2. Ironside Speaks
The following day, they gathered in their usual gym room at six in the morning. It was a Saturday, and they were all wary and sluggish after a turbulent night of interrupted sleep, but that was their normal now. They fell into their routines without thinking or waiting for direction from Mikel or Kalen, the latter of whom attended most of their training sessions now.
Isobel joined Oscar, Moses, and Cian for half an hour of warming up on the treadmill, but her exhaustion quickly threatened to catch up with her, so she moved to the mats and started up a yoga routine on the tablet Mikel had prepared for when they needed a break from the high-intensity training. Kilian soon joined her, and she spent the next hour trying not to get distracted by his shirt always slipping up to reveal stacked rows of streamlined, porcelain muscle or the flexing of his firm thighs when he shifted positions.
Before they finished up, Mikel cycled through each of them, checking over their tired and strained muscles, briefly working out the kinks in their necks and shoulders, or stretching out muscles that were prone to cramping. She only had ten minutes with him, but she already knew they would be the best ten minutes of her day. They were often so tired during these sessions that the others didn’t bother to shield her from the bond, so she was aware that Mikel’s hands on them felt purely medicinal— magical , sure, but medicinal.
That was why she always slammed her barrier down when he motioned her over to the bench, patting the leather for her to sit. They felt a little less medicinal to her. When she sat this time, she immediately grappled with her walls only to find them non-responsive. She chalked it up to how little sleep she had gotten and did her best not to moan until Mikel finished, but she still drew a few surprised looks, and even Mikel’s fingers paused when a sharp bolt of pleasure tingled through her body as he worked the tension from one of her muscles. She was too tired to care, and they were nice enough to pretend they didn’t notice.
Sweaty and bleary-eyed, they dragged themselves back to the dorm to shower. Isobel almost fell asleep with her head anchored against the tiles and the spray doing a terrible imitation of Mikel’s capable, strong fingers kneading into her shoulders. Her phone timer had her head jerking up in confusion as she sluggishly fought her way back to alertness. Most of their minutes were timed these days. There was too much to do and too little time to accomplish everything.
She dressed in tights and a sleeveless black crop top with a flowy, cutoff shirt thrown over the top. She was too tired to consult her schedule for the day without at least one cup of coffee, but there wasn’t a single day in her schedule that didn’t involve something active.
They were mostly silent on the way to the dining hall, with Elijah, Gabriel, and Niko leading the group, Oscar and Moses a few steps behind, Theodore and Kilian behind them, and Cian keeping step with Isobel at a slower pace than everyone else.
She had noticed that even though the entire Alpha group was close, everyone seemed to have at least one person they were even closer with than the others. Elijah, Gabriel, and Niko made sense since they had grown up together before Elijah and Gabriel were separated and sent to a different settlement. Theodore and Kilian seemed to gravitate toward each other naturally. Possibly attracted by their shared positive attitude, energetic nature, and unfailing optimism. Or maybe it was just because they were everyone’s favourites.
Must be nice at the top.
Even though Theodore and Moses were brothers, they seemed to be attracted to the opposite type of person, with Oscar and Moses usually pairing up. They were more introverted than the others, needing more time alone in their rooms or the library. They seemed perfectly content to be in each other’s company without uttering a single word or trying to force a conversation.
Of course, being the oldest, Kalen and Mikel spent more time with each other than anyone else, especially since they organised the entire group, discussing their plans while they worked out in the gym several hours before the rest of Dorm A had even woken up.
It seemed like Cian was the only one who didn’t have a best friend within the group, despite being one of the most affectionate people she had ever met. He was always sensitive to everyone else’s feelings and was usually one of the first to notice something wrong and jump into action to cheer someone up.
Isobel might have felt bad for him, but since the start of their third year, she and Cian had naturally fallen in beside each other, almost like the dynamics of their group had been incomplete without her. It was nice to have someone to walk beside and confide in while all the others were paired up in their close friendships.
