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I’m skimming a book in the library when I receive another unknown message. What I’m supposed to be building right now isn’t exactly clear. It’s as unclear as whoever sent it to me. Probably just some Ruber trying to mess with my head. I cover the words with a pull of my sleeve and turn back to my research.

It’s been a few days since Hugo warned me not to go back to the secret library room. I haven’t—not because I’m listening, but because I’ve been busy.

Planning takes time.

After hours, when no one’s watching, I’ve been tearing through the Academy’s library, devouring maps and trying to figure out if there’s truly an exit down there. Based on what I’ve found, it appears to be a monster-guarded door leading to nowhere, or hopefully out.

But it isn’t my only option anymore.

Rosie managed to track down a technical manual, something closer to programming than magic. I’m frantically skimming the chapters, knowing I’m running out of time. Trial One starts tonight and I want to be nowhere near that horrendous arena.

The second I see the words Log Out Reset Procedure, I practically leap out of my skin.

This could work.

I could log out now and finally see my family, finally figure out what went wrong, finally help Leo. I take the book with me, and bolt for the Viridis common room, passing the tapestry-covered entrance to the secret room. If this reset works, I won’t need to face that monster. And if it doesn’t, then I go back below.

Voices follow me as I push through the cluster of first-years at the common room entrance.

“She’s going to die today.”

“Won’t make it five minutes.”

“Forget the Trial—Did you hear that there’s some pop star enrolled here?”

I spot Izzy and Sebastian talking near the Viridis fireplace but swerve away from them. I don’t want them questioning where I’m going or trying to talk me out of it. Izzy stops me with a cheerful greeting.

“Hey Ava, wait up!”

I smile at her in faux surprise, like I have only just noticed her and Sebastian standing a few feet away, feeling simultaneously guilty for doing so. I walk toward them, about to squeak out some excuse about sensing a simulated period starting when I notice Izzy’s new necklace. It’s pulsing a faint blue light.

“Did you see what Hugo gave me?” She says in one excited breath. “It’s an artifact. Glows red if something dangerous is nearby. It was just a stone before, but I made it into a necklace.”

She holds it up like it’s a prized jewel. As it flickers in the firelight as a sharp sting rises in my chest.

I glance at it, just a glance, already shifting my weight toward the hall. My locker’s on the other side of the room, and every second I stand here feels like a mistake.

“That’s… useful,” I say, distracted. I don’t want to be rude, but I need to figure out how to end the conversation. “He gave you an artifact he found?”

Izzy shakes her head, still glowing. “He created it, I think. After Combat. Said he felt bad the session ended early.”

Of course he did.

Why did Hugo feel the need to apologize to Izzy with such a grand gesture, but not think that I deserved even a crumb of remorse? My combat session ended early too, and no thanks to his coaching. Did he really think I was just some untrustworthy screw-up who didn’t earn my skills or my place here?

I should say something normal or supportive. Instead, I glance past them, measuring distance, timing, how long I can stay without losing my chance.

Sebastian states, “Gio’s Guide for Gentleman says to give with thought, not flair.”

“Right,” I mutter, already half turned away.

Izzy’s still talking. Sebastian too. I catch pieces—Controls, Meiko, last week—but none of it sticks. My mind is somewhere else entirely: the locker, the manual, the reset.

“Well, at least someone got a souvenir,” I say, a little too quickly. “All I got was passive aggressive silence.”

The awkward silence that follows is immediate. I wince internally. That came out wrong.

“He was just being nice. Knows it was an accident. Probably felt like crap about how it ended.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Sebastian adds something else, but I’m not fully there anymore. I should stay. I should care. Izzy’s excited, and I’m barely pretending to pay attention. I should tell them, say goodbye at least, but I know they’ll try to talk me out of it.

Guilt pricks, sharp and inconvenient. But not enough to stop me. Leo needs me.

“I—sorry,” I cut in, forcing a quick, tight smile. “I have to go to my locker before the Trial.”

It’s not a lie. Just not exactly the truth either.

Izzy lowers the necklace. “Oh. Okay.”

I don’t wait for more.

I slip past them, hearing only the steady drum of my pulse and one thought, loud and insistent:

Locker. Now.

I flip open the manual, so distracted that I nearly bump straight into someone.

I almost don’t recognize her leaning casually against the wall with a bejeweled black veil hiding her eyes and a long black cloak draped over her head. It’s only when she speaks that I know it’s her.

“Darling Dud,” Rosie says with a sly grin, lifting the netted veil. Her eyebrows arch with feigned innocence. “Forget something in your locker? Trial One is about to begin.”

I don’t answer. There’s no time for her antics. The other Viridis students exit the common room behind me, eyeing us suspiciously and making their way to the transporter square, excited to watch the first Trial begin.

“Just gotta do something first,” I lie.

I sidestep around Rosie toward a different locker, but she follows, her voice light and teasing. “This is no time for reading. I’m afraid.”

I freeze as she snatches the manual from my hand.

“Rosie, I need that.”

“Oh darling, Darling Dud. You’ll get it back. After the Trial.”

“No, I’m—”

Rosie clutches my wrist and the world shifts. The walls outside the Viridis common room blur and dissolve, replaced by deafening cheers and blinding lights. I’m no longer in front of the lockers. I’m standing on a massive stage in the arena, and a growing crowd looms before me, their faces alight with anticipation.

“Rosie…” I say, my voice trembling with angry realization.

Rosie is smirking beside me.

She shrugs, her grin unapologetic. “Strict orders. All contestants must start at the same time. And, well, I just had a feeling you’d try to give us the slip.”

My chest tightens as the word idiot bubbles up on my tongue. I shouldn’t have stopped to talk to Izzy and Sebastian. I shouldn’t have let Hugo’s gift to Izzy distract me.

Panic grips me as I attempt to run. My legs refuse to move, glued to the glowing square beneath me. All around, the other contestants are similarly trapped, their faces a mix of determination, fear, and resignation. I notice Hugo on the far end, staring blankly at the audience. He doesn’t acknowledge me at all. Figures.

James catches my eye and winks, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, like this is all just a warm-up round. He rolls his shoulders like he’s been waiting for the chaos to start. He doesn’t look nervous. He looks excited.

Somehow the knot in my stomach loosens. Just a little. For a ridiculous second, I almost smile and wave at him.

Custos appears on stage, raising a hand for silence. Her voice echoes through the arena, cold and commanding.

“Welcome, contestants, to Trial One. You have been chosen as the best, but now it is time to prove your worth, to carve your place in Senium history with skill, cunning, and the will to survive.”

The crowd roars as she continues.

“Trial One will test your skills in Creation,” she says. “You must construct protection from three waves of attackers. The survivors will move on. The rest…”

Custos tilts her head, a slow smile forming. “Well. You know what happens to the rest.”

The arena erupts into cheers, but I notice Hugo doesn’t even blink. He turns his head in a slow, deliberate arc, scanning the arena like a general surveying a battlefield. Whatever he’s about to make, he’s already built it in his head a hundred times.

Me? I’m picturing not dying in the next five minutes. Fire, claws, teeth, a horde of monsters—none of which I have a real plan for. What if there’s another glitch like with my log out and I can’t regenerate? I don’t want to be stuck here forever. I can’t let myself think about what would happen to Leo if I became a Legacy.

The excitement crackles in the air like a storm about to break. All I can think about is escape. Yelling for help. Insisting that the rumors are true, that I don’t belong here. But the crowd’s excitement is electric, and I know no one will care. They want blood.

“Trial One begins when the horn sounds. Good luck.”

No time to think. No time to plan. Before I can process it, Custos disappears from the central stage, and the whole arena is thrust into darkness.

When the light comes back, the stage is gone and the other contestants and I are dispersed across the sandy arena floor. A semi-transparent dome surrounds us as a protective barrier between whatever is going to eat us alive and the audience. What’s more unnerving is the quiet. I can just make out the movements and applause and what looks like students shouting from the stone steps, but I hear absolutely nothing.

The other contestants are already forming creations. Timothy’s castle tower has narrow slits that shoot out arrows if someone gets too close, nearly nailing another Ruber. The only other female contestant, Elara, creates a tank with a rotating cannon that hums like it’s eager to blast something out of the sky.

James slams a fist to the ground, and the arena floor splits. A sleek black bunker rises up instead of sinking down, covered in flame decals and reinforced spikes, like a flamboyant race car garage. Even in a life-or-death scenario, he somehow looks attractive.

This is what I expected, creations that do something. The kind that can blow a monster to dust. I’ve never managed one that actually worked. Yesterday in Professor Maja’s Creation class, I made a ceramic coffee mug that looked perfect, until I poured hot coffee into it. The bottom dissolved instantly, and I nearly burned myself.

The thought of the whole arena watching me try and fail makes my stomach twist. If I mess up, I’m not just the Viridis girl who doesn’t belong here, