Chapter 13 Survive #2
I look up at him. “No.”
Another round. Another barrage of hits I barely deflect. My skin stings. My arms tremble. Sweat slicks down my back.
“You’re weak,” he mutters. “You flinch before I even hit you.”
I straighten. “That won’t last.”
Tex’s eyes flick over me. “You sure about that?”
I swallow the knot in my throat. “I won’t break,” I say through my teeth.
He looks at me for a beat longer than necessary. Something flickers in his gaze — not approval. Not sympathy. Just… interest.
Then he turns away without a word.
I’m not sure what I expected from Advanced Strategic Theory, but I feel like I’m not supposed to be there.
I have to sit through pages of tactical jargon and theoretical scenarios that I barely understand.
The instructor is a former guild tactician, and she speaks like everyone already has ten years of espionage experience.
And who knows, maybe the boys do. I take frantic notes while Dakota takes neat bullet points next to me.
Jace has his chin resting on his hand, Noah is engaged, and Luca keeps shooting me winks.
Tex is so relaxed he might’ve been asleep if his eyes aren’t open.
And if I thought Advanced Strategic Theory was overwhelming, Guild Ethics & History is infuriating. It is a crash course in the Guild’s past – coups, betrayals, and oaths scrawled in blood.
I mean, really, who knew a thieves’ guild would need to have an ethics class?
By the time I drag my sore body down the hall to the last door on my schedule, I’m hanging by a thread. My arms ache from drills with Tex. My brain throbs from Strategy and Ethics. All I want is to curl into bed and sleep for a week.
FIELD TRAINING
Lovely.
The moment I step inside, I know I’m in trouble.
The room looks more like a war room than a classroom. Thick maps line the walls. Gear lockers stand open along the back, displaying grappling hooks, lock picks, and other tools I don’t have names for. A weapons rack stretches along the far side, full of training blades and blunt staffs.
And they are all there. Again.
There are others, too. But they don’t matter.
A tall woman with a buzzcut and a scar down her throat claps her hands. “On your feet. Field prep begins now. If you’re tired, good. You’ll be worse in the real world.”
I stiffen.
She points at me. “New girl. You’re last on the roster. You’ll be the runner today.”
“Runner?” I echo.
“You’ll find out.”
Everyone else is already moving, collecting packs, tools, gear I’ve never touched. I hesitate for a beat too long and someone shoves a bag into my arms.
“Try not to get lost, Ashthorne,” Jace mutters as he passes, his voice just loud enough for others to hear.
I swallow my pride, clutching the straps tighter, and step into line.
Whatever this is… it isn’t school anymore. It’s boot camp.
The instructor’s voice cracks like a whip through the tension in the room.
“Today’s drill is a live simulation.”
Whispers spread. Packs shuffle.
“You have five minutes to gear up. Runners will deliver the objective. Guards will keep them from doing so. Roles are randomized.”
A screen flickers on behind her. Names began to shuffle.
I hold my breath as they click into place.
Runner: Isobel
Guards: Jace, Tex, Noah, Luca
When will I escape these guys?
I feel his eyes on me from across the room. I don’t look at him. If I did, I might flinch. And I won’t give him that.
The instructor turns, handing me a slim satchel.
“Inside this bag is your target: a marked document. You must deliver it to the red building at the far edge of the grounds. Your path will be monitored. The guards are allowed to use any non-lethal force to stop you. If you don’t make it in thirty minutes, you fail. Understood?”
I nod. My fingers are already sweating on the strap.
Jace passes behind me with the casual confidence of someone who never fails. “Try not to trip over your own ego,” he says softly.
I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying not to vomit.
The whistle splits the air, and I run.
The moment my feet hit the trail leading into the simulation zone, the terrain changes—dense trees, half-buried stone paths, knee-high grass concealing God-knows-what. The satchel bounces against my back with every step, the strap already digging into my shoulder.
I have thirty minutes. And the predators are already out there.
Leaves whisper above me. I duck low and veer off the path. I don’t know if they’ve already been deployed or are just waiting in the shadows, but I’m not about to make it easy for them.
My breath comes fast. I count it. In, two, three. Out, two, three.
I scramble over a fallen log and drop into a shallow ravine, knees scraping against the dirt. The satchel stays close—I keep one hand on it like it’s my lifeline.
Somewhere deeper in the woods, a twig snaps.
I freeze. Another snap. Closer.
I dart to the left—and nearly slam into Luca, who appears from behind a tree. He’s twirling a knife in one hand.
“Boo,” he says, grinning.
I don’t wait for him to strike. I spin and run the other way, lungs burning, heart thudding against my ribs like a warning drum.
His footsteps are close behind mine.
