The academy grounds were quieter now.
What had once been a storm of cheers, collisions, and brutal matches had settled into a strange, suspended calm. The Mutation Trials were over. The winners had been named. And the weight of what came next hung over the chosen like a second gravity.
Malik sat alone under the training dome's outer archway, the light from the arena still glowing behind him like a ghost that refused to leave. He wasn't celebrating. He couldn't.
Second place.
For a match he forfeited.
For a power no one could name.
He traced a finger through the dust on the floor, the patterns swirling like smoke before fading again. His mind kept repeating the words:
"See you at the Continental Training Academy."
She hadn't just vanished. She'd made a promise.
And Malik had no idea what it meant.
A soft crunch of gravel behind him stirred him from the thought. He didn't turn.
"I figured you'd be here," Margaret said, stepping into the low light beside him. She held a sealed envelope in her hand, the kind the Academy only used for high-clearance correspondence.
Malik glanced at it.
"What's that?"
"Board instructions," she said, tossing it beside him. "Apparently we each got a sealed assignment. Teams. Quarters. Transport schedules."
Malik didn't reach for it.
Margaret sat next to him, tucking her legs beneath her. For a while, they just listened—to the wind, to distant laughter, to the silence growing between them.
"Are you okay?" she asked finally.
Malik shook his head. "I don't know. I should be happy. I survived. I placed second. I'm going to the most elite training program on Earth."
"But?"
"I feel like I cheated. Or someone cheated for me."
Margaret leaned back on her elbows, staring up at the glowing sky panels. "Victor got first. And you didn't even fight him."
"She didn't let me."
"You're sure it was her? Not you, trying to avoid being found out?"
He didn't answer.
"You think she's already there," Margaret said, more statement than question.
"She said she would be."
Margaret fell quiet, then added, "You're not the only one scared, you know. Half of those fifty barely made the list. Frank's pretending not to care, Peter's acting like it's a party, and Xander keeps talking about 'proving himself' like it's a war."
Malik smiled faintly. "It might be."
"Yeah." Her voice dropped lower. "But at least if it is… you won't be fighting alone."
He looked at her.
There was something in her tone—something fierce and loyal and sad. Like she already knew the battles wouldn't just be in arenas. That the real war would be one of identity, survival, and trust.
Malik stood, brushing off his hands.
"I need to pack."
Margaret nodded. "You should open your envelope."
"You didn't read yours?"
"Already did," she said, eyes flicking to his. "We're on the same shuttle. Different rooms. Same team."
A pause.
"Xander's with us too. Peter. Even Frank."
Malik blinked. "They… grouped us together?"
Margaret shrugged. "Maybe they're curious. Or maybe they think if they keep us in the same place, they can monitor whatever's going on."
"They still think I'm a prototype," he murmured.
"Are you?"
He hesitated.
"I don't know anymore."
Margaret stood beside him and tapped the envelope. "Then maybe the CTA will help you find out."
Just as they turned to leave, a voice whispered behind them—faint, echoing from nowhere.
"See you soon, Malik."
They both froze.
But no one was there.
Just air.
Just silence.
Just the knowledge that she was still watching.
---
She watched them from the ceiling beams of the old tower, unseen by the sensors, unregistered by the guards.
Incomplete systems always leave cracks, she mused, crouched like a shadow woven into the dark. And Nayak Academy had far too many.
From her vantage, she could see Malik and Margaret walking beneath her, their conversation lost in the evening wind. Malik still hadn't opened his envelope. Typical. He never looked for the truth until it knocked the wind out of him.
Her fingers twitched, reflexively mimicking the way he moved. Even now, she still remembered the shape of his heartbeat. His posture when nervous. The small clench of his jaw before he lied to himself.
She had worn his skin like a second soul.
Not to hurt him.
To protect him.
But they wouldn't understand that. Not yet.
Not until it's time.
She blinked. Her eyes adjusted again to the thermal filters she'd built into her mimic shell. A mutation, yes. But one they had never seen fully realized—because the others like her had failed.
She hadn't.
She was the only complete prototype.
One built to obey,
but could choose not to.
And that's what made her dangerous.
Because she could choose.
Not follow.
Not serve.
Choose.
She moved from the rafters to the outer ledge of the tower with terrifying ease, becoming a ripple in the light. Invisible now. Not because she was using someone else's ability—but because she had chosen to retain it.
She had mimicked Frank once. Just once. And she hadn't let it go.
The science behind it was flawed, unstable. The Board never expected a mimic to retain more than one mutation at a time. But she had evolved beyond their design.
Because she had one thing they didn't program:
Purpose.
She had seen the darkness swimming under the surface of the Academy. The people in white coats who ran experiments at night. The administrators who erased memories like data files. The secret programs beneath the arena. Project Lament. The Null Room. The Dormant Archive.
Places even the Board agents whispered about.
If Malik didn't survive this, no one would.
And so she would watch.
And wait.
And when the world was burning—
She would choose her side.
In the shadows, she turned her face toward the sky, feeling the shift in the air as the countdown to departure began.
Two days.
Then the shuttle would rise, and with it, the lies they'd all been living.
She closed her eyes, letting the wind carry the scent of dust and metal.
Soon, the games would end.
And the real trials would begin.
She would be ready.