"Correction—someone tried to eliminate an unknown variable they assumed was still recovering." Wolfe looked up now, his gaze hardening. "But you weren't. You survived. Again."
Ace's jaw clenched. "So what now? You going to congratulate me, or are you here to tell me I've already failed?"
Wolfe's expression didn't change. "You're still breathing. That's the only passing grade that matters here."
He turned and gestured for them to follow.
Beyond a reinforced security door, they entered a command chamber glowing with deep-blue holographics and humming monitors. The place felt more military than academic—operators in tactical gear monitored feeds from all over the campus, flipping between combat arenas, dorm surveillance, biometric logs, and encrypted chatter.
At the center of the room stood a transparent cylinder filled with a vertical stasis tank, submerged in faint blue fluid. Inside floated a body—young, male, about Ace's age, with jet-black hair and a familiar scar on his cheek.
Ace stopped.
"…That's the guy who taunted me at the gate."
"Lucas Vane," Wolfe confirmed. "Class A. Top of last year's batch. Until he went rogue last month and killed two instructors."
Ace glanced at Wolfe. "So why's he in a tank?"
"He didn't go rogue by choice. We believe he was triggered remotely. His memories are scrambled—someone hacked the codebase embedded in his neural implant."
"Implant?" Kiera echoed.
Wolfe nodded. "Every top-tier cadet here has one. It's how we track performance, gather data, and adjust curriculum in real-time."
"You're saying someone turned him into a sleeper agent," Ace said.
"And now they've targeted you," Wolfe replied. "Which means whoever did this thinks you're a threat. Or a liability."
Kiera's eyes sharpened. "Or both."
Wolfe swiped the tablet, and a new file projected in the air.
PROJECT: PHANTOM INITIATIVE
STATUS: ACTIVE
SUBJECT: ACE DONOVAN
AUTHORIZATION: BLACK CODE LEVEL-0
Ace stared at it. His name. His face. A full rundown of his military record—missions blacked out, achievements classified even to himself.
"What is this?" he asked quietly.
"The truth," Wolfe said. "You were part of an experiment. One we never got to finish."
Kiera frowned. "What kind of experiment?"
Wolfe turned to Ace. "Tell me. Do you ever wonder why you always survived the worst missions? Why the Phantom Wolf Unit's casualty rate was ninety percent—except for you?"
Ace's breath caught.
"You were enhanced," Wolfe said. "At six years old. Injected with a prototype nanite serum developed for the Phantom Initiative. You were meant to be the first successful integration."
"You're lying."
Wolfe's gaze remained steady. "I wish I was. But now, those same people who created you want to erase you."
Ace stepped back, his pulse racing.
"So why bring me here? Why the academy?"
"Because Blackridge is the last place they'd expect you to be hiding in plain sight. Every powerful organization has agents here—military, corporate, rogue states. It's the perfect warzone to find your enemies before they find you."
Ace's voice was low. "You're using me as bait."
"Not just bait," Wolfe said. "You're the only one who might survive what's coming."
The door behind them hissed open.
In stepped a woman—tall, composed, with graying hair tied into a tight bun and a sharp uniform that bore the insignia of the Internal Defense Command. Her eyes flicked across the room, locking on Ace with cool precision.
"I see the ghost is awake," she said. "And already causing problems."
"Commander Sloane," Wolfe greeted. "This is your new field lead."
Ace raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
Sloane stepped up, expression unflinching. "You're being inserted into Blackridge's inner ranks as part of Task Group Shadow-9. Effective immediately."
"I haven't even survived orientation yet."
"Then consider this your baptism," she said flatly. "Welcome to hell."
By morning, the lockdown had been lifted. The official school announcement blamed a "maintenance gas leak," but word spread fast among students. Whispers of sabotage, secret missions, and dead cadets floated like smoke through every hallway.
Ace returned to his dorm, exhaustion weighing heavy on his bones. Kiera followed, quiet for once.
As he sat on the edge of the bed, she leaned against the wall and folded her arms.
"You okay?"
"No," he said honestly.
She nodded. "Me neither."
They didn't speak for a while.
Then Ace looked at her. "Why are you here?"
She blinked. "What?"
"You're too trained for this place. You move like a ghost and think like a soldier. What's your angle?"
Kiera looked away. "I'm not here for a mission. I'm here because someone I cared about didn't survive this place."
Ace's gaze sharpened. "Student?"
"My brother."
A beat passed.
"He was in Class C," she said. "Like us. Said he had one more semester left, then he'd walk out clean. Then one day, he just… didn't show up again. They said it was an accident. But I found his file. Half of it redacted. The rest? Lies."
Ace leaned forward. "And you enrolled to find the truth."
Kiera met his gaze. "And maybe burn down whatever's hiding it."
Ace gave a tired smirk. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."
She smiled faintly. "Too late."
They both looked toward the window where students moved like chess pieces across the campus. Normal classes were resuming, but nothing felt normal anymore.
Then the door beeped.
A small envelope slid under it.
Ace picked it up. It bore the Blackridge seal—but inside was only a note written in code.
He deciphered it quickly. Years of training turned his brain into a cipher machine.
Phase One Initiated. Trust No One.
— Phantom Protocol
Ace folded the paper and tossed it into the flame of a candle by the sink. It crumbled instantly to ash.
Kiera raised a brow. "Friend of yours?"
He stood, eyes grim.
"No," he said. "But they just gave me my first move."