Chapter 175
Raven
A ripple of muttered curses swept through the tent. The remaining candidates—nine hungry, exhausted bodies—shifted their weight, jaws clenched, eyes narrowed. I could practically taste their resentment thickening the air like smoke.
"Congratulations," Reeves said flatly. "You three just earned an extra serving each."
He turned on his heel and stormed out, soldiers trailing behind him like obedient shadows. The tent flap swung shut with an ominous finality.
Moments later, a catering crew appeared—uniformed staff pushing steel carts laden with covered trays. The smell hit first: roasted garlic, herbs, something rich and savory that made my mouth water involuntarily. They set twelve identical plates on the table, removed the silver domes with synchronized precision, then vanished just as quickly as they'd arrived.
The tent went silent.
I leaned forward, studying the plate closest to me. Grilled vegetables—asparagus, bell peppers, cherry tomatoes—arranged with almost artistic care. A small portion of wild rice pilaf, flecked with saffron. A delicate butter sauce pooled at the edge.
And one chicken leg.
One single, perfectly roasted, golden-brown chicken leg.
"Are you kidding me?" someone muttered behind me.
"This is it?" another voice hissed. "One goddamn chicken leg?"
The food looked restaurant-quality compared to the bait cans—hell, it probably was from some five-star military contractor kitchen. But the portions? Laughable. The vegetables and rice were garnish at best. That chicken leg was the only real source of protein and calories on the entire plate.
For a special forces candidate who'd been running obstacle courses and balancing on wet logs all morning, it was a joke.
A cruel, deliberate joke.
Katya stared at her plate, then at me, her face flushing. "Raven... this isn't enough."
"Not even close," Ethan agreed quietly, adjusting his glasses. "Average male candidate probably needs 3,500 calories minimum to maintain energy output in this environment. This?" He gestured at his plate. "Maybe 450 calories. Possibly less."
I watched the other candidates sit down, their movements stiff and resentful. A few of the bigger guys—broad-shouldered, heavy-muscled types who probably ate 5,000 calories on a normal day—looked like they wanted to flip the entire table.
"Unbelievable," one man growled, a thick Scandinavian accent coloring his words. "This is what they feed us after that bullshit test?"
"Probably another psychological evaluation," someone else muttered. "See who complains first."
Katya picked up her fork with visible reluctance, cutting into the chicken leg like it personally offended her. She ate quickly, mechanically, eyes down. Ethan did the same—small, efficient bites, chewing thoroughly, swallowing with obvious discomfort.
The discomfort of eating in front of starving people.
I picked up my chicken leg with my fingers.
Bit into it.
Chewed slowly.
"Oh my God," Katya whispered. "Raven. What are you doing?"
I took another bite, savoring the crispy skin, the herb-infused meat that fell off the bone with perfect tenderness. Closed my eyes.
"You know," I said conversationally, "this reminds me of the time I spent three weeks on a deserted island in the Andaman Sea."
Ethan's fork paused halfway to his mouth.
Katya's eyes went wide. "You what?"
"Training exercise. Got dropped off with nothing but a knife and a water bottle." I gestured with the chicken leg. "Had to survive on whatever I could catch. Ate a lot of raw fish. Some questionable crabs. One time I found a dead seagull and thought, Hey, protein is protein." I took another deliberate bite. "So trust me when I say—having an actual roasted chicken leg? In the middle of nowhere?" I grinned. "This is luxury."
Silence.
Total, suffocating silence.
I glanced up. Every single candidate was staring at me. Not just watching—fixated. Eyes locked on the chicken leg in my hand, throats working as they swallowed reflexively.
Katya kicked me under the table.
"Raven," she hissed. "Everyone's finished eating. You're making them—"
"Jealous?" I smiled sweetly. "Good. Let them watch. Let them smell it." I lifted the chicken leg slightly, waving it just enough to send another waft of rosemary and garlic into the air. "Boosts morale, you know. Gives them something to aspire to."
A low, dangerous rumble came from somewhere to my left.
"Are you serious right now?" someone snarled.
I ignored them, taking another bite. Savored it. Let my eyes drift half-closed in exaggerated pleasure.
Katya looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.
Finally—finally—I finished the first chicken leg. Set the bone down neatly on my plate. Wiped my fingers on the provided napkerchief with slow, deliberate care.
The tent had gone quiet. Too quiet.
I glanced up. Every other candidate had finished eating—plates empty, pushed aside, their eyes now tracking my every movement with the intensity of predators watching prey.
Katya shifted uncomfortably beside me. "Raven," she whispered urgently. "Everyone's done. Maybe you should—"
I reached for my second chicken leg.
The reaction was instantaneous.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"She's still eating?"
"We've been sitting here for five minutes watching her!"
The complaints came in sharp, resentful mutters. I could feel the weight of their stares, the barely suppressed anger radiating from nine hungry, exhausted bodies who'd wolfed down their meager portions in under two minutes.
And here I was, just getting started on round two.
I picked up the second chicken leg, examining it with the scrutiny of a jeweler appraising a diamond. Turned it slightly in the light. Admired the golden-brown perfection of the skin.
A man two tables over—Eastern European features, dark eyes, close-cropped hair—actually started drooling. I watched a thin line of saliva escape the corner of his mouth before he wiped it away furiously.
"You gonna finish that?" he called out, voice rough with barely contained desperation.
I glanced at him. Smiled.
"I mean... I could help," he continued, leaning forward. "If you're full. No sense letting it go to waste, right?"
I brought the chicken leg to my lips. Took a small, delicate bite.
"Oh no," I said thoughtfully. "I'm not full yet."
Katya made a strangled sound.
I chewed slowly, letting the silence stretch. Everyone watching. Waiting. Breath held.
Then I lowered the chicken leg.
Stared at it.
Sighed dramatically.
"You know what?" I set it back down on my plate. "I really thought I could eat two. Guess my appetite isn't what it used to be."
The tent exploded.
"What the FUCK—"
"You're just going to—"
"That's food! People are starving!"