They were too tired and grumpy to talk about anything that morning, but she felt a little bubble of gratitude welling up inside her as they walked together, just as in tune with each other as Theodore and Killian appeared to be, silently striding together a few paces ahead.
The students they passed on the way to the dining hall stopped to whisper to each other, but it was nothing compared to the sudden weight of silence that fell over the hall after they were several paces into the room and the rest of the room registered their presence.
Isobel wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t the Gifted students to tumble from their seats … and start clapping. It wasn’t quite a celebration—there was no whistling or cheering, but there were stiff smiles and nods and several calls of “Big call, guys!” or “We’ve got your back!”
I don’t understand . She spoke to the eight Alphas through their bond, opening all those doors in her mind and inviting them into the conversation.
They think it’s a ploy, Elijah answered. No Gifted in their right mind on the Icon track with a clear road to the end would risk it all for the sake of “friendship.”
What the hell kind of ploy could it be? Moses’ voice grumbled back, though he didn’t really sound surprised.
Look at all the attention it’s gotten us, Gabriel responded. It could have been something we cooked up to pull us ahead of the human students. For all they know, we’re planning to disband in our final year and fight to the death.
They’ll look like assholes if they don’t support this, even if they think it’s a stunt. Cian sounded like he agreed with the others. They’ll try to sabotage us privately instead.
Isobel puffed out a short sigh, glancing over the food bar. The theme was clearly cereal because there was a whole wall of glass containers with antique bronze scoops stuck into too many different kinds of cereal to count. Isobel was too tired to make a decision, and she didn’t even recognise half of the brands on show. Gabriel must have noticed because he took her tray out of her hands and began to fill a few different bowls.
Isobel drifted away in search of coffee, Oscar shoving his tray off onto Moses before trailing after her. He didn’t speak to her and kept a few steps back, so he wasn’t there for the pleasure of her company. He was there for safety.
Mikel and Kalen reminded them almost daily not to go anywhere alone, but in her exhaustion, she hadn’t thought that walking across the dining hall was really “going” somewhere.
“Sorry,” she muttered just before they reached the drinks station.
Oscar brushed his knuckles down part of her spine, right between her shoulder blades, in a wordless acknowledgment. They mostly communicated wordlessly, these days. Neither of them were handling the stress and lack of sleep well.
“Quite the announcement, Carter.” Bellamy was already at the drinks station. A few third years hovered around him, but they scattered at the sight of Oscar, whose sleep-deprived expression made him even less approachable than usual.
“You think so?” she asked mildly.
“Mhmm.” Bellamy arched a brow at her, turning and leaning his hip against the table.
Who wants coffee? she asked through the bond, testing whether she could speak to them from her current distance.
A chorus of grumbled responses tumbled back to her.
Everyone, then, she replied, amused.
Make it a triple , Cian pleaded.
“You sure you want to give up the crown just like that?” Bellamy asked, brow still cocked, green eyes surveying her. He shot a brief look to Oscar but averted his attention just as quickly.
Isobel scoffed, lining up the coffee cups. “I was never going to win, Bellamy.”
“You had a pretty damn good chance.”
She hugged her torso, tilting her head as she returned her friend’s stare, wondering at the thoughts she could see shadowed behind his eyes. “Every single one of those Alphas had a better chance at winning. They’re Alphas .”
“Sure, they’re Alphas, but you’re the Sigma.” Bellamy waved his hand down over her front, though it wasn’t a very impressive front at that moment, with her arms wrapped around her torso and her slightly hunched posture. “The Princess of Ironside. Cinderella without a prince. The little darling of dance. The pride and joy of Dorm A.”
A choking laugh bubbled up in the back of her throat, almost bursting out. “The pride and joy of Dorm A?”
He grinned like he was preening that he had almost made her laugh. “That’s right, and speaking of pride and joy, you remember you have a boyfriend, right? Because?—”
“Quit flirting,” Oscar snarled, hooking a finger into the back of her shirt and pulling her back.
