Chapter 15 Chapter 15: Pieces Aligning

Chapter 15 Chapter 15: Pieces Aligning

The morning announcement email hit every inbox at 6:47 a.m. Subject line: Fall Festival Preparations – Volunteer Sign-Ups Required. I read it twice while the coffee maker gurgled in the background. Mandatory participation for all Trials students. Booths, decorations, “community bonding.” Dean Voss’s signature at the bottom looked too elegant for something so ordinary. I almost laughed. Community bonding. Right.

Lyra was already dressed—jeans, soft sweater, hair pulled back like she was trying to look put-together even at seven in the morning. She glanced over my shoulder at the screen. “You signing up?”“Looks like I don’t have a choice.
”She nodded. Didn’t push. We were still careful with each other. Not enemies. Not quite friends. Somewhere in the cracked middle.
The campus-wide assembly was held in the main quad under a sky the color of old steel. Folding chairs had been dragged out in neat rows. Students milled around, clutching paper cups of lukewarm coffee from the catering cart. Legacy kids clustered near the front, laughing too loudly. 

The rest of us hung back. Dean Voss stepped onto the low platform they’d set up near the fountain. Silver hair catching the weak sunlight, suit pressed sharp enough to cut. He smiled like a father welcoming his children home. “Good morning,” he began. Voice carrying without a microphone. “As we move into the heart of the semester, it’s important to remember that strength is not only found in competition. It is forged in community. In shared purpose. In celebration. ”I kept my eyes on the ground. Studied the cracks in the stone pavers. Counted them. One. Two. Three. He went on about tradition, unity, the importance of “legacy and new blood working side by side.”
I felt his gaze skim the crowd—felt it pause, just for a heartbeat, somewhere near where I stood. My skin crawled. When he finished, applause rippled through the rows. Polite. Automatic. I didn’t clap. Lore class came right after.

Professor Moreau announced the group project as if it were a gift: “Historical Trials overview. Four to five students per team. Present in two weeks. Focus on documented outcomes, not speculation. ”My name appeared on the screen with Ivy, Dex, Rowan, and—after a long second—Lyra. Ivy caught my eye across the room. Raised one brow. I shrugged. What else could we do? The study room they assigned us was on the third floor of the library—small, windowless, smelling faintly of old carpet and instant noodles someone had microwaved in the break room down the hall. A round table. Five chairs. A whiteboard no one had bothered to erase from last semester. We sat. Awkward for about thirty seconds. Dex broke it first. “So. Are we doing the bare minimum or actually digging? ”Rowan leaned back, arms crossed. “Bare minimum gets us a C. Digging gets us noticed. ”Ivy snorted. “Notice is bad. ”Lyra stayed quiet. Fingers twisting in her lap. I opened my notebook. “We start with what’s public. Official records. Then… we look for what isn’t. ”We divided tasks. Ivy on death certificates listed as “accidents.” Dex on digital archives. Rowan on family lore—his family had been in the Trials for generations; he had access to things the rest of us didn’t. Lyra on…
whatever she could stomach. She spoke up quietly. “I can cross-reference enrollment lists. See who dropped out mid-cycle. ”I nodded. Didn’t thank her. Not yet. We worked in near-silence for an hour. The only sounds were keyboard clicks, page turns, and the occasional sigh. Then Dex’s stomach growled loud enough to echo.

Pizza arrived twenty minutes later—two large, one pepperoni, one veggie. Rowan paid without asking. We ate straight from the boxes, no plates, elbows on the table like normal college kids. Ivy reached for a slice at the same time Rowan did. Their hands brushed. She pulled back fast. He grinned. “Legacy tax,” he said. “You get first pick. ”She rolled her eyes but took the slice anyway. Lyra laughed—a small, surprised sound. “You two argue like siblings. ”Dex snorted.
“They fight like exes. ”Rowan threw a crumpled napkin at him. It bounced off Dex’s forehead. I watched them. Felt something loosen in my chest. Not trust. Not yet. But the absence of lying, for once, felt almost safe. When the pizza was gone and the boxes stacked, Rowan leaned forward. “We’re not just doing this for a grade, are we? ”No one answered right away. Ivy spoke first. “My sister died in the Trials. The official report said training accident. I don’t believe it. ”Dex nodded. “I’ve been pulling files for months. Too many ‘accidents.’

