Chapter 99
Elara's POV
Warren stood in front of the electronic screen, his face unreadable in the harsh fluorescent light. The display flickered to life, showing a grid of team numbers and completion times.
My pulse stayed steady. I'd learned a long time ago that waiting for results was just another kind of battle.
"Team One," Warren announced. "Forty-nine hours, twelve minutes. Failed."
A girl near the front gasped. Her teammate grabbed her arm, but she was already shaking her head.
"Team Two. Thirty-six hours, forty-one minutes. Pass."
The numbers kept coming. I watched the screen, tracking which teams made it and which didn't. Three teams got eliminated. The room felt smaller with each announcement.
"Team Four. Forty-seven hours, fifty-eight minutes. Pass."
I glanced sideways. Dylan stood three rows back, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. His face was iron-colored as he stared at his team's time on the screen.
Two minutes. He'd passed by two minutes.
Warren's voice cut through the silence. "Eliminated candidates will pack their belongings and leave immediately. The remaining twelve of you—congratulations. You've reached the final stage."
I didn't move. Didn't celebrate. The real test hadn't even started yet.
---
Warren led us to the mess hall. I stopped in the doorway.
Long tables stretched across the room, covered with food. Actual food. Roasted chicken, glazed ribs, towers of fresh fruit, chocolate cake, even bottles of sparkling cider lined up like soldiers.
It looked nothing like the plain rice and vegetables we'd been eating for days.
Students rushed forward, grabbing plates and piling them high. Laughter echoed off the metal walls. Someone popped open a bottle of cider, and foam sprayed everywhere.
I stayed where I was.
Alice appeared beside me, holding a plate. "You not hungry?"
"I'll observe first," I said.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn't push. Just nodded and walked toward an empty table.
Something about this felt wrong. We still had a final evaluation ahead. Why would Warren suddenly let us celebrate?
I leaned against the doorframe and watched. Evan was talking with his mouth full, gesturing wildly at Mia. She laughed, covering her face with both hands. Dylan sat with his teammates in the corner, their heads bent close together.
Every few seconds, Dylan's eyes flicked toward me. Cold. Calculating.
I waited twenty minutes. Watched everyone eat and drink. Nobody collapsed. Nobody showed signs of anything unusual.
Only then did I move to the food table.
I picked simple things. Grilled chicken breast. Green salad. A bread roll. Poured myself water instead of cider.
I ate three bites of chicken, then set my fork down. My attention shifted back to the room.
Evan and Mia were still discussing our forest tactics, replaying the rope trap setup. Alice sat alone in the corner, eating slowly, her gaze distant. Dylan and his friends kept their voices low, but their eyes kept drifting my way.
The relaxed atmosphere felt staged. Like the calm before a storm hits.
I pushed my plate aside, appetite gone.
---
Halfway through the meal, Dylan stood up. He swayed slightly, gripping the edge of the table for balance.
His face was flushed. Red patches colored his cheeks and neck. He'd been drinking the cider—more than one bottle, judging by the empties near his seat.
He crossed the room toward me. His footsteps were uneven, just a little too heavy.
I didn't move. Just watched him approach.
Dylan stopped beside my table. He leaned down, one hand braced on the surface. His breath smelled like sugar and alcohol.
"Don't get too comfortable," he said quietly. The words came out slightly slurred. "This is just the beginning."
I met his eyes. Didn't blink. Didn't respond.
He straightened up, swaying again. A cold smile spread across his face as he raised his half-empty bottle in a mock toast.
"Sleep well tonight, Grey. You're going to need it."
Then he turned and walked away, his shoulder bumping into a chair on his way back to his table.
I watched him go. My expression stayed neutral, but my mind was already working.
He was drunk enough to be reckless. Sober enough to mean every word.
---
The sharp blast of a whistle cut through the noise.
Everyone froze. Forks clattered onto plates. Conversations died mid-sentence.
Warren stood in the center of the mess hall, whistle still at his lips. His face was stone.
"All candidates. Line up. Now."
The room erupted into motion. Students scrambled to their feet, abandoning half-eaten meals and knocking over chairs in their rush to form ranks.
I stood and moved into position. My heart rate didn't change, but my senses sharpened.
Warren waited until we'd formed two neat lines. Then he pulled out a folder from under his arm.
"Phase Three evaluation," he announced. His voice echoed in the sudden quiet. "Social infiltration and target acquisition."
I felt my pulse kick up. Just slightly.
"Tomorrow night, there will be a masquerade ball in Mist Creek. Your mission is to infiltrate the event and retrieve a card from a designated target."
Murmurs rippled through the lines. I stayed silent, processing.
This wasn't about physical combat or wilderness survival. This was about blending in. Operating in human society without blowing your cover.
The kind of mission real Council agents handled.
A hand shot up near the front. "Sir, is this an individual assignment or can we work in teams?"
Warren's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"There are no restrictions," he said slowly. "You may work alone. You may form alliances with other candidates. You may even—"
He paused, letting the silence stretch.
"—choose to eliminate your target entirely. If you have the capability."
The mess hall erupted. Gasps. Someone swore under their breath. A girl near the back actually stepped backward.
I watched Warren's face. His eyes held a hint of mockery. Like he was testing us, waiting to see who'd crack under the implications.
He didn't think any of us could actually kill the target. Which meant the target wasn't some random civilian.
Whoever we were up against was dangerous. Probably more dangerous than anyone in this room.
My mind raced through possibilities. A rogue wolf? A Council official? Someone with combat training?
Warren let the chaos continue for a few more seconds before raising his hand.
"Time limit is twenty-four hours from the start of the ball. Candidates who fail to retrieve a card will be immediately eliminated from the program and permanently flagged as unsuitable for Council operations."