Morning came like nothing had happened.
Grey light spilled over the Academy of Champions, washing the stone towers and training yards in a dull, harmless glow. Bells rang. Cadets moved through the grounds in loose streams—laughing, complaining, stretching sore muscles, arguing about drills and breakfast portions like the world hadn't tried to eat them alive.
Normal.
Too normal.
Elena felt it the moment she stepped out of the dormitory.
The air was wrong.
Not the weather—just the way people looked at them. Conversations dipped when Elena's group passed, then started again a beat too late. A couple of cadets stared openly at the dried mud on Elena's boots, the faint bandages peeking from sleeves, the stiff way Max carried himself. When Elena met their eyes, they snapped away like they'd been burned.
Scarlett strolled at Elena's side with forced swagger, twirling one of her daggers by the handle even though weapons weren't supposed to be out on the main path. Her smile was bright in the same way a painted grin was bright—flat, meant for show.
"So," Scarlett said lightly—too lightly—"great night out, yeah? Forest, spiders, death, a bit of casual blackmail from authority figures. Proper character-building."
Finn snorted, then winced as it tugged at his ribs. "You forgot the part where I got kidnapped in my sleep like a right mug."
Scarlett shot him a look. "Pleb. You nearly got turned into a spider's packed lunch and you're calling yourself a mug? Ambitious."
Finn tried to grin and ended up coughing. "Ow—alright, alright. I'm just saying… I'd like my next near-death experience to come with a nap first."
Max didn't respond.
He walked on Elena's other side, jaw set, shoulders tight, eyes forward like he was trying to bore holes through the academy gates with sheer anger. His hand kept flexing and unclenching. Elena could feel the faint hum of his telekinesis even when he wasn't using it—like a muscle refusing to relax.
Elena adjusted the strap across her chest and forced her breathing even. Her bow was restrung, but the string still felt wrong, like it remembered being snapped. Every time she touched it, she could still see Billy's hand closing around it, hear the twang of fibres giving way like a throat being crushed.
She shoved the thought down. Not here. Not now.
They rounded into the main yard—and Elena saw them immediately.
Billy leaned against the low training wall near the sparring circles, one boot braced casually behind him. His mechanical arm caught the light, polished and deliberate, like he wanted it seen. He looked clean today, too clean—uniform crisp, hair neat, posture relaxed as if he hadn't tried to tear their group apart in the woods.
Beside him stood Ned—tall, broad-shouldered, expression permanently amused, like the world was a joke only he understood. Twin sai sat at his hips, their metal dull but sharp, the kind of weapons that didn't look impressive until they were already in your ribs.
And then there was Skinny—sprawled across a bench nearby with limbs stretched far too long, elbows dangling where they shouldn't reach. He grinned lazily, chewing on something he definitely wasn't meant to have during morning formation.
Watching.
All three of them.
Scarlett swore under her breath. Quiet enough to be polite. Barely.
"Tell me that's a coincidence," Finn murmured.
Elena's stomach tightened. "It's not."
Max's gaze locked on Billy and didn't leave.
Billy noticed. Of course he did.
His mouth curled into that same slow, satisfied grin. Not friendly. Not amused.
Predatory.
Before anyone could move, a bell rang again—shorter, sharper. Cadets began drifting toward the marked training zones as instructors took positions.
Sergeant John Smith was already in the centre of the yard, clipboard tucked under one arm, stance wide and grounded like the earth itself had decided to stand up and wear a uniform. His bald head gleamed slightly in the morning light. His eyes swept the yard once, quick and sharp, and when they landed on Elena's group, something flickered there—recognition, maybe concern—gone as fast as it came.
"Formation!" Smith barked, voice booming off stone.
Cadets snapped into lines. Boots scraped. Weapons were racked. The yard went orderly.
Then another presence made itself known.
Boots on stone. Controlled. Authoritative.
Major Grant Burton descended the steps from the inner wall, cloak pristine despite the damp, expression unreadable. The torches reflected faintly off the insignia at his collar. Behind him, two guards moved into position without being told—just drifting into place like pieces on a board.
