Thursday morning. Nine AM. Homeroom with Vale.

I sat in the back corner of the lecture hall watching fifty first-years file in through the double doors like they were walking to a funeral. Some of them probably were. Gate mortality stats didn’t lie. One in ten first-years washed out before winter break. One in twenty didn’t make it to second year at all.

The numbers were cheerful like that.

Belle dropped into the seat on my left, her blue hair still damp from the showers. She smelled like the academy’s generic soap and something floral underneath. Her uniform shirt strained across her chest where the top two buttons remained open. The fabric pulled tight enough that I could see the black lace underneath.

I looked away. Tried to anyway.

"Morning, milk vampire."

"Morning, gold digger."

She grinned and kicked my shin under the desk. Not hard. Just enough to remind me she could.

Naomi took the seat on my right, her pink and black hair braided the way I’d done it that morning before dawn. She’d shown up at my door at five forty-five wearing gym clothes and a smile that made my chest do complicated things.

We’d trained for ninety minutes. Just the two of us. No extraction. No system bullshit. Just me helping her with footwork while she helped me with aerial targeting.

It felt normal.

Normal was a lie I was getting dangerously comfortable with.

"Hey," Naomi said quietly.

"Hey yourself."

Her shell necklace caught the overhead light. I noticed a new bruise on her collarbone, half-hidden by her shirt collar. My mouth. Two nights ago in her room when she’d asked me to mark her somewhere visible.

Belle noticed it too. Her eyes flicked from Naomi’s neck to my face, calculating something I probably didn’t want to know about.

Jordan stumbled in looking like death warmed over and reheated three times. His grey eyes were bloodshot, his tie hung loose, and his blazer draped over one shoulder like he’d forgotten how shirts worked.

He collapsed into the seat next to Belle and immediately put his head down.

"You alive?" I asked.

"Define alive."

"Breathing. Conscious. Vertical occasionally."

"One out of three."

Belle poked his shoulder. "Did you study?"

"Studied the inside of my eyelids. Very educational."

"Vale’s going to destroy you."

"Vale can get in line behind Misato, Garrett, and my alarm clock."

The classroom filled around us. Guild kids claimed the front rows with their expensive haircuts and custom uniforms. Regular admissions scattered through the middle sections. Lottery winners drifted toward the back like we were magnetic north for social rejects.

Misato entered alone and took a seat three rows ahead of us. Her lime green ponytail swung as she sat down, spine straight, posture perfect. She didn’t look back at our group.

Blair walked in sixty seconds later with Charles trailing behind like a loyal attack dog. Her red hair was pulled into a tight bun, her ice-blue eyes scanning the room with the warmth of an industrial freezer. She spotted me immediately.

Her jaw tightened.

Good.

Let her stew on Friday. Let her think about how the fat lottery kid who couldn’t run a mile three weeks ago just cleared an A-rank simulation yesterday while she was probably having her daddy’s lawyers draft complaint letters to the IHC.

Blair sat in the front row, center seat. Charles took the spot directly behind her. Protective. Possessive. The kind of positioning that said "mine" without words.

I felt Belle shift beside me. When I glanced over, she was staring at Blair with eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"That’s your lying voice."

"I don’t have a lying voice."

"You absolutely have a lying voice. It gets higher and you talk faster."

Belle’s mouth twitched. "Shut up."

"See? That’s your annoyed voice. Completely different."

Naomi leaned across me to whisper at Belle. "What’s wrong?"

"Blair’s wearing the same uniform configuration as Monday. Same bun. Same posture. Same everything."

"So?"

"So either she’s cycling laundry weird or she’s spiraling."

I looked at Blair again. The uniform was perfect. Too perfect. Like she’d spent forty minutes making sure every crease aligned.

"Maybe she just likes consistency."

"Or," Belle said slowly, "she’s obsessing about something and falling into patterns when she gets stressed."

Naomi made a thoughtful sound. "You think she’s worried about tomorrow?"

"I think she’s been thinking about tomorrow since we posted second place."

The door opened again. Dominic Vale walked in wearing designer sunglasses indoors like a complete asshole, his silver-white hair swept back, face mask covering his mouth. He carried nothing. No bag. No tablet. No coffee. Just his hands in his pockets and the kind of casual confidence that came from being literally untouchable.

The heterochromia hit different every time. Left eye ice blue. Right eye storm grey. Both looking at us like we were the punchline to a joke only he understood.

"Good morning, future disappointments."

Half the class responded. "Good morning, Professor Vale."

He stopped at the front of the room and leaned against the desk like sitting was too much effort. His suit probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Pre-Aurora shopping spree, anyway.

"So. You survived week three. Shocking. I had money on at least two of you washing out by now, but here we all are. Breathing. Functional. Mostly."

His eyes tracked across the room. Stopped on me.

"Monroe."

Shit.

"Yes, sir."

"You grew."

The classroom went dead silent.

"I... yeah. A little."

"A little." Vale’s mouth curved under the mask. I could tell because his eyes crinkled. "You were what, five-nine three weeks ago? Now you’re five-ten, maybe five-eleven. Also, you stopped being fat. Impressive work."

My face burned. Belle’s hand found my knee under the desk, squeezing once.

"Thank you, sir."

"Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything. You did." Vale pushed off the desk. "Which brings me to today’s topic. Rankings."

A holographic display materialized in the air above his head. Ten squad names listed vertically with numbers beside them.

I found us immediately.

2. Midnight Foxes - 847 points

Right below:

1. Obsidian Elite - 912 points

Sixty-five points.

That’s all that separated us from first place.

"Congratulations to Obsidian Elite for maintaining the top position through sheer force of will and Blair Davenport’s daddy’s money."

Blair’s shoulders went rigid.

"And congratulations to the Midnight Foxes for being the scrappiest bunch of lottery kids I’ve seen in four years. You’re annoying. But effective. I respect that."

Belle sat up straighter. Jordan lifted his head from the desk. Naomi’s hand found mine.

Vale continued. "Now. You’ll notice both squads have gate assignments tomorrow. Same tier. Same time slot window. Different locations, obviously. Can’t have you killing each other before the IHC gets their liability waivers sorted."

Polite laughter from the guild kids.

"Whichever squad performs better on Friday moves into first place going into the winter evaluation period. So. No pressure."