Chapter 23 The Exam (Brynn POV)
Friday morning arrived too fast.
I stumbled into the chemistry exam room at 8:55 AM running on three hours of sleep and pure anxiety. Harper had drilled me until midnight, then Jaxon had texted practice problems until two in the morning. I'd finally passed out with the textbook still open on my chest.
Professor Blake was already setting up, arranging test packets on each desk with methodical precision. Students filtered in with varying levels of confidence some looked ready, others looked like they'd accepted their fate.
I chose a seat in the middle row, hoping to blend in and avoid attention.
Then Cole walked in.
He scanned the room with that predatory awareness I'd come to recognize, his gaze landing on me with what looked like satisfaction. Then he deliberately walked to the seat directly behind mine.
"Morning, Calloway." His voice was pleasant, friendly. "Big day."
I didn't respond, just pulled out my pencils and calculator. Tried to channel the breathing exercises Jaxon had taught me during our training sessions. In for four counts, hold for four, out for four. Focus on the physical sensation, filter everything else.
"Studied hard?" Cole leaned forward, close enough that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. "You seemed very... focused during your study sessions. All those late nights. Very dedicated."
Heat crept up my neck. He knew. About the study sessions with Jaxon, probably about everything that had happened during them. How much was he watching?
"Settle down, everyone." Professor Blake's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "You have ninety minutes for this exam. No talking, no phones, no wandering eyes. Show all your work for calculations."
He started distributing test packets, moving systematically down each row. Mine landed on my desk with a soft thud that felt like a judgment.
I opened it with shaking hands.
Question 1: Calculate the pH of a 0.15 M solution of acetic acid. Ka = 1.8 × 10⁻⁵. Show all work.
I knew this. Tyler had drilled me on pH calculations for an hour yesterday. Set up the equilibrium expression, solve for hydrogen ion concentration, take the negative log.
My pencil started moving, writing out the steps. Behind me, Cole shifted in his seat.
"Good start," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. "Nice and steady. Just like Father will expect when you meet him tomorrow."
My hand jerked, leaving a streak of graphite across my work. I forced myself to keep writing, to ignore him. But my wolf senses amplified every sound the scratch of his pencil, the rustle of his exam packet, his steady breathing that seemed deliberately paced to distract me.
Question 2: Given the following reaction at equilibrium, predict the shift if temperature is increased. Explain using Le Chatelier's principle.
I'd studied this. Knew the answer. But Cole leaned forward again.
"Temperature changes," he murmured. "Interesting. Father's temperature will definitely change when you arrive tomorrow. Hot anger or cold calculation which do you think?"
"Stop talking," I hissed, keeping my voice low.
"I'm not talking. Just thinking out loud." His tone was innocence itself. "You know, processing the material. Very focused studying technique."
I gritted my teeth and returned to the problem. Endothermic versus exothermic reactions, equilibrium shifts, Le Chatelier's principle. The words swam on the page as I tried to filter out Cole's presence.
Question 3: Calculate the buffer capacity of a solution containing 0.1 M CH₃COOH and 0.1 M CH₃COO⁻.
Buffer systems. Jaxon had explained these three different times before I finally understood them. I started setting up the Henderson-Hasselbalch equation.
"Buffers," Cole said softly. "Interesting concept. Resisting changes to pH. Like how you're trying to resist the inevitable. Admirable, really, but ultimately futile."
My pencil point broke from the pressure I was applying. I grabbed another one, hands shaking now.
"Thirty minutes gone," Professor Blake announced. "Sixty minutes remaining."
I was only on question four out of twelve. At this rate, I wouldn't finish. Cole's constant whispered commentary was shredding my concentration, turning what should have been manageable problems into impossible hurdles.
Question 4: Explain the difference between a strong acid and a weak acid. Provide examples and describe their dissociation in water.
"Strong versus weak," Cole mused behind me. "Like Father versus you. The strong acid completely dissociates total domination. The weak acid only partially dissociates partial resistance that ultimately means nothing. Which one are you, Brynn?"
