Wind howled outside Blackridge Academy, but within the compound, silence ruled. The kind of silence that pressed against the skin, making the back of your neck itch like you were being watched.
Because Ace was being watched.
He felt it.
Ever since the note.
Ever since the knock.
Even now, alone in the dim hallway outside his dorm, that presence lingered like a shadow just out of reach.
The figure at the end of the corridor had vanished the moment he stepped forward. No sound. No trace. Just the note and the red string that still left a faint line across his fingertip.
The real test starts now.
He tucked the paper into his jacket.
Not fear.
Not intimidation.
Just data.
Back in his room, Ace locked the door behind him and opened the drawer beneath his cot. Hidden beneath the uniform regulations and weapon maintenance guidelines was a leather-bound journal. No names. No dates. Just symbols—patterns of behavior, routines, inconsistencies.
He flipped to the newest page.
S.M.
– Name appears in instructor-side roster, not visible to most students
– Rumored to operate under 'White Tier' directive (non-public ranking)
– No public appearances during simulation rotations
– Has access to backdoor surveillance
Whoever Sable Merrin was, she had power.
But more importantly—she had interest in him.
And if there was one thing more dangerous than being ignored in this place… it was being noticed.
He closed the journal and sat down to review the simulation logs burned into his visor earlier that day. The Academy let them replay their runs for performance analysis—but Ace watched it differently. He wasn't checking for errors.
He was checking for interruptions.
Anomalies.
Anything not matching the environment script.
It was subtle—but there. A glint in the third building to the left, fifteen seconds after the evac beacon lit. A lens. Watching from a vantage point no one had access to.
Someone had hijacked the system.
Sable?
Maybe.
Or someone else entirely.
The knock on the door wasn't subtle this time.
Three firm raps.
Then a fourth.
Ace rose slowly, blade holstered at his side. No gloves this time. He wanted fingerprints if things got physical.
He cracked the door.
Kiera stood there, hoodie up, expression unreadable.
"You might want to see this," she said.
He followed her down three floors and out the east wing, where maintenance corridors twisted in unnatural ways—part of the Academy most students didn't know existed.
"They call this place the Blackmouth," Kiera said, leading him past cracked walls and exposed wire. "Unofficially. It's where they run shadow drills. Off-grid stuff. Ghost tests."
Ace stopped. "What kind of tests?"
She looked at him. "The kind that don't appear on transcripts. No records. No points. Just pass or disappear."
They reached a rusted steel door.
Kiera knocked twice. Waited.
Then once more.
A small panel hissed open.
A new voice spoke. "Name?"
Ace didn't respond.
Kiera leaned in. "He's cleared. Ghost designation C."
The voice laughed. "Already branded? Damn. He's early."
The door groaned open.
Ace stepped inside.
The chamber was pitch black at first—then bathed in red light. Around him stood five figures, each wearing different combinations of the Academy's uniform—but all modified. Non-regulation gear. Armored vests. Unapproved tactical harnesses.
This wasn't a test.
This was an invitation.
A girl with sharp cheekbones and oil-streaked gloves stepped forward. "Name's Vega. I run Blackmouth's vetting."
She tossed a tablet his way.
"Complete this. Survive it. You're in."
Ace scanned the screen.
VETTING PROGRAM – CODE PHANTOM
Simulated Objective: Extract high-value target from hostile compound.
Variables: Unknown.
Opposition: Trained kill units.
Timer: None.
Ace looked up. "What's the catch?"
Vega grinned. "Fail, and the program locks you out permanently. You don't get a second shot."
"I wasn't asking about the failure," Ace replied. "I was asking what happens if I win."
Kiera smiled in the shadows.
Vega's grin widened. "Then you move one tier deeper."
She leaned close, voice low.
"To where the real war starts."
Ace launched into the simulation.
This one was different.
The world loaded like a fractured memory—foggy edges, corrupted architecture, voices whispering through broken coms. He moved fast, adapting to the glitches and silence. No map. No mission updates. Just a single target identifier: PHANTOM-01.
He tracked the signal through burned corridors, shadowed rooftops, and enemy units that moved without footsteps. These weren't students. They didn't simulate pain. They didn't flinch. They were algorithm-driven kill constructs designed to erase threats.
Twice, Ace had to fake being dead just to let patrols pass.
Three times, he had to disable comm towers to blind surveillance.
It wasn't a test of strength.
It was a test of disappearance.
The final corridor was lit only by flickering lights. Behind the sealed door: the target.
Ace disabled the locks manually, bypassed security with a code he'd memorized from a class module no one paid attention to.
Inside sat a hooded figure, chained to the wall, unblinking.
The moment Ace stepped forward, the figure whispered, "Took you long enough."
He froze.
Voice recognition tripped.
Sable Merrin.
The door slammed behind him.
System warning flashed across the HUD.
SIM OVERRIDE DETECTED.
YOU ARE BEING WATCHED.
Then the lights died.
Ace pivoted, blade out, eyes adjusting to the void.
A screen lit up across the room, glowing with a red symbol.
An eye.
Sable's voice echoed again—through speakers this time.
"Everyone's pretending in Blackridge. Pretending to train. Pretending to follow rules. Pretending they're not being prepared for war."
She stepped into the room—not in simulation form.
In person.
Real.
Alive.
In the flesh.
"How are you here?" Ace asked.
She shrugged. "I wrote this simulation. I write most of them. I'm not a student."
"You're a mole."
"Wrong again," she said. "I'm the filter. The one who watches. The one who decides who's worthy."
She stepped close, eyes cold.
"You're dangerous, Ace. Efficient. Detached. But you lack something."
"What's that?"
"Fear."
She raised a hand.
The chains behind her figure clinked—and another body dropped from the ceiling, bound and unconscious.
Kiera.
Ace stepped forward.
"She helped me."
"She tested you," Sable replied. "That's what we all do here. One long audition for a role you don't even know exists yet."
The room pulsed.
Sable's smile faded.
"You have two choices, Ace. Walk away and stay in the light with the rest of the sheep. Or take the mask. Become part of what really runs this place."
She reached into her coat.
Pulled out a black visor.
Red symbol etched across it.
The same eye.
"Join us," she said.
"Or we turn you into a target."
Ace looked down at Kiera's unconscious form.
Then back at the visor.