#####Chapter 7

The moon hung low and blood-bright over the Snow Pack barracks, casting long shadows across the hardened earth. The bonfire in the center of the camp had burned down to glowing embers, and most warriors had retired to their tents, bruised and spent from the day’s brutal trials.

Mia sat cross-legged in her tent, bare-chested, ribs bound again, her hands busy repolishing her blades. Her fingers moved automatically, but her mind churned. The maze had taken something from her a piece of clarity, maybe. A slice of peace she hadn’t even known she was clinging to.

Her thoughts drifted to Kelvin. The way he had looked at her inside the maze. The way he had found her.

He knows.

No. He suspects.

What if he was real she thought.

She tucked the dagger into the hidden fold beneath her cot and moved to extinguish the lantern.

That’s when she felt it.

A presence.

The air shifted. A quiet breath of movement, soft as a ghost but heavy with intent.

She reached for the dagger again.

Too slow.

A figure burst into the tent, all black fabric and silver steel. The blade arced toward her throata silent, practiced kill.

Mia threw herself to the side, the blade grazing her shoulder. She hissed and rolled, knocking over her cot. Her tent pole collapsed as she scrambled to her feet. She caught a flash of eyes beneath the hood. Familiar? No too fast to tell.

The attacker lunged again.

She parried with a kick, driving her bare heel into their side. It staggered them, but only for a breath. They came again, this time low and fast. Mia grabbed a broken piece of her tent pole and used it as a makeshift staff, blocking the next swipe.

They danced in the small space shadows and silence, broken only by the sound of steel meeting wood, breath against breath. The attacker never spoke. Never made a sound.

Who are you?

She drove the pole into their knee. It gave them pause. They stumbled.

Mia pounced, tackling them to the ground, trying to pin them. But they twisted and threw her off. She rolled, and her hand found the edge of her dagger. She grabbed it.

They clashed again. This time, her blade caught their cloak and tore it. No blood. But a glimpse of skin. Pale. Scarred.

Still, no face.

Then the tent flap burst open.

“Clinton!” Raven shouted, sword half-drawn, eyes wide.

The attacker bolted.

Mia tried to follow, but her side screamed from the earlier trial, and her leg buckled. She staggered forward just in time to see the figure vanish between two tents.

Raven helped her steady. “What the hell was that?”

Mia didn’t answer. Her breath was ragged. Her heart thundered. Her shoulder bled freely now.

Other warriors emerged from their tents, drawn by the noise.

“What happened?” “Did someone attack?” “Is Clinton okay?”

Mia straightened, wiping blood from her collarbone. “I’m fine.”

Raven looked at her, then around at the crowd forming. His voice dropped. “Was it an assassin?” Raven tried his best to blend in with them.

She gave the smallest nod.

“Did you see who?”

“No.” Lie.

Kelvin pushed through the crowd, chest bare, eyes blazing. He looked her over, then turned to Raven. “What happened?”

“Someone tried to kill him.”

Kelvin’s jaw tensed. “Who?”

Mia met his gaze. “I didn’t see their face.”

A murmur rippled through the warriors.

General Jerome appeared next, flanked by guards. “What’s going on here?”

Raven gestured. “Someone broke into Clinton’s tent. Armed. He fought them off.”

Jerome’s eyes narrowed. “Convenient.”

Kelvin turned sharply. “You think he did this to himself?”

“I think it’s strange that no one saw anything. No one heard anything. And he’s alive.”

Mia stepped forward. “You saying I staged my own murder attempt?”

Jerome shrugged. “I’m saying it’s worth asking.”

“Enough,” came Robert’s voice, cool and commanding. He walked through the crowd like a blade through cloth, Vandike on his heels.

He took in the scene. The blood. The torn tent. The fear. The silence.

Then he looked at Mia. “Are you alright?”

Mia nodded.

“Then let me be clear,” said. “Any attack on a contender is an attack on the legitimacy of these trials. There will be an investigation. Thorough and private. Anyone involved will answer to me.”

Jerome bristled. “This is Snow Pack territory—”

“And this is a shared trial,” Robert cut in. “Run under joint rule. Or has Snow Pack forgotten that?”

Jerome glared but said nothing more.

Robert turned to Mia. “Rest. You fight again in two days.”

And then he left.

That night, Mia didn’t sleep.

She sat in her half-destroyed tent, blade resting across her knees. Jessie came once, cleaned her shoulder in silence, and left again.

The attacker hadn’t been a random enemy.

It had been someone trained. Someone fast. Someone who had known to strike in the dark, when her guard was down.

Someone who knew she was dangerous.

Someone who wanted her gone.

But why now?

And why had they run when Raven arrived?

Her eyes closed briefly.

Faces flickered.

Jerome. Cara. Vandike. Kira.

Even Kelvin.

She hated that she couldn't rule anyone out.

And deeper still, beneath the fury and suspicion, a seed of something colder began to bloom.

Fear.

Not for herself.

But for the truth.

If someone had already tried to kill her before she was exposed... what would they do when they found out who she really was?

She tightened her grip on the blade.

They wanted her gone.

Let them try again.

Next time, she wouldn't hesitate to kill.