"Would you shut up," I muttered through clenched teeth.
"Is there a problem, Miss Calloway?" Professor Blake's voice made me freeze.
"No, sir. Just talking to myself."
"Well, talk silently. This is an exam." He returned to his desk, and I felt Cole's quiet laughter vibrate through the air between us.
I forced myself back to the exam. Strong acids, weak acids, dissociation constants. The material was there in my brain, buried under layers of stress and supernatural intimidation, but I could find it if I just focused.
The remaining questions blurred together equilibrium constants, titration endpoints, buffer systems. Cole kept up his whispered commentary, mixing chemistry terms with veiled threats about tomorrow's dinner. My wolf senses picked up everything his smug satisfaction, his predatory anticipation, his certainty that I was already caught.
"Time's up. Pencils down."
I'd finished. Barely. The last three problems were rushed, probably wrong, but at least the page wasn't blank.
Professor Blake collected exams methodically. When he took mine, I tried to read his expression but got nothing. He just added it to the stack and moved on.
Students filed out, most looking relieved that it was over. I stood on shaky legs, gathering my things.
Cole was waiting by my desk.
"You did well today." His voice was approving, like a teacher praising a student. "Stayed focused despite distractions. Completed your work under pressure. Proved you can follow orders even in difficult circumstances."
"I was taking a chemistry exam, not following orders."
"Were you? Because from where I was sitting, you performed exactly as instructed." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Didn't turn around. Didn't complain to Professor Blake. Didn't make a scene. Just obediently completed your task while I... supervised."
The parallel to tomorrow's dinner was deliberate and clear.
"That's exactly what Father values," Cole continued. "Wolves who can maintain composure under pressure. Who understand their place. Who know when to submit gracefully instead of fighting pointlessly." He smiled. "You're going to do beautifully tomorrow night."
"I haven't decided if I'm going."
"Haven't you?" He pulled out his phone, showing me a message. "Father's already sent the car confirmation. Six-thirty pickup from the main entrance. Your attendance is... expected."
"Expected isn't the same as required."
"In our family, it is." He pocketed his phone. "But you already know that. Just like you knew during the exam that arguing with me would only make things worse. You're a fast learner, Calloway. That will serve you well."
He left before I could respond, joining a group of other students heading toward the dining hall.
I stood there, hands still shaking, trying to process what had just happened. The exam was over maybe passed, maybe failed, wouldn't know for forty-eight hours. But Cole's psychological warfare had been perfectly executed. He'd proven I could be controlled, intimidated, made to comply through pressure and proximity.
And tomorrow night, his father would test whether that compliance extended beyond chemistry exams.
My phone buzzed. Jaxon: How'd it go?
I typed back: Finished it. Cole sat behind me the whole time.
His response was immediate: I'm going to kill him.
Get in line, I sent back.
I headed to my next class History with Professor Ashford, one of the few subjects I was actually passing. The classroom was already half full when I arrived, students chatting while Professor Ashford wrote the day's topic on the board: "The French Revolution: Power, Blood, and the Cost of Change."
I slid into my usual seat near the middle, pulling out my notebook. Tried to focus on taking notes instead of replaying Cole's whispered threats.
Professor Ashford's lecture was engaging as always she had a way of making historical events feel immediate and relevant. But I couldn't concentrate, my mind spinning with anxiety about exam results and tomorrow's dinner and Cole's certainty that I'd already lost.
"The revolution consumed its own children," Professor Ashford was saying. "Those who started it with noble intentions often ended up victims of the same violence they'd unleashed. Power, once claimed through blood, demands more blood to maintain it."
The parallel to the Bloodrose-Steelclaw conflict wasn't lost on me.
Class ended with Professor Ashford assigning a paper on revolutionary cycles. Students packed up and filed out, but as I stood to leave, her voice stopped me.
"Miss Calloway? Could you stay for a moment, please?"