The air shifted.
Max stiffened so hard Elena thought he might crack.
Grant didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to.
"Cadets," he said evenly. "You will proceed with standard training schedule today. No alterations."
His gaze slid, briefly, toward Billy, Ned, and Skinny. It lasted half a second.
Billy straightened—just a touch—like a dog hearing its owner's whistle.
Grant's eyes returned to the yard. "Maintain discipline. Ensure nothing… unnecessary happens."
It wasn't an order anyone else understood.
But Elena did. Scarlett did. Finn did. Max did.
It was permission.
Grant gave a short nod to Sergeant Smith—two men acknowledging ranks, politics, and power—and then he turned and walked away as if he hadn't just tightened a noose around their throats.
Smith's jaw clenched for half a beat. Then he turned to the cadets.
"Right," he snapped. "Warm up. Mobility drills. If I see anyone half-arsing it, you'll be scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush."
A few nervous laughs rippled through the lines.
Elena moved with the group, stretching, rolling her shoulders, trying to keep her face blank. She could feel them behind her like a shadow.
Billy's group didn't rush in. That would've been too obvious.
They hovered.
Always close enough to hear. Never close enough to touch.
During weapons drills, Skinny stretched just a little too far, knocking Elena's quiver from the rack with an exaggerated yawn. Arrows spilled across the stone, clattering and rolling into the dirt.
"Oh, shit my bad," Skinny drawled, making no move to help.
Finn crouched to gather them, muttering, "Funny how that keeps happening."
Skinny shrugged, limbs retracting with a wet, unnatural smoothness. "Clumsy, I guess."
Ned laughed, low and warm, like he'd heard something genuinely delightful.
Elena collected the last arrow and stood slowly, meeting Skinny's eyes.
Skinny grinned wider. "All good, yeah? No hard feelings?"
Elena didn't answer.
Scarlett did, flashing him a sweet smile. "Nah. None at all. If you stretch near me again, I'll use your arm as a skipping rope."
Skinny blinked, then snorted. "Feisty."
"Smart," Scarlett corrected.
They moved to formation drills. Smith paced, barking corrections, slapping the back of a kid's helmet for slouching.
Max stepped up for a practice exchange—wooden sword in hand, stance tight. He swung clean.
Ned shifted his foot.
The ground under Max's heel rose just slightly—barely a bump, just enough. Max's boot slipped on gravel. His swing went wide. The wooden sword skidded across the sand and landed at Ned's feet.
A few cadets nearby snickered.
Ned nudged it with his boot. "Oops."
Max's hands trembled as he reached for it.
Elena watched his jaw tighten. Watched the cords in his neck stand out. The telekinetic hum around him spiked—felt like pressure in Elena's ears.
Smith noticed too.
His eyes cut toward Max, then to Ned, then to Billy leaning nearby with that half-smile.
Smith didn't shout.
He stepped close enough that only Max would hear.
"Control," Smith said quietly.
Max swallowed hard. "Yes, Sergeant."
Smith's gaze held him a moment, heavy with something like warning and something like belief. Then he moved on.
Billy drifted behind them during the next circuit, boots crunching slow and deliberate. He leaned in close enough that Elena could smell oil and metal—sharp, cold, clean.
"Heard the forest was rough," Billy murmured.
Elena kept her eyes forward.
Billy's voice stayed soft, like a secret. "Funny how some people make it back."
Scarlett's head turned slightly. Elena could feel her about to explode.
Billy continued, almost conversational. "Others don't."
Max's hand twitched. Needles in his pouch rattled faintly.
Elena stepped closer to Max—not touching him, but close enough that he could feel it.
"Not here," she said under her breath.
Max's breathing was shallow. "He thinks he owns us."
"He thinks he owns everyone," Elena murmured.
Scarlett turned her head just enough to look at Billy from the corner of her eye. "Careful," she said pleasantly. "You keep hovering like that, people might think you fancy us."
Billy's smile didn't change.
