Chapter 4 WHAT THE SYSTEM COULDN’T READ
Ivana closed the door.
She did it quietly, with the careful deliberateness of someone who understood that the moment required a certain kind of handling, and then she turned to look at me with an expression I hadn’t seen on her face before, not alarm exactly but something more measured than that. Like she was taking the situation apart piece by piece and deciding how to respond to each component individually.
“Sit down,” she said.
“I’m fine standing.”
“Ariana.” Just my name. The way she said it made it a complete sentence.
I sat down on my bed.
She sat on hers, pulling her legs up underneath her, and for a moment neither of us said anything. The room felt smaller than it had that morning. The window was still cracked and the night air coming through it was sharp and cold and smelled like pine and something older underneath, the particular scent of the Ironfang forest that I was already beginning to associate with unease.
“The system couldn’t read you,” Ivana said finally. Not a question, stating it plainly, the way she did everything, turning it over in the open air between us where we could both look at it.
“That’s what he said.” I uttered.
“Has anything like that happened to you before? Assessment wise, I mean. Pack evaluations, ability testing, anything?”
I looked at my hands in my lap, “No.” I answered.
The lie came out smooth and automatic, the way lies do when you’ve been telling them long enough that they stop feeling like lies and start feeling like a version of the truth you’ve decided to live in because the real answer was more complicated than yes or no and I had no idea yet how much of myself I was willing to put into Ivana’s hands. She had been kind to me, she had been more than kind but kind and trustworthy were two different things and I had learned that particular lesson early and expensively.
Ivana looked at me for a moment with those sharp warm eyes and I had the uncomfortable feeling that she had heard the lie and filed it away without comment, which was somehow worse than being called out on it.
“Okay,” she said simply. “They’ll run it again tomorrow probably. It’ll come back normal and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Probably,” I agreed.
Neither of us believed that.
We went to dinner and I kept my face arranged into something neutral and unremarkable and I ate without tasting anything and listened to Ivana talk about the other students she had observed during orientation with the focused analytical pleasure of someone who found people genuinely fascinating rather than exhausting. She had already identified three distinct social factions, the probable hierarchy within Kael’s table, and what she suspected was a secret relationship between two students who had been very carefully not looking at each other all through the ceremony.
“You’re terrifying,” I told her.
“I prefer perceptive.” She stole a piece of bread from my plate without asking. “The point is, nobody is paying attention to you right now, everyone is too busy figuring out their own position to care about yours.”
“Professor Aldric came to our room personally.”
“Professor Aldric is one person. The rest of this dining hall has no idea that happened and by tomorrow something else will have occurred to replace it as the primary topic of gossip.” She said it with the confidence of someone who had mapped human or wolf behavior patterns extensively. “You have more time than you think.”
I wanted to believe her, I ate my dinner and tried.
I noticed Kael Ashvorne twice during the meal and hated myself for it both times.
The first was when he stood to leave the table around him shifting in response the way things in orbit shift when the central body moves, subtle and automatic and probably unconscious on everyone’s part. He was taller than I’d registered from a distance. He moved through the dining hall without looking at anyone in particular and everyone looked at him anyway, that particular quality of attention that people give to things they find both compelling and slightly dangerous.
The second was at the door.
He stopped, some instinct or interruption made him pause at the threshold and his gaze moved across the room in that slow unhurried sweep I had seen the night before. It crossed the hall, it found my table, it found me.
Two seconds or maybe three, then he was gone and I was staring at the space where he’d been standing and Ivana was watching me with an expression of profound personal entertainment.
“Don’t,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say that your water glass needs refilling.” She nodded at it serenely, “That’s all.”
I refilled my water glass and did not look at the door again.
The second assessment was scheduled for the following morning.
Professor Aldric came to collect me himself, which again was not standard procedure and which I chose not to read too much into because reading too much into things was a habit I was trying to break with limited success. He walked me through corridors I hadn’t navigated yet, deeper into the academy’s older section, where the stone was darker and the ceiling lower and the lighting had that particular quality of somewhere that didn’t get much natural light. The air changed as we went further in, heavier, layered with something that sat in the back of my throat like a frequency.
