Lena
The air in the room is stale with money and secrets. It’s an off campus townhouse, probably owned by some forgotten alumni, all dark wood and faded leather. There are maybe a dozen of us. The chosen few. The other pledges shift on their feet, a collection of nervous energy and expensive cologne. I can smell the ambition on them. It’s a scent I know well.
I stand near the back, cultivating an aura of being slightly overwhelmed. It’s a useful look. People underestimate you. They dismiss you. Then you can break them.
He is here. Of course he is. The man from the mixer. He calls himself Leo Rossi. He leans against a bookshelf on the far side of the room, just as he did against the column. A study in stillness. He has not looked at me once since we were all ushered in here. That is more telling than a stare. He knows I am a threat. I know he is one too. The game has begun.
Heavy footsteps sound on the polished floor, and a man walks into the center of the room. He is handsome in a way that knows it, with blond hair that looks sculpted rather than cut and a smile that is all teeth. He wears a university blazer like a suit of armor.
“Welcome, pledges,” he says, his voice smooth and condescending. “I am Julian Thorne. Your president.”
He surveys us, his gaze lingering on the prettiest girls and the boys who look like they row crew. His eyes pass over me, then snap back, a flicker of possessive interest lighting them up. I hate it instantly.
“You are here because The Aegis sees potential in you,” Julian continues, pacing slowly. “Potential for greatness. For power. This is not a fraternity for beer pong and charity car washes. We are the architects of the future. But first, we must see if you are worthy of holding the blueprint.”
His gaze lands on Leo.
“Some of you come from families that understand power,” Julian says, a slight sneer in his tone. “Others… well, ambition can be a dirty business. We do run very thorough background checks, Mr. Rossi. I trust yours will be satisfactory.”
The threat hangs in the air, thick and oily. Leo doesn’t react. Not a twitch. Not a flicker of an eye. He just watches Julian, his expression unreadable. It is the most impressive display of defiance I have ever seen.
Julian, annoyed by the lack of reaction, turns his attention to me. He steps closer, invading my personal space. I have to physically stop myself from breaking his nose.
“And you, Lia,” he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. My skin crawls. “So quiet. We like quiet girls. But don’t think we haven’t noticed you. We notice everything.”
I give him the best shy, flustered smile I can manage. “I’m just honored to be here.”
“As you should be,” he says, patting my shoulder before moving back to the center of the room. He claps his hands together, the sound sharp and final.
“Your first test is simple. A matter of acquisition.” He gestures to a large screen on the wall. An image appears. A gaudy, gold plated football trophy. “This belongs to the Sigma Chi fraternity. It is their most prized possession. And by dawn, it will belong to us.”
A nervous murmur ripples through the pledges.
“The Sigma house is three blocks from here,” Julian says, clearly enjoying the tension. “They are having their mid week mixer tonight, so the house will be full. Security will be… active.” He smiles that predatory smile again. “I have faith you will all figure it out. Don’t disappoint me.”
He gives no other information. No layout. No security details. No extraction plan. It’s a deliberate, calculated setup. He wants us to fail. He wants to watch us squirm and get caught. He wants to see who cracks under the pressure.
This is my world. This is what I was born for. I feel a grim, familiar thrill spread through my veins.
We are dismissed. The pledges huddle together, whispering frantically, trying to form a plan out of thin air. I watch them for a moment. They are children. Scared and out of their depth.
I turn and walk toward the door. I need to think. Alone.
“Not a team player?” a low voice says from behind me.
It’s him. Leo Rossi.
I stop but don’t turn around. “Their plan is to knock on the front door and ask nicely. It doesn’t seem very effective.”
“And what’s your plan?” he asks. He is closer now. I can feel the warmth of his body at my back.
“Get the trophy,” I say simply.
“You’ll need a diversion,” he states. It is not a suggestion. It is an assessment of the facts. “Something big enough to pull their attention away from the trophy room.”
“I’m aware,” I say, finally turning to face him. Up close, his eyes are even darker. “And you’ll need a way past the alarms. I’m assuming the trophy is wired. Laser grids, maybe a pressure plate. Amateurs love pressure plates.”
A muscle in his jaw tightens. “You seem to know a lot about amateur security setups.”
“I watch a lot of movies,” I say, the lie tasting like sugar and poison on my tongue.
He does not believe me. I do not expect him to. We stand there for a long moment, the noise of the other pledges fading into the background. It is a silent negotiation. A treaty being drawn between two warring nations.
“Back entrance,” he says, breaking the silence. “Kitchen. Two minute window when the catering staff takes a smoke break.”
“The trophy room is on the second floor. North wing. Away from the party,” I counter, not questioning how he knows this. A professional has already done his reconnaissance.
“The diversion needs to be on the south side of the house. As far away as possible,” he says. “Can you handle that?”
Is he testing me? I give him a sweet, guileless smile. “I think I can cause a little trouble.”
“Good,” he says. His eyes hold mine. “When you make your move, make it loud. I’ll handle the rest.”
He turns and melts back into the shadows of the room, leaving me with a racing heart and the cold, sharp certainty that I am walking into a fire.
An hour later, I am Lia again. I am a slightly tipsy party crasher at the Sigma Chi house. I managed to get a red solo cup, and I’ve been carrying the same flat soda around for twenty minutes. The music is a physical force, pounding against my chest. The air is hot and smells of sweat and spilled beer.
I weave through the crowd, my eyes scanning, mapping. I spot the staircase leading to the second floor. A large football player stands at the bottom of it, acting as a makeshift guard. Cute. I locate the south side patio. Perfect. It is packed with people.
I pull out my phone and pretend to take a call. I let my face fill with distress. I raise my voice slightly.
“I can’t believe you would say that to me, Chad! After everything!” My voice cracks on cue. A few people turn to look.
Perfect.
I push my way out to the crowded patio. Now for the main performance. I find the biggest, most obnoxious looking guy, a blond giant holding court near the DJ booth.
“It’s over!” I shout into my phone, making sure he can hear me. “We are done!”
I make a show of hanging up, my shoulders shaking with fake sobs. Then I turn and ‘accidentally’ stumble directly into the giant. My entire cup of soda sloshes down the front of his expensive looking shirt.
He looks down, his face a mask of disbelief. Then his eyes, small and piggy, narrow at me.
“What the hell?” he bellows. The music suddenly feels quieter.
“I’m so sorry,” I gasp, putting my hands to my mouth. “My boyfriend, he just, he just broke up with me.”
This is the key. Frame it in a way they understand. Boy drama. It’s a language they all speak.
“I don’t care about your loser boyfriend! This is a five hundred dollar shirt!” he yells. The entire patio is watching now. Even the guard from the stairs has poked his head out to see the commotion.
This is it. The signal. I hope Leo is as good as he thinks he is.
“Five hundred dollars?” I cry, my voice rising hysterically. “You think I care about your stupid shirt when my heart is breaking?”
I give him a hard shove. It is more than he expects from a girl my size. He stumbles back, knocking over a table of drinks. Glass shatters. People shout. The chaos is beautiful. It is perfect cover.
I see my chance. While everyone is focused on the screaming giant and the crying girl, I slip away from the edge of the patio, melting into the shadows along the side of the house. My heart is pounding, but it is not from fear. It is the thrill of the hunt.
I circle around to the back. The kitchen door is propped open an inch. A thin trail of cigarette smoke drifts out. I slip inside. The kitchen is empty. On the counter is a small, dead spider. A signal. He’s already through. He works fast.
I move silently through the house, a ghost in the machine. I take the service stairs. They are empty. The music from the party is a distant, muffled drumbeat.
The second floor hallway is dimly lit. I see the door to the trophy room at the far end. It is slightly ajar.
I approach with caution, my senses on high alert. I peek inside. He is there. Leo. He stands in front of the glass case, the trophy already in his hands. The security panel on the wall is open, wires neatly snipped. A clean, professional job. He turns as I enter, his face unreadable in the low light.
He holds the trophy out to me.
“I thought you could carry it,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “It would look less suspicious.”
He is right. A girl with a trophy looks like a prank. A guy who looks like him, carrying a trophy, looks like a thief. We move without speaking, back the way I came. Our footsteps are perfectly synchronized, our movements fluid. It feels less like a partnership and more like we are two halves of the same whole. It is the most terrifying and exhilarating feeling I have ever had.
We slip out the back door and into the cool night air. The other pledges are huddled across the street, looking lost and pathetic.
Their jaws drop when they see us. When they see me, holding the ridiculous gold trophy.
“How…” one of them stammers. “How did you do that?”
I give them my sweetest, most innocent smile. “It was easy. I just asked them for it.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Julian Thorne step out from behind a tree. He was watching us. His face is a storm cloud. The smug superiority is gone, replaced by a raw, ugly annoyance. His little test failed. We did not flounder. We succeeded. Perfectly.
I look from Julian’s angry face to Leo’s calm one. He is watching me, and for the first time, there is something in his eyes besides cold assessment. It looks like respect. And something else. Something dangerous.
The air between us is a live wire. We did not just steal a trophy tonight. We declared ourselves. To Julian. To The Aegis. And to each other. This is no longer a game. It is a war for control.