Scarlett kept going, sweet as poison. "Or you're scared to leave us alone. Or Elena at least. We all know you had the hots for her."
For the first time, Billy's grin hitched—just a fraction.
Then it returned, colder. "You talk a lot for someone who blinks away when things get scary."
Finn scoffed. "Mate, you've got a robot arm and an attitude problem. Don't act like you're the brave one."
Billy's eyes slid to Finn. "You want to test that?"
Finn's grin sharpened. "Not really. I'm still recovering from being a spider burrito, thanks."
Scarlett elbowed him. "Muppet."
The morning dragged on.
A shove here. A muttered comment there.
"Careful, Max."
"Don't trip."
"Wouldn't want another accident."
By midmorning, Max's hands were shaking openly.
Elena saw it when he missed a strike—badly. Not clumsy. Not tired. Just… a fraction off, like rage was making his body miscalculate.
Ned's laughter came again, louder this time.
That was when something inside Max finally broke.
He stepped forward before Elena could stop him.
"Enough," Max said.
The yard quieted. Even the casual chatter from the sidelines dipped.
Billy turned slowly, mock surprise painted across his face. "You talking to me?"
Max's fists clenched. His needles rose—just a little—hovering near his shoulders like a crown of thin blades. Not attacking. Not yet.
"You want to keep circling us?" Max said, voice tight. "Keep running your mouth? Fine. Let's settle it."
Scarlett hissed, "Max—"
He didn't look back.
"Fight me," Max said. "Right now."
A ripple went through the cadets. Heads turned. Even Smith paused mid-step, eyes narrowing as he clocked the shift.
Billy stared at Max for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
Not loud. Not wild.
Dismissive.
"You?" Billy said, like the word tasted bad. He tilted his head, eyes flicking over Max like he was inspecting something broken. "You think you're worth my time?"
Max stepped closer, voice sharpening. "I said—"
"I heard you," Billy cut in. "I just don't care."
Max's jaw clenched so hard Elena heard teeth grind.
Billy sighed theatrically, turning his head slightly. "Honestly? You're not a worthy opponent."
He looked Max up and down again. "Too weak."
Max's telekinesis flared. The needles quivered.
Elena's heart hammered. This was exactly what Grant wanted. Pressure until someone snapped.
Billy's gaze slid past Max to Elena. Just a flick. Just enough to make her skin crawl.
Then he spoke again, bored and cruel. "Ned."
Ned straightened, grin widening.
"You take this," Billy said.
Ned stepped into the circle, rolling his shoulders like he'd been waiting all morning for permission to hurt someone. His sai gleamed dully.
Skinny slid off the bench, stretching his arms with an audible crack. "Ooo. Lunch entertainment."
Max raised his wooden sword again. His hands still shook.
But his eyes were steady now.
He looked at Ned, then at Billy behind him, then at Elena—just once.
Elena's voice cut through the hush.
"Max!" she called, sharp and urgent. "Don't do this for them. Do it for you."
Max's breath hitched.
He nodded once.
Ned's grin sharpened. "Try not to cry," he said. "Makes it awkward."
Finn muttered, "I hope you get destroyed."
Scarlett whispered, "Same."
Sergeant Smith's voice boomed across the yard, slicing through the tension like a blade.
"All right!" he barked, stepping forward, clipboard forgotten. His eyes were hard now, serious. "If you're going to do this, you do it properly."
He looked from Ned to Max. Then to Billy. Then briefly—very briefly—toward the inner wall where Major Grant had disappeared.
"Circle," Smith ordered. "Clear the space."
Cadets backed up, forming a ring.
Smith stepped between them, hands out slightly, like he could hold back a storm with posture alone.
"One rule," he said low. "Control. You cross that line, I end it."
Ned's smile didn't waver. "Yes, Sergeant."
Max swallowed. "Yes, Sergeant."
Smith stepped back.
The yard held its breath.
And Elena realised, with a sick twist in her stomach, that the morning had never been normal at all.
It had been a set-up.
And they'd just walked straight into the trap.