The hall had gone quiet, but Nyra’s thoughts refused to follow.
Please let this change. Please let anyone else say something. I will fix whatever I have to fix, she pleaded silently, her fingers locked together so tightly that her knuckles burned. She knew the assignments were final. Everyone knew that. Shadowmoon did not reverse decisions. It did not soften outcomes. Still, she stood there bargaining with anything that might be listening.
"Proctor Kane."
The voice cut cleanly through the low murmur.
Corvin Eldritch stepped forward from the crowd, his posture relaxed, his expression polite enough to seem harmless if you did not know him better.
"I would like to request an exchange," Corvin said. "I will take Thorne Astrlyn as my trainee instead. Thornridge has other students who would benefit more from his particular methods."
The hall stirred instantly. Whispers rose. Someone near the front sucked in a breath. A senior muttered something under his breath that sounded very much like disbelief.
Vesper Kane lifted his gaze from the papers in his hands. One gray eyebrow arched. "Your request has been heard," he said evenly. "And denied."
The murmurs sharpened.
"You have your assignment, Eldritch. Thornridge has his. These pairings are not subject to negotiation. This discussion is over."
Corvin inclined his head. His smile did not shift, but Nyra caught the tightening at the corners of his eyes. "Of course, Proctor. It was worth asking."
He stepped back into the crowd, and with him went the thin, fragile hope Nyra had not meant to grow in the first place.
The lecture that followed belonged entirely to Valeria.
She brought in two additional lecturers, both older men with hard expressions and scarred hands, and together they guided the class through pack formation theory, positioning, movement in hostile territory, and the consequences of hesitation. Nyra wrote everything down without missing a word, her quill steady even as her mind remained fixed on a single, unyielding fact.
She had been assigned to Soren Thornridge.
When dismissal was finally announced, Nyra did not wait. She gathered her things and moved against the flow of students, slipping past shoulders and elbows until she reached the back of the hall. Soren stood there, unhurried, placing his materials into his bag with the same calm focus he brought to everything else.
"Excuse me," she said. Her voice did not shake, even though she felt like it should have. "About the training. When should I meet you."
He did not respond.
She waited. "Where will it be."
He closed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked past her as if she were not there.
Nyra stood rooted to the spot, heat flooding her face, the sound of his footsteps fading toward the exit. Ragnar followed a moment later, his gaze flicking to her briefly before he turned away.
"That was unnecessary," a voice said.
Nyra turned. Corvin stood a short distance away, arms folded, his attention fixed on the doorway Soren had just used.
"He does not usually behave like that," Nyra said, unsure why she felt the need to say it.
Corvin looked at her then, really looked at her, and the intensity made her shoulders tense. "Yes," he said quietly. "He does. With people he considers irrelevant."
She frowned. "And the others."
"He watches them," Corvin replied. "You have had his attention since the moment you fell into his arms. That is not coincidence."
Nyra opened her mouth to respond.
"Prince Thorne."
A student she did not recognize had appeared at her side, his posture stiff, his expression uneasy.
"I have a message," the boy said. "From Thornridge."
Nyra’s stomach dropped.
"He says to meet him at his private training ground at five in the morning. He said to be on time." The student hesitated. "He also said that if you are late, the consequences will be severe."
The boy left immediately after, as if afraid of being associated with the message.
Corvin exhaled through his nose, something close to a laugh but without any humor in it. "He enjoys control. He always has." He looked back at Nyra. "My offer still stands. Train with me instead. Whatever he intends to put you through, I can promise it would not be that."
Nyra forced a small smile. "Thank you. But I cannot."
She left before he could press further.
The cafeteria was loud, hot, and crowded when Nyra arrived later that day. She sat with Finn, Marek, and Jasper, barely touching her food as she listened to them talk around her. The doors opened, and the shift in the room was immediate.
Corvin walked in.
He did not stop at his usual table.
He crossed the room directly to where Soren sat.
"Thornridge," Corvin said, his voice carrying easily. "Switch trainees with me."
Soren did not look up. He continued eating.
"I am speaking to you."
Nothing.
Corvin’s jaw tightened. His hand moved fast, sweeping Soren’s tray from the table. Food and dishes hit the floor with a sharp crash.
The cafeteria went still.
Ragnar was on his feet in an instant, shoving Corvin back. "Are you trying to start something."
Lucian and Orion rose from their seats. Tension rippled outward, thick and dangerous.
Then Soren stood.
He faced Corvin directly. "I will not switch," he said quietly. "If you want to take my trainee, you are welcome to try."
His gaze shifted.
Locked onto Nyra.
The room seemed to narrow around that single moment. Finn thumped her back as she struggled to breathe.
Soren turned and walked out.
Corvin stood rigid for a heartbeat too long, then kicked a chair aside and left without another word.
The noise came back all at once.
Finn shoved a cup into Nyra’s hands. "Drink. Now. And explain."
She told them everything.
Marek listened without interruption. Jasper closed his book and did not open it again.
"Be careful," Marek said when she finished.
Nyra nodded. "I will."
Across the room, Xavier raised his glass in her direction and smiled. She looked away.
In a quiet classroom down the hall, Killian Drak sat across from another student, his posture relaxed, his expression attentive in a way that encouraged talking.
"You asked about Eldritch," the other student said, lowering his voice. "His father is the best potion master in the pack. He advises the king directly. Corvin is second in rank here because he is always competing with Thornridge."
Killian nodded, storing the information away.
"He is the best potion student in the academy," the boy continued. "Thornridge does not care about that discipline, so Corvin dominates it."
"Good to know," Killian said softly.
The student hesitated. "Why are you interested."
Killian smiled. "Because information is useful."
The sky was still dark when Nyra reached the training ground.
The doors opened onto stone walls, weapons racks, and wooden dummies scarred from years of use. Torches burned steadily along the walls.
"On time," Soren said.
He stood in the center of the room, bare-chested, arms crossed.
"One hundred push-ups," he said. "Start."
She obeyed.
Her arms shook almost immediately. By the time she collapsed, her chest was burning, her breath ragged.
"What is this," he asked.
"I am trying."
"You are failing," he replied. "Again."
She pushed up.
He stopped her, hauling her to her feet. "You have no strength. No preparation. No discipline."
He pressed her back against the wall, his hand braced beside her head. "Look at me."
She could not.
He lifted her chin. "Look at me."
She did.
Something shifted in his expression. He leaned close.
"What are you," he asked quietly. "Because my wolf reacts to you, and I do not understand why."
He stepped back.
"One hundred," he said. "Finish them."
She dropped back to the floor and pushed.
She did not hear him mutter the words under his breath, low and tense.
"This is going to ruin me."