Chapter 4
As I open the doors to the mess hall, I’m slammed with a charged energy. Voices are hushed as I walk by different squads, their backs straighten, all eyeing me as I pass. Some pulled at their hair staring down, disassociating from conversations.
It’s not just the usual chaos of voices and clattering plates. There’s an edge to it tonight. A tightness.
It’s normal for squads to sit together. That part hasn’t changed. But the feeling has.
Tonight, it isn’t just routine.
It feels like lines have been drawn.
Us versus them.
I rub my right arm absently, fingers dragging over my sleeve as if I can smooth out the restless energy building beneath my skin. My eyes scan the room until I spot Brynn and James waving me down from our usual table.
At least something is still normal.
I slide into my seat without a word, immediately reaching toward the center of the table and piling food onto my plate: meat, vegetables, a bread roll, anything within reach. My hands move faster than my thoughts. If I keep eating, I won’t have to think about anything.
I shove a piece of meat into my mouth, barely chewing before reaching for another.
And another.
“Help yourself,” Brynn says dryly from across the table. “Don’t be shy.”
I glance up, still chewing, and immediately regret it.
Everyone is staring at me.
“What?” I manage, the word muffled beyond recognition as I struggle to swallow.
A piece of steak goes down the wrong way, and I cough, choking slightly as Posey leans over, rubbing slow circles into my back.
“I don’t think she’s taking this very well,” she murmurs. I clear my throat, forcing the food down with a wince.
“I’m fine,” I rasp. “I just… ate too fast.”
Silence.
Great.
“Right,” James cuts in, clapping his hands together once as if resetting the moment. “Anyway.”
He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, that familiar, easy smile settling back into place like it never left.
“We need a plan for tomorrow. We don’t have details, so we keep it simple, something adaptable. Something that works no matter what they throw at us.”
His gaze moves around the table, pulling all of us in whether we want to be or not.
“I say we stay together as much as possible. If we’re forced to split, we use a buddy system. Brynn, Lyra, and me. Elijah and Posey.”
“No.” The word comes out immediately. Flat.
“No way. I’m going with Posey. I do not want to be in your group.”
I’m not relying on James to save me from anything.
“Oh my goddess, Lyra,” Brynn groans, dragging a hand down her face. “You cannot leave me alone with him.”
I tilt my chin up slightly, considering.
“You’re right,” I say, nodding once. “Brynn is with me. James can go by himself.”
It’s a genius plan. Leave James to be slaughtered so Brynn and I have time to get away.
Brynn tilts her head, lips pursing like she’s genuinely weighing the idea.
“…That’s actually not terrible.”
James lets out a short, incredulous scoff, rolling his eyes.
“This isn’t up for debate. Do you two even listen in strategy class? The more people you have, the better your odds.”
I pick up a carrot and point it at him.
“So you’re saying Posey and Elijah are the weakest links since they’re the smallest group?”
Posey and Elijah glance at each other but don’t jump in. They never do.
Well, Posey sometimes does, but that’s not the point.
They let the rest of us carry the noise, the banter, the constant back-and-forth that keeps things from feeling… suffocating.
James’s lips press into a tight smile as his eyes lock onto mine.
“I obviously wasn’t insinuating that, Lyra,” he replies evenly. “Elijah is built like a tree, and Posey has been solid in training all year. Unlike you, some of us aren’t obsessed with weakness.”
There’s a flicker of irritation in his voice now.
Good.
“I was referring to me going alone,” he continues. “Which, in case it wasn’t clear, is a terrible idea.”
“Ugh, fine,” I mutter, shoving another bite of food into my mouth. “Is that really our only plan? I was hoping for something a little more…” I wave the carrot around before biting one end clean off. “…inspired.”
Posey leans forward slightly, thoughtful.
“Should we assign a captain?” she asks. “Or maybe decide who takes the lead depending on the situation?”
That actually… makes sense.
Clear hierarchy. Faster decisions. Less chaos.
James nods immediately, already pleased.
“I’ll be captain. I have the highest marks in strategy.” His gaze sweeps the table. “Any objections?”
Of course he volunteers.
Men simply cannot handle the idea of me being in charge. My beauty and brilliance would be overwhelming.
When no one speaks, he nods once, satisfied, and returns to his plate like the matter is settled.
Brynn, across from me, starts tugging lightly at a strand of her hair, her focus drifting.
“What do you think the first trial will be?” she asks.
I stab a piece of broccoli with unnecessary force.
“Whatever it is, all eight fifth-year squads will be involved.”
She looks at me.
“How do you know that?”
“Raithmore said there will be three trials,” I say, shrugging slightly. “Assuming this tournament is in a bracket system, we all compete first. Then the four left standing will move on, so on and so forth.”
Posey exhales softly, her hands coming up to rub her cheeks.
“I hope we’re not fighting everyone at once.”
Elijah looks toward her untouched plate.
“We should eat. It won’t matter if we don’t have the energy to fight.”
His gruff voice makes the table go still for half a second as we all look at him.
Interesting…
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, immediately shoving an entire bread roll into my mouth.
Brynn starts gulping down her drink like she’s preparing for battle already. James leans forward, stacking slices of cheese onto his plate with focused determination. Posey eats neatly, controlled, every movement precise and deliberate, like she belongs somewhere far more refined than this.
We fell into silence after that.
Not uncomfortable, just… heavy.
Everyone retreats into their own thoughts, the reality of tomorrow pressing in from all sides.
My mind won’t stop moving.
Scenarios. Outcomes. Possibilities.
None of them are good.
How are you supposed to plan for the worst when you don’t even know what the worst is?
At some point, the thought settles in, cold and certain.
This is rigged.
At least in real war, you know your enemy. You know the terrain, the stakes, the rules.
Here?
We’re walking in blind. We’re so screwed.
I start swaying in small circles as a hum slips from my lips before I even realize it.
Soft. Quiet.
Familiar.
It’s a coping mechanism I’ve picked up over the years.
The noise of the mess hall begins to fade at the edges, blurring into something distant as the melody takes shape in my mind. The notes come easily, threading together without effort, as they jump between intervals before descending back to their tonic.
My body continues to sway as I close my eyes, thinking through the notes.
Like a loop, they begin again, creating a new pattern, a duet of call and response. It’s grounding.
A safe place to land.
A home.
The pitch can wander in any direction, in any rhythm, but it always returns to its root.
It’s a lullaby for my anxiety.
A promise of survival.
A tether to the future I keep trying to hold onto.
A whisper of something deeper—
“Lyra!”
The world snaps back.
Sound crashes all at once. Voices, movement, the scrape of chairs, and the melody disappear like it was never there.
Brynn’s hands are on my shoulders, shaking me lightly.
Why is she always waking me up?
“Huh?” I blink at her, disoriented.
“What—what happened?”
“We’ve been trying to get your attention,” she says, her brows drawn tight. “For, like, a whole minute. Are you okay?”
A minute?
I straighten slightly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. Looking around the table, Brynn, James, and Posey stare at me while Elijah is still focused on his plate. At least it wasn’t the whole squad.
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” I force a small shrug. “I think I just… zoned out.”
That sounds believable enough.
Hopefully.
Brynn studies me for a second longer, then nods slowly.
“We’re heading back to the barracks,” she says. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” I offer a small smile. “Let’s go.”
I stand with the rest of them, falling into step as we leave the mess hall together.
But the weight in my chest doesn’t lift.
If anything, it settles deeper.
Heavier.
Because for the first time since all of this started, a thought slips in that I can’t quite shake.
If I’m going to survive this…
Maybe the version of me I’ve been clinging to… isn’t enough.
Not here.
Not anymore.