Too many missing weeks in the records. ”Lyra looked at her hands. “I… know someone who got hurt. Badly. Because they asked too many questions. ”All eyes turned to me. I exhaled slowly. “My mother ran from this place. Twenty years ago. She didn’t make it far enough. ”Silence stretched. Rowan broke it. Quiet. “Then we find out why. ”We didn’t say more. Didn’t need to. Afternoon festival decorating was supposed to be mindless. String lights. Paper lanterns.

Banners that read Crescent University Fall Festival – Tradition. Unity. Strength. in gold script. I ended up on quad duty with Rowan and Ivy. Ladders. Extension cords. Boxes of lights that tangled themselves the second you opened them.  Rowan handed me a strand. Our fingers brushed—brief, warm. Nothing electric. Just… nice. Steady. “You good up there?” he asked when I climbed the third rung. “I’ve fallen from higher. ”He snorted. “Not reassuring. ”Ivy laughed from below. “She’s fine. She’s got werewolf balance now, remember? ”I almost dropped the strand. We worked until the sun dipped low and the quad started glowing—soft gold against the darkening sky. It looked almost pretty. Almost normal. When we finished, Rowan dusted his hands on his jeans.
“You coming to the bonfire tomorrow night?” “Maybe. 

”He nodded. Didn’t push. Evening came fast. Kieran’s office was on the second floor of the training center—small, with a window with half-closed blinds, a desk covered in training logs, and one empty coffee mug. He was already there when I arrived. Door open. Waiting. I stepped inside. He closed it behind me. Didn’t lock it. The click of the latch still sounded too loud. “Extra reading,” he said, sliding a slim folder across the desk. “Historical suppression techniques. Thought it might help before the psych trials. ”I didn’t open it. “That’s not why I’m here. ”He leaned back against the desk. Arms crossed. “Then why are you?” I swallowed. “I’m scared.

”The words came out smaller than I meant them to. He went still. “Of the trials?” he asked quietly. “Of everything.” I met his eyes. “Of what Voss wants. Of what I’m becoming. Of… not being able to stop it. ”He exhaled slowly. Stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough that I could smell pine and smoke and the faint warmth of his skin. “You’re stronger than you know, little wolf. ”The nickname landed softly. Like a hand on my cheek. He lifted his hand—slow—toward my hair.

Fingers brushed the strand that had fallen across my forehead. Then stopped. Dropped. I didn’t breathe. He stepped back. “Go.” I went. Back in the dorm, Lyra was waiting. Sitting on her bed, knees drawn up. She looked up when I entered. “I need to show you something,” she said. She rolled up her sleeve. A thin scar circled her wrist—puckered, faded pink. Like someone had tied her too tight once. “Voss’s enforcer did this,” she whispered. “Not to me. To Finn. When I missed a report deadline.

Said it was a reminder. ”My stomach turned. She pulled her shirt up just enough to show the ribcage tattoo. Runes. Complex. Glowing faintly blue under the desk lamp. “It’s a tracking mark,” she said. “He put it on me after I started holding back. If I try to leave campus… it burns. If I lie in reports… it burns. ” I stared at the faint blue glow under her skin. “How does he even get things into my drawer? It’s locked. The room’s locked.
”
Lyra’s mouth twisted. “Voss has ways. The same binding magic that keeps us on campus can slip through cracks—keyholes, under doors, even mirrors if the ward’s tuned right. Small things. That’s how he always knew when I was holding back. I think… some of the notes aren’t even carried by hands.”
“I can’t lie outright in my reports—the mark burns like fire—but I can omit. I can phrase things carefully. ‘Sage is compliant during sessions.’ Technically true, even if we’re plotting in the tunnels at night. I’ve been buying us time.
. “You’ve been carrying that this whole time. ”She nodded. Tears welled but didn’t fall. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. ”I didn’t hug her. Didn’t say it was okay. But I sat beside her on the bed. Close enough that our shoulders touched. “We’re in this together now,” I said. She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for months. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Together. ”We sat like that until the lamp timer clicked off. Darkness settled. But for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel quite so heavy.