The assessment room was small and circular, completely different from the main hall. No tiered seating. No audience. Just the dais, the same material as the one in the main hall but larger here, the luminescence more visible in the dimmer light, pulsing faintly in a rhythm that almost resembled breathing.
There were two other staff members present. I didn’t recognize either of them, older than Professor Aldric, with the particular composed stillness of people who had seen a great deal and trained themselves not to react to most of it. They stood to one side of the room and watched me enter with expressions I couldn’t read.
“The process is the same as yesterday,” Professor Aldric said. He was using his careful voice again, the one that selected each word before releasing it. “Step onto the platform, remain still, step off when you feel the assessment complete. The only difference is that this version of the assessment runs deeper than the standard one.”
“Deeper,” I said.
“More comprehensive, It may feel more present than yesterday’s.” He replied.
I looked at the dais, the faint pulse of it, the way the light seemed to move within the material rather than reflect off it.
“Alright,” I said.
I stepped up. The difference was immediate. Yesterday’s assessment had been pressure, deep and comprehensive and searching, but pressure nonetheless, something external taking a reading of something internal. This was different, this felt like the platform wasn’t reading me so much as it was speaking to something in me and waiting to hear back.
I felt it find the locked place in my chest, I felt it press.
I clamped down so hard my vision went briefly white at the edges. Eight years of practice, eight years of compression and containment and making myself small, all of it engaged at once in the space of a breath. The thing in my chest pushed back against me with a force that made my knees want to buckle and I locked them and kept my face still and breathed through my nose and held.
The platform’s pulse stuttered and then something I didn’t expect, something I hadn’t felt before. The platform didn’t push harder the way I’d anticipated, instead it went quiet like it had found what it was looking for and was now simply sitting with it, patient and ancient and entirely unbothered by the fact that I was standing above it with every muscle in my body engaged in keeping what it had found exactly where it was.
Thirty seconds, I stepped off. My legs were steady, I made sure of that before I moved. I walked to the edge of the room and stood with my hands loose at my sides and waited while the three staff members exchanged a look that lasted longer than it should have.
Professor Aldric turned to me.
“Miss Von,” he said, and there was something new in his voice now, something underneath the careful selection of words that I couldn’t quite name. “Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes while we…“
“What did it find?” I asked.
“The results need to be reviewed before we can… “
“What did it find?” I asked again, quietly, the same way I said most things but something in my tone had shifted and all three of them heard it.
Professor Aldric looked at me for a long moment then he looked at the two staff members, who gave him nothing back.
He looked back at me.
“The system flagged your result,” he said carefully. “For review by the senior council.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“Today the flag is different.” He paused. “Miss Von, when was the last time you underwent a full ability assessment? Prior to Ironfang?”
I thought about the training field, nine years old, Caden’s expression.
“I haven’t,” I said. “My pack didn’t, it wasn’t standard for our circumstances.”
Something moved across Professor Aldric’s face, quick and complex and gone before I could name it.
“I see,” he said softly.
He said it like a man who had just had something confirmed that he had been hoping was wrong.
I was escorted back to my corridor by one of the silent staff members who didn’t speak once during the entire walk and left me at the entrance to the east residential wing with a nod that communicated absolutely nothing. I stood in the corridor for a moment after he disappeared around the corner, the stone quiet around me and the morning light coming through the narrow windows in pale diagonal lines.
My first class started in twenty minutes, I went because that was what I did. I showed up, I kept my face still, I moved through the spaces I was given and I did not let the thing in my chest have any more room than I had already decided it was allowed.
But walking into that classroom, finding a seat near the window, opening a notebook I hadn’t written anything in yet, I heard Professor Aldric’s voice underneath everything else.
“The system flagged your result for review by the senior council.”
And underneath that, quieter, the thing he hadn’t said but that I had heard anyway in the space between his words
“We’ve seen something like this before and we are not sure what to do with it.”
I wrote the date at the top of the first page of my notebook and underlined it and stared at it and thought about my father’s photograph on the shelf above my desk. Strong jaw, eyes forward, the absolute certainty of someone who had never considered failure.
I wondered what he had felt, the first time someone looked at him the way Professor Aldric had just looked at me.
I wondered if it had frightened him.
I wondered if he had let it show.
I turned to the first page and I wrote the date and I kept my face still and I waited for whatever was coming next.