Chapter 123 The Game Begins
Rowan's POV
Malia doesn’t go back to the bus.
I'm watching her internal battle — the obvious need to run for her life and the stubborn refusal to look like she's falling apart.
She straightens just a little, unwinds her arms from around herself and molds her face into a mask of neutrality. July stays close, hand sitting just off Malia's elbow, prepared to catch her should she falter again.
I'm not the only one watching.
Across the group, Aiden is looking at Malia with a look I haven't seen in weeks, but it is not one of joy. Not anger. Not disgust. Concern. The genuine, heartfelt worry that he’s putting on airs of being indifferent.
Our eyes lock for a moment. His jaw tightens. He looks away quickly.
But I felt it. That pull. The connection we all have — which has been stretched so thin and scratched that it is mere thread — just pulled. Hard. Like an elastic band snapping taut.
Warning. Distress. Danger.
The bond that tells us that there is a problem with Malia even when we are too scattered and too broken to realize it at a conscious level. Aiden felt it too. I can see it in the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his hands ball up into fists in his pockets, the way he takes half a step toward her before he roots himself and stops.
Lydia says something to him. He doesn't reply. Just keeps looking at Malia with that worried look he’s desperately trying to hide.
Good. Maybe there is still hope for him.
The tour winds through the ritual grounds — Huge standing stones in formations that likely mean something to those who study ancient wolf traditions. Michaels talks about seasonal rituals, territorial indicators, the significance of the moon phases inscribed on the central pillar.
Students listen. I take pictures. Malia is getting paler by the minute.
At last Michaels signals a pause.
"We'll take a break now for lunch," she says. "There are some picnic tables out by the main hall. Feel free to help yourselves to whatever food the preserve is offering. We'll meet again in forty-five minutes for the afternoon exercise."
As students are released from hours of confinement, they immediately scatter. Voices rise in excited talking. Somebody takes out a portable speaker. The mood changes from reverently academic to informally social.
I move toward Malia, but July is already there, leading her to one of the picnic tables in the shade. Freddy comes bearing water bottles and granola bars and surprisingly manages to effectively play mother hen, with maximum intent.
They have her. For now.
I hang back, shooting pictures of the lunch tables, the buildings bathed in afternoon sun, students clustered in their usual groups. And I watch.
Watch as Lydia whispers to Dinah, making them both smile in a way that grinds my teeth.
I watch Aiden sit apart from everyone else, picking at food he’s not eating and glancing toward Malia when he’s sure no one’s looking.
And I watch the three rangers huddle together, whispering among themselves as they glance at clipboards.
Then back at Malia who stuff half a granola bar down her throat as July talks at her, obviously attempting to pull her attention away from whatever is making her so uneasy.
It’s coming. I can smell it. The way even the preserve itself seems to be biding its time. Watching.
After twenty minutes of lunch Professor Helthkins claps her hands for silence.
"Alright, everyone come in closer now. The rangers have an afternoon activity planned for us," she tells us.
The students drift over, interested. Malia remains seated, but July and Freddy stand on either side of her like bodyguards.
Ranger Torres steps forward, that bright smile still in place. "We’re going to do a sort of scavenger hunt. An observational challenge. You’ll be splitting up into two teams and covering two sections of the forest. Your objective is to find and record tens items of interest — maybe they're historical markers, or rare plant life, or signs of animal territory, anything that indicates you're interacting with the land."
Excited murmurs. Already competitive amongst the students, already strategizing.
“The first team to come back with ten legitimate findings gets a prize,” Torres says. “Every person in the winning group will get extra credit on their final.”
That gets everyone’s attention. Extra credit is currency at Mooncrest.
"However," Michaels voice cuts through the enthusiasm "...you need to stay in your designated lines. Group one will investigate the eastern portion. Group two will take the western route. Do not enter off-limit areas that are designated by red paint. Do not leave your group. Stay together, stay safe, and hurry back here in ninety minutes. Clear?"
Everyone nods in agreement.
"Professor Helthkins will separate you into groups," Michaels says, stepping away.
Helthkins pulls out her clipboard and begins reciting names with the skill of one who has this memorized.
"Team A: Matthew, Malia, July, Freddy, Aiden, Rowan, Lydia, Dinah, Victoria, Morrison, Patterson, Lee.”
My stomach drops both times she reads. She's combining all the volatile ingredients. Malia and Aiden. Lydia and her crew. This is either absurdly naive or wickedly shrewd.
I can read the look on Malia’s face—it's a resigned dread. She knows what that means too.
"Group Two: All you other— you are with Ranger Kim…"
With the separation done, students break into smaller groups their in-turn assigned groups. Group One huddles around Torres, who pulls out a map, he begins explaining our route.
I position myself close to Malia. July's already there, Freddy on her other side. We're unconsciously forming a protective triangle, silent in our accord.
Aiden stands at the edge of the group, Lydia attempting to hold a conversation with him. He's not listening. But he’s looking at Malia, a lingering worry still in the set of his shoulders, in the tension of his jaw.
The bond pulls again. Stronger this time.
Something's not right. Something's very not right. And everything I have in my gut is screaming that this scavenger hunt is a bad idea.
But I can’t say that without sounding paranoid. I can’t explain the feeling in my stomach to people who don’t share this bond, who aren’t feeling what I’m feeling.
“Your route is flagged with blue flags,” Torres says, pointing to the forest. “Just follow them. They will take you in safe territory. Do not deviate. Do not cross the red-marked boundaries. Stay together as a group. Any questions?”
Someone asks for what counts as a "significant finding." Torres explains the criteria. Students pull out their phones to capture their finds.
"Alright then," Torres grins. You have ninety minutes starting—now."
Group Two heads off with Kim toward the western trail, already chattering about strategy.
Our group turns to the eastern path in the forest.
And I catch it—the look Lydia gives Dinah before we start to move. Quick. Significant. Wordless communication.
A plan. They got a plan.
My hand reaches for my camera automatically. No matter what, I’m filming it all.
“Stay close,” I whisper to Malia as we begin walking.
She looked at me, confusion flickering on her pale face.
“Oh just trust me. Stay close to me, July, and Freddy. Don’t let them separate you from us.”
Understanding dawns. She nods slightly.
The group enters the woods, following blue flags that indicate our route. The canopy thickens above, turning the sunlight into green shadows. Temperature down.
Students take off in a scatter as some run much faster than others,. The cohesive group already fragmenting into smaller clusters.
I keep Malia in my view. July and Freddy stick close. We're moving as a unit, more slowly than a few of the more competitive students already rushing ahead in search of the first markers.
Aiden walks alone, several yards ahead. Lydia and Dinah group closely, whispering, and when they look back at us it’s only a fleeting glance.
At Malia specifically.
And the stone in my gut gets heavier.
This was a mistake. This entire trip. This activity. All of it.
But now we have no choice. Ninety minutes in the woods.
Split groups. Barely controlled chaos. Ancient territorial magic amplifying emotions. And Lydia with that calculating look, watching Malia like a predator watching prey.
Yeah. This is going to end badly.
I just hope I can handle how bad it gets. I lift my camera. Start documenting. The forest path, the blue flags, the students on the trail scattered.
Malia was pale and determined, flanked by her friends.
Aiden, isolated and nervous, resisting the pull back toward her. Lydia and Dinah, quietly plotting.
I’m fabricating evidence. Just in case.
The woods engulfs us more and more.
And that feeling in my stomach—that I know something really bad is going to happen—starts with every step.