accident."
He lets that sit in the air.
"We know about the library," he continues. "What you've been researching. Council records, bloodline histories, Silverpelt references." He tilts his head. "Interesting reading for someone with no declared bloodline. Silverpelt wolves don't exist anymore. The Council made sure of that."
I say nothing. In dominance trials, silence is a valid response.
"Your parents," the third figure says, his voice rougher than the others. "Tell us what you know about how they died."
"Vehicle accident," I say. "That's what's on record."
"And what do you think is true?"
"I think I don't know you well enough to answer that."
Nico makes a sound that might be approval. "She holds position. I'll give her that."
"Position without power," the third figure says. "Dangerous combination."
Caspian steps forward and even with the mask I can feel the weight of Alpha assessment. "You're unranked here, Nova. No allies, no pack, no one to speak for your bloodline. We need to know what you are. Whether you're a dormant Alpha who'll challenge for position, a worthless Omega who'll weaken the pack, or something else entirely."
"And if I'm something else?"
"That depends entirely on what that something is." He's close enough now that I can see his eyes through the mask's openings. "Some wolves submit to testing quickly. Those assessments are clean and fast. Some hold position longer. Those are the ones who earn respect or elimination, depending on what we find."
"I'm not interested in either."
"That's not your choice." He reaches out and for a second I think he's going to touch my face, establish physical dominance, but he stops just short. "You have information about your bloodline, about what you might be, about why you're really here. We need to determine if you're a threat to pack hierarchy. Eventually you'll show us what you are. The only question is whether you do it voluntarily or whether we force it out."
I look at him and I think about pack law, about the fact that this isn't personal cruelty, it's biological imperative. They need to know if I'm a threat. "If you're trying to intimidate me into submission, it's working. If you're trying to make me show my hand before I understand what's happening, you're wasting your time."
"We'll see."
He steps back. The three of them turn toward the far end of the chapel. I hear a door open and close, footsteps receding, and then silence.
I wait ten seconds. Then I go to the front door.
The handle doesn't turn.
I put both hands on it and push. It gives me nothing. Someone bolted it from outside. This is part of the trial. Testing whether I can problem-solve under pressure, whether I panic, whether I have the resourcefulness to escape.
I step back. I breathe once, slow, and I look at the room.
The candles are still burning. The narrow windows near the roof are too small. The shuttered windows along the walls won't budge. The side door is bolted.
I work methodically around the room, testing each window. At the far end there's a window that's latched but not shuttered, and when I press the frame it flexes.
I find the heaviest candleholder, solid iron, and I strike the frame beside the latch. The rust cracks. Three more strikes and the latch shears and the window swings out.
The opening is narrow. I have to drag the collapsed pew over to reach the right angle, and climbing through I catch both forearms on the rough stone, the inside of my left arm scraping open in a long line that I feel as heat first and then sharp pain.
I drop to the ground outside and land in a crouch. The cold air hits my face and I stay crouched for a moment with my hands flat on the frozen ground, breathing.
The cut is open properly, running from below my elbow to my wrist. Not deep but long. The blood is dark. I press my right hand over it and I stand.
I look back at the chapel. Stone, dark, the candlelight leaking faintly through sealed shutters.
They left me in there not to torture me but to test me. Can she think under pressure? Can she problem-solve? Does she panicor does she adapt? This is how wolves assess potential pack members, how they determine rank.