He twisted to the side, depositing her behind him and stepping up to Bellamy, who immediately backed up several steps, his palms displayed, his head shaking back and forth.
“No way,” he said. “That was talking . When I flirt, it works .”
“Fuck off,” Oscar snarled. “While you still have shit that works.”
“Nice chatting.” Bellamy peered around Oscar, pretending to be unfazed, even though he was still backing away. “Let’s try this again sometime.”
“I hate that fucking guy,” Oscar grumbled, turning back to the table to help her prepare the coffees. Nobody else dared to approach the drinks station.
“You hate everyone,” Isobel said, too tired to care that Oscar was being a big, snarling bully.
“I like you.” The words were a scrape of gravel, utterly without warmth. They still made her stomach burn, her skin tingling with pleasure.
“You also like Moses,” she noted mildly.
He made a sound that might have been an agreement.
“And you like Elijah and Gabriel when they’re arguing.”
This time, his mouth hooked up at the corner into a small, dark smile. It seemed to be another agreement.
“And Kilian,” she continued. “Everyone likes him.”
Oscar shrugged. It was as good as a resounding yes .
“And—”
“Okay, we get the point,” he snapped.
“That you’re basically the Taylor Swift of Ironside?” Isobel wasn’t deterred. “Got a whole squad and everything.”
He gave her a droll look. “I’m not responsible for you lot. Don’t put that on me. Make Elijah the leader.”
“Elijah is more fabulous,” she mused, hiding a yawn behind the back of her hand.
“Don’t tell him that. He’ll think you’re making fun of him.”
She glanced back to the table, noting Elijah’s perfectly styled hair, the silvery blond strands cut to an exact length as they drifted across his forehead, his reading glasses tucked into the pocket of one of the loose, oversized shirts he liked to dance in, his aristocratic features arranged into a sigh as he stared at the likely-not-nutritious-enough cereal in the bowl before him.
“You’re right.” She felt her lips twitch, but she bit back the smile.
Oscar frowned down at her before shooting a murderous glance across the room—in the direction Bellamy had backed away. “You’ll smile for him .”
“Cut it out,” she grumbled, swatting at his arm.
He cut his eyes to her, dark and fierce, and said nothing.
Sometimes, she forgot how terrifying Oscar was. He had been very careful with her in the past month, always keeping his distance and biting his tongue, swallowing whatever it was he wanted to say.
He was doing it again now: being careful and swallowing his retort.
She nervously cleared her throat, feeling heat creep up the back of her neck as possession began to pound away at her. It wasn’t the bond telling her about his feelings—it was simply the overwhelming weight of it, so vast and terrible that even though she wasn’t trying to suck in his emotions with her Sigma ability, she was being assaulted anyway.
He still wouldn’t speak, even when her breath picked up and the cardboard takeaway cup he had been holding collapsed in on itself, spilling scorching coffee all over his arm. She felt no pain from him, no awareness of it whatsoever. Only that raging, insistent, terrible possessiveness.
She swore, snatching up a bunch of napkins and trying to mop up the mess. Once she was done with the table, she grabbed his arm and gently wiped it down, ignoring how his dark eyes tracked her every movement, ignoring the muscles that twitched beneath her touch, ignoring the way his fist loosely formed, ignoring the way he shifted closer.
He suddenly turned away from her, snatching up a fresh cup. “My bad.”
Isobel chewed on her lip, searching for a light-hearted response. She felt him reining in his emotion and bringing himself back under careful control for the cameras.
“You just wanted me to look after you,” she teased, playing the little sister of Dorm A game. “You don’t have to hurt yourself to get my attention.”
As soon as he turned to glare at her again, she reached up and bopped him on the nose and then quickly grabbed one of the drink trays that was ready to go, hurrying away. She would have liked to think she walked calmly, but she was almost jogging by the time she got to the table.
She deposited the tray onto the table and had barely slid into her seat before the lights were cut, the electricity flickering out.
Oscar was there in a second despite the sudden darkness. She could smell his burning oleander right beside her. The doors to the kitchen burst open, briefly filling the room with light again. A group of people spilled into the hall. They wore full face coverings pulled up over their noses and dark caps with EDGC printed in white lettering across the top of them. There were twelve of them, dressed in fitted black combat gear, with long guns in hand and fierce, blank eyes above their face coverings.
The European Division of Gifted Control , Elijah spoke through the bond. There’s been some chatter online about a special task division since they moved Ironside to France. I wasn’t sure if it was real or not.
This isn’t good , she answered quietly, even though nobody else could hear them.
“Grab your stuff, everyone,” Elijah said as two officials—one male and one female—followed the special division group through the kitchen doors.
Isobel’s eyes were already adjusting to the lights being cut, so she could easily make out the group as the kitchen doors fell shut again—there was just enough morning sunlight from the few windows around the hall to illuminate their hard, focussed eyes—eyes that were fixed to Isobel and the Alphas.
Oscar’s hand fell onto her shoulder, and she slipped out, standing beside him, the rest of the Alphas following suit, grabbing their gym bags or computer bags. They stood as a group, waiting as the officials strode toward their booth, the female official pulling ahead. All Isobel could think about was why they had cut the electricity. They could have just stopped the camera feed—if their goal had been to keep the encounter from being filmed.
It seemed like they were trying to scare everybody. Judging by the looks on the silent faces scattered around the hall, they had succeeded. The ashen faces of the other students tugged at a fearful memory inside her, and she briefly thought about how cruel it was to march an armed task force into a hall of Gifted still recovering from a mass shooting. They didn’t talk about the tragedy of their last Consolidation Day, but it wasn’t because they had forgotten. It was because the officials wanted to wipe it from the history of Ironside. No footage of people discussing Crowe or the shooting had aired, and Isobel had heard a few people gossiping about receiving emails from officials to stop spreading misinformation about the event, with vague threats of punishment.
“Please follow us,” the female official requested as soon as she reached the booth.
She spun just as quickly, marching back the way she had come. The male official followed. The special forces group remained, fingers on triggers, faces impassive. Students were slowly inching into the booths, crowding and huddling together for protection.
Isobel found herself glancing toward Elijah. His jaw was set, his eyes hard as he assessed the display of force on show before he stepped forward, speaking from between his teeth.
“Let’s go.”
They were led through the kitchens and into the human-only grounds at the front of the academy, pausing in what appeared to be an office or official production building. It spanned only four or five levels but had a sprawling, glamorous reception area and suited officials bustling about in an important, hurried sort of way. At least it wasn’t a secretive room in the Stone Dahlia. Surely, they wouldn’t kill them in bright daylight in the middle of a busy office building.
Surely .
They were separated into three groups and ushered into elevators, which took them to the fourth floor. Then, they were led to a glass-walled meeting room and told to take seats at the massive table. The EDGC forces lined the sides of the room, just as watchful and wary as when they had stormed into the dining hall.
As soon as they were situated, the two officials disappeared, leaving them to wait. A few minutes later, Kalen and Mikel were also led in, and four more armoured men joined the other men and women lining the walls.
Well, this is about to get interesting. Mikel’s voice drifted through her mind, that slight echoing quality telling her that he was speaking to them all. Looks like we’ve finally been invited to the big kid table.
Oscar’s mouth twitched, and Moses glanced up to the ceiling like he wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t want to chance the punishing workout Mikel would put him through tomorrow if he did. The others remained stoney-faced.
“Should have brought my coffee,” Isobel grumbled, just in case they were being monitored. It was best if nobody guessed they could actually communicate in their heads. “I can’t do this un-caffeinated.”
“Any chance for coffee?” Cian asked casually, leaning back in his chair and eyeing one of the guards along the wall. His handsome face was utterly unbothered, his gaze a muted sapphire, his muscled arms casually stretched out to anchor against the table as he leaned away.
To Isobel’s surprise, the guard nodded and exited the room.
“How about some bagels?” Moses added, glancing behind him, expression dark and challenging, mouth tipping into a smirk. “Breakfast muffins? Croissants? Macarons? Champagne? No?” Nobody answered him, but two of the guards exchanged a questioning look.
Oscar scoffed quietly, fierce gaze fixed on the table. He raised it when he felt Isobel’s attention, the dark pools of his eyes swimming with amusement as he looked her over.
They were deliberately acting unaffected.
She tried to force a smile, but her lips trembled, and she bit down on her bottom lip to hide her fear. She slipped her shaking hands beneath her thighs and tucked her head down, trying to calm her mind.
A large man burst into the room, followed by three women—all of them impeccably dressed, though there was something just slightly off about the man’s appearance. His suit was too big—like he was trying to hide his protruding stomach—and his skin was a little pasty and patchy. On the other hand, the women were in form-fitting designer outfits without a single hair out of place with their make-up done so well they might as well have been walking into a televised interview.
Isobel only recognised one of the officials: a brunette with a sharp fringe wearing fitted, high-waisted cream pants and a navy blue silk shirt with a simple golden chain peeking out from the open collar. Olivia Frisk. Assistant to the Director of Ironside. She somehow managed to look tired and alert all at once. She seemed like a woman who excelled under pressure.
Isobel’s hands began to sweat, and something intangible snapped in the air around her body before sensations were crashing over her from all directions.
Fear, anger, violence, anxiety. There was also a fierce, dark protectiveness that had goosebumps popping up along her arms, too large to belong to just one of them.
The Alphas had lost control. They were no longer able to shield against her Sigma ability, though they were still managing to separate their emotions within the bond.
“I’m going to cut right to the point,” the man spoke, dumping a box onto the middle of the large conference table before rounding it to sit at the head of the table, right between Mikel and Kalen. The box was filled with microphones, straps, and battery packs.
She realised the Alphas had placed themselves around the table very carefully. Kalen and Mikel framed the head of the table, where they apparently assumed an important official would sit, while Theodore and Moses were framing Isobel, Kilian and Niko directly across from her, with Oscar and Cian on either side of them. Gabriel and Elijah were at the other end of the table, where they could clearly see everyone.
Callum Rowe , Kalen said through the bond. The Director of Ironside. He likes to stay out of the spotlight.
“I’m here to offer you a deal,” Rowe continued, without introducing himself, as he waved toward the box he had dumped onto the table. “The eleven of you walk out of here fully mic’d up, your every fucking action recorded from sunup to sundown, while you’re sleeping, while you’re hiding away in bathrooms and closets …”
He paused, leaning forward, gripping the table’s edge, misting up the shiny wood around his thick fingers. “Or you agree to play this game our way, by our rules.”
His eyes were shiny and dark, like wet marbles, as they rolled from face to face, pausing when he reached Isobel. He sat back, releasing the table and slowly taking her in.
“You’re pretty for a Sigma,” he admitted. “Even prettier in person. But not pretty enough to be the main character of this show. We’ll have to fix that.” He let out a low laugh, short and cruel enough to turn her stomach.
“I have a few suggestions.” The tallest of the women spoke, her words slightly accented. She had long, sleek blonde hair and bright, icy blue eyes with a full set of thick, fake eyelashes that looked like they were perfectly designed to flatter her angular features, and she spoke with a slight accent.
“Who are you?” Kalen asked calmly, levelling her with a blank stare.
Does he know the others? Isobel whispered through the bond to Mikel. The scarred Alpha glanced over at her, his mottled, blue-black eyes considering.
“You can call me Yulia,” the woman responded, arching a perfectly winged brow.
She’s the only one we don’t know, Mikel’s deep voice rolled through her mind. The other woman is Tilda, my ex. She’s the creative director.
Isobel tried to keep the shock off her face, and it took all of her self-control not to turn and stare at Tilda immediately.