“You’re quick,” he calls, still laughing.
I spot a narrow break between two trees and dive through it, branches snagging at my hair. I slide down a small slope, breath tearing out of me. Mud streaks my uniform, and the satchel nearly slips—but I catch it.
I don’t look back.
I burst into a clearing and nearly run headfirst into Noah, crouching behind a low stone wall with some kind of scanner device in his hands. His eyes snap up as I skid to a halt.
“Oh. You’re here already.”
He doesn’t move to block me. Just tilts his head and mutters, “Ten out of ten for reckless speed.”
Then he reaches behind him and presses a button on a device strapped to his wrist.
The trees around us hum. A low, static buzz that disorients me for just a second. I stumble—long enough for him to lunge forward and try to grab the strap of my satchel.
I duck and roll, knocking into his legs. He curses as I push past, cutting through the far edge of the clearing and vanishing into the trees again.
Halfway there.
I’m bleeding from one palm, knees scraped raw, sweat soaking the inside of the suit. My vision blurs at the edges, but I don’t stop.
Tex comes out of nowhere—pure power, a wall of muscle and fury. He doesn’t say anything. Just raises one arm and blocks the narrow path ahead of me.
I change direction, vaulting over a mossy boulder and barreling into thicker brush. I hear his footsteps behind me—closer, heavier—but slower than Luca’s was.
Still, it is enough. Enough to push my body past its edge.
I stumble up a gravel incline, shoes slipping. My breath turns to ragged gasps. Then—finally—I see it.
The red outbuilding.
It sits like a relic of a forgotten war, rust creeping up the corners, a single window covered in grime. It is only twenty feet ahead. Then I feel it.
The shadow at my back. The static charge in the air. I turn just in time for Jace to slam into me.
He doesn’t knock me to the ground. Just pins me—fast, efficient, clinical. One arm braces across my chest, the other grabbing the strap of the satchel and yanking it hard enough to choke.
My body locks.
“You don’t belong here,” he murmurs, breath cold against my ear. “You’re just a name with blood behind it.”
I elbow back, catching him in the ribs. He grunts, and I drop low, twisting out from under his arm and shoving him off.
“I survived worse than this,” I snap, chest heaving. “I’m not some pampered, pretty little princess. I earned every damn scar.”
His eyes flash—not with mockery this time, but something darker.
Then he smirks. “We’ll see.”
I don’t wait. I sprint those last twenty feet, adrenaline fueling my every step, and shove the satchel into the objective locker. It clicks shut.
A loud buzzer blares through the zone.
Objective complete.
I drop to my knees in the dirt, gasping, limbs trembling. My whole body burns. I hear the others approaching, their footsteps slower now, less urgent.
I look up to see Jace standing at the edge of the clearing, watching me with a look that isn’t quite anger… but isn’t admiration either.
Something inside me hates how unimpressed he looks. His jaw is tight, his clothes immaculate, not a speck of dirt on him. I hate that he still looks composed. I hate that I’m shaking.
“You’re bleeding,” Noah calls as he approaches. “Just a heads up.”
“Yeah,” I rasp. “I noticed.”
The instructor, Briar, stands by the objective box with a clipboard and a steel gaze. “Let’s break it down.”
“Ashthorne,” she says, voice loud enough to cut through the tension. “You completed the mission. Bag intact. Not bad for a first timer.”
‘Not bad’. I’ll take it.
“But,” she continues, stepping closer, “you were almost intercepted three times. Your evasion is fast but sloppy. You relied on instinct, not technique.”
I nod, too winded to argue. I’m not sure my legs will even work right now.
“You’re bleeding,” she adds, pointing to my scraped palm and the torn edge of my sleeve. “In the field, that’s a weakness. Next time, wrap it. Don’t let your enemy smell blood.”
I nod again, slower this time.
Her gaze flicks to the boys.
“Ravencourt,” she says sharply.
Jace raises a brow.
“You made contact too late. She reached the objective. Explain.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “She was faster than expected.”
Luca coughs out a quiet laugh, but Briar doesn’t so much as blink. “Excuses are for the dead.”
Jace’s mouth curves slightly, but he doesn’t argue.
She turns to the others. “Silvain. You played. Next time, commit. Vexley—good placement, but your trap was too slow to trigger. Ward—strong form, poor timing.”
Tex gives a grunt of acknowledgment, jaw flexing.
Then Briar looks at all of us. “You think this is a game? That your bloodlines make you untouchable?”
Her gaze lands on me. “This girl outran you. Outmaneuvered you. And some of you underestimated her because she doesn’t look the part.”
Jace’s jaw ticks.
“Don’t make that mistake again,” she finishes. “Class dismissed.”