Chapter 172
Raven
I walked back to my team with measured steps, keeping my face neutral even as satisfaction hummed through my veins. No need to gloat. The numbers spoke for themselves.
Katya practically tackled me before I reached them.
"Oh my God! OH MY GOD!" She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me slightly, her eyes wild with excitement. "That was—I can't even—you just—"
"Breathe, Katya." I patted her arm. "You'll hyperventilate."
"Hyperventilate? HYPERVENTILATE?!" She released me, throwing her hands up. "You just defied physics, and you're worried about my oxygen levels?"
"Physics are more like... suggestions." I shrugged. "If you're flexible about the rules."
Ethan approached more slowly, his analytical mind clearly working overtime. "Your psychological control is extraordinary," he said, studying me like I was a particularly interesting equation. "The way you blocked out external stimuli, calculated trajectories in real-time, maintained emotional equilibrium despite the pressure—" He paused. "And your gymnastics training is clearly Olympic-level."
I tilted my head. "It's alright."
They both froze.
"Alright?" Katya's voice went up an octave. "Did you just say it's alright?"
"Yeah." I examined my nails casually. "I mean, I hit my target time. Nothing special."
Before either could respond, I raised a hand and jerked my chin toward the log. Another team was approaching the challenge.
The next hour became a blur of attempts—some successful, most not.
One by one, candidates stepped up. One by one, they either made it across or plunged into the swamp below. The soldiers were efficient, hauling failures out of the muck and immediately escorting them off the island via waiting boats.
No second chances. No appeals.
By the time the last team finished, only twelve people remained.
Twelve out of thirty-seven.
Reeves surveyed us with a critical eye, his earlier frustration replaced by grim satisfaction. "Congratulations to those still standing. You've passed the first elimination."
"Not much to congratulate," I muttered under my breath. "Failing would've been harder. The log was practically a red carpet."
The words came out louder than intended.
Every head swiveled toward me.
Shit.
Reeves's jaw tightened. His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that would've made lesser people flinch.
I smiled back pleasantly.
"Raven." His voice dropped to a dangerous register. "You think you're impressive?"
"I think facts are facts, sir."
"Facts." He took three steps closer. "Here's a fact: this was the warm-up. The real challenges haven't even started yet. So I suggest you save that attitude for when you actually need it."
Oh, I have plenty to spare.
"Noted, sir."
He held my gaze a moment longer, then turned to address the group. "Take a break. Rest while you can. You'll need it."
With that cryptic warning, he strode off, several soldiers falling into formation behind him.
The remaining candidates exchanged uneasy glances.
"Where exactly are we supposed to rest?" A muscular woman with a Brazilian accent gestured at the rocky terrain. "There's nothing but stones and dirt."
"I'm starving," someone else added. "And dying of thirst."
"Stop whining," Reeves called back without turning. "Soldiers are setting up tents now. We'll escort you there shortly for food and water." He and his entourage disappeared into the tree line.
I scanned our immediate surroundings. The others were right—the area was essentially a glorified parking lot of rocks and patches of scrubby grass. The sun beat down mercilessly, turning the exposed stone into a griddle.
But there. Twenty meters to the left.
I noticed the subtle shift in air current—a slight cooling that indicated shade. Following the pattern of shadows, I traced them to a cluster of trees that formed a natural canopy, hidden behind an outcropping of boulders.
"This way," I said, already moving.
Katya and Ethan followed without question, their trust oddly touching.
The spot was perfect—sheltered, cooler, and positioned with a clear view of the surrounding area. Old habits.
We settled onto the ground, backs against smooth stone that still held morning's coolness.
"Thank God I'm on your team," Katya sighed, stretching out her legs. "This whole experience is going to be a cakewalk with you two handling the heavy lifting."
"Don't get too comfortable," I warned. "Reeves wasn't bluffing. Things will escalate."
"Let them escalate." She waved dismissively. "I've survived worse."
Doubtful. But adorable confidence.
Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Ethan had pulled out a small leather notebook, its pages worn and obviously well-used. He was scribbling something, his expression intent.
Curiosity prickled.
"Are you taking notes on me?" I asked.
He glanced up, not even slightly embarrassed. "Professional habit." A slight smile. "But yes. Meeting someone like you—all-around capable, military genius wrapped in a package that screams 'harmless high schooler'—it's rare. Worth documenting."
"Documenting," I repeated. "Like I'm some kind of science experiment?"
"Think of it as... appreciative observation." He tapped his pen against the page. "Don't worry. I'm not planning to publish your secrets."
"I don't have secrets."
"Everyone has secrets."
Oh, if only you knew.
"Whatever. I don't care."
But even as I said it, my hand shot out and snatched the notebook from his grip.
"Hey—!"
I flipped it open, ignoring his protest.
Holy shit.
Page after page of cramped handwriting, detailed sketches, names, and—were those ratings? He'd organized his entries like some kind of international criminal database.
"Damian 'The Butcher' Marshal—Threat Level: 9/10. Signature: Prefers blades. Weakness: Arrogance."
"Alessandra Caruso—Threat Level: 7/10. Specialization: Poisons. Weakness: Emotional manipulation."
I kept flipping. The list went on. Dozens of names, each with clinical assessments, behavioral patterns, known associates.
Then I found my own entry.
"Raven Raven—Threat Level: EXTREME CAUTION."
Below it: "Deceptive appearance. High school exterior conceals near-elite military-grade assassin capabilities. Demonstrates impossible competence across multiple disciplines. Confidence borders on supernatural. Approach with extreme caution. Do not underestimate."
I stared at the words, a strange mixture of pride and unease coiling in my chest.
He's good. Too good.
I turned another page.
And froze.
"Phantom—Threat Level: UNKNOWN (Presumed 10+)."
My pulse quickened.
"You know her?" I kept my voice carefully neutral.
Ethan's expression shifted to something almost reverent. "Know her? No one knows Phantom. That's the point. But I've collected what intelligence exists." He leaned closer, enthusiasm overriding caution. "She's a legend in certain circles. Global apex predator. Allegedly vanished without a trace after a dramatic airplane incident."
I forced myself to keep reading.
"Elite assassin. International operator. Rumored connection to 'Satan's Heart'—mystical artifact of unknown power. Currently targeted by Bloodline Syndicate for reasons unknown. Status: Missing. Presumed either dead or in deep cover."
Below the text, he'd sketched the pendant.
My pendant.
The only thing I'd managed to hide from the soldiers' search back on the plane.
Instinct screamed at me not to react. I touched my chest—a casual gesture, like adjusting my shirt. Felt the familiar weight of the stone.
"This necklace," I tapped the drawing. "What do you know about it?"
Ethan's eyes lit up. "Oh, now that's fascinating." He reached over, flipping several pages ahead with the eagerness of a professor launching into a favorite lecture.
The new page was covered in diagrams, chemical formulas I didn't recognize, and more of his meticulous handwriting.
"Satan's Heart—Origin: Eastern Hemisphere (exact location classified). Composition: Unknown crystalline structure. Properties: Allegedly possesses power comparable to Egyptian pyramids' mystical energy. Capabilities: Unknown, but historical accounts suggest influence over life and death."
Then, underlined three times:
"The artifact bonds with a chosen bearer. In the hands of anyone else, it's merely an expensive rock. But for its true owner..."
The sentence trailed off into question marks.
I swallowed hard.
So that's how it works. That's why it brought me back. Not random chance—it chose me.
My mind raced. If Ethan had this information, who else knew? What other intelligence was floating around about me, about Phantom, about—
My eyes caught on another entry, partially visible at the bottom of the page.
"The Surgeon—"
I started to turn the page, desperate to read more, when Reeves's voice boomed across the clearing.
"ALL PERSONNEL! ASSEMBLE FOR MEAL BREAK!"
Damn it.