The city wall loomed behind them through the rain, a dark spine of stone and iron cutting a jagged line across the night. Torches burned along the parapet, their flames guttering in the wind, casting long, warped shadows that crawled across the road like living things.
They had made it.
Now that the adrenaline was finally ending, Elena felt the ache settle deep into her bones. Every step sent a dull throb through her legs. Her shoulders burned from holding her bow too long, too tightly. Mud clung to her boots, heavy and cold. Blood—some hers, most not—had soaked into the hem of her cloak.
Scarlett walked a few paces ahead, daggers sheathed but hands still restless, fingers twitching like she was itching for another fight. Finn stayed close to her side, limping slightly, trying—and failing—to hide it.
Max walked on Elena's other side, quieter than usual.
Too quiet.
Then figures detached themselves from the stone.
"Hold."
The voice was firm. Familiar.
Sergeant John Smith stepped forward into the torchlight, broad as the wall itself. His earth-toned armour was streaked with rain and dust, battle-worn but well kept. Beside him stood Sergeant Cassie, vines coiled loosely around her arms and shoulders like living armour. Her whip pulsed faintly, leaves dark and glossy with rainwater.
They hadn't just arrived.
They'd been waiting.
Everyone stopped.
Smith's eyes swept over them—injuries, missing weapons, blood, the hollow look of people who had seen too much and lived anyway. Cassie's gaze lingered on Elena a fraction longer than the others. There was no judgment in it. Only assessment.
"You look amazing," Scarlett muttered under her breath.
Cassie's mouth twitched. "Thanks. It's good to see you too."
Smith folded his arms. "Where's the rest of your group Marek?"
Before anyone could answer, another presence asserted itself.
Boots on stone. Measured. Authoritative.
Major Grant Burton descended the steps from the wall, cloak pristine despite the rain, expression carved into something unreadable. Torchlight caught the insignia at his collar. Two guards fell in behind him without a word.
The air shifted.
Max stiffened.
Elena felt it like pressure behind her eyes.
Grant's gaze moved over the group once—slow, calculating—then settled.
"Detain them," he said calmly.
No raised voice. No explanation.
The guards stepped forward.
Scarlett opened her mouth—
Cassie shot her a look.
Scarlett closed it again, jaw tight.
They were separated without ceremony.
---
Max sat alone in a stone chamber overlooking the inner yard, rain streaking down the narrow window. His foot bounced uncontrollably as he waited, hands clenched in his lap.
The door opened.
His mother stepped inside.
Admiral Roxi Burton.
Not Major Burton. Not his father.
For half a second, his breath caught.
"Max," she said quietly.
He stood instinctively. "Mum."
She studied him—really studied him. The bruises blooming beneath his skin. The torn sleeve. The dried blood darkening his collar.
"You're hurt," she said.
"I'm fine."
She didn't smile at the lie.
They sat.
Silence stretched between them, heavy but familiar.
Then, softly, "Tell me what happened."
Max swallowed and began.
He told her about the patrol. The ambush. The spiders. The running retreat through the forest. The chaos.
He told her Bob was killed by a beast.
He did not tell her anything else.
Her expression didn't change.
When he finished, she leaned back slightly, fingers steepled. "Did you enter any structures on your route?"
"No."
A pause.
"Did you encounter any portals?"
"No."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Her eyes softened, just a fraction. "Alright."
She stood. At the door, she stopped.
"Max," she said without turning, "if you're lying, I will find out."
The door closed behind her.
Max sagged back into the chair, heart hammering.
---
Elena's interview was colder.
Grant Burton sat across from her at a long stone table, hands folded, posture immaculate. Marek was not present. This was just Grant.
Authority, distilled.
"State your name," Grant said.
"Elena."
"Rank."
"First-year cadet."
"Ability."
"Telekinesis."
He nodded once. "Explain what happened."
She did.
Her voice stayed steady—measured, respectful. She spoke of the patrol, the attack, the spiders, the running fight, the exhaustion. She spoke of Bob's death.
Killed by a beast.
She did not swear.
She did not mention the laboratory.
She did not mention the heart.
Grant listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he leaned forward slightly.
"You understand," he said calmly, "that if any part of your story changes—even slightly—I will find out."
A thin smile stretched across his face, sharp and joyless.
"Yes, sir."
"Good." His eyes hardened. "Because I already know you killed Bob."
He stood, circling the table with unhurried steps.
"Once I find a reason to remove you, I will," he said. "It's only a matter of time. Until then, you keep quiet about Billy and Bob attacking you, and I'll make this simple."
He stopped behind her.
"A hostile creature in the forest attacked. You defended yourselves. Nothing more. Cadets die all the time."
Elena said nothing.
"If anyone," Grant continued, voice lowering, "says otherwise—if rumours start, if questions are asked—I will personally see to it that you are all removed from the Academy of Champions."
That landed hard.
"You will not graduate. You will not serve. You will not be protected. You will not find work anywhere within the Kingdom of the Lasting Lion."
He moved back into her line of sight.
"Am I understood?"
Elena met his gaze. "Yes, sir."
"Good."
He stepped away. "You're dismissed."
---
The remaining interviews followed the same pattern.
Finn chose every word carefully, biting back what he wanted to say.
Scarlett sat rigid, sarcasm locked behind clenched teeth.
None of them broke.
None of them told the truth.
They were released together beneath the wall as the rain eased into a cold drizzle.
That was when they saw him.
Billy stood a short distance away, leaning against the stone as if he belonged there. His mechanical arm gleamed faintly in the torchlight. No guards. No restraints.
Permission.
His mouth curled into a wide, satisfied grin when their eyes met.
Not friendly.
Predatory.
Scarlett's hand twitched toward her daggers.
"I really want to hit him," Finn murmured.
"Later," Scarlett replied. "Somewhere private."
Billy said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Then Marek appeared.
He took one look at their faces and nodded once. "With me."
No explanation. No questions.
They followed.
---
Smith and Cassie waited in a smaller chamber overlooking the inner city, doors barred. Marek stood with them, arms folded, expression unreadable.
"Marek's told us what he could," Smith said immediately. "You're looking for answers. Say what you need to say."
Scarlett exhaled shakily. "Finally."
Cassie raised a brow. "Watch the language."
"Sorry," Scarlett said automatically, then glanced at Elena. "Go on."
Elena hesitated.
Then she spoke.
"There was something else," she said quietly. "A name appeared. My father's."
Smith frowned. "They likely knew his potential during the war."
Elena nodded, then continued. "Grant's name appeared too. He's still involved."
Smith's jaw tightened. "Leave that to me."
Then Elena told them about the heart.
The way it pulsed.
The way it reacted to her.
The way it vanished into her chest as if it belonged there.
Smith's brow furrowed deeply.
Cassie went very still.
Marek's jaw clenched.
"I've never heard of anything like that," Cassie said at last.
"Nor have I," Smith agreed. "Beast hearts hold power—but they're unstable. They don't glow. They don't bond."
Marek looked at Elena properly then. "You're certain it wasn't the beast itself?"
Elena nodded. "It wasn't."
Silence settled over the room.
Smith exhaled slowly. "Then that confirms it."
"Confirms what?" Finn asked quietly.
Cassie answered. "You're not dealing with a monster problem."
Marek finished it. "You're dealing with something else entirely."
Finn shifted uneasily. "If you could speak to your father… he might know more."
Smith nodded. "He might."
Elena's fingers tightened around her bow.
She already knew what that meant.
She would have to look for her father.
Not yet.
She wasn't ready.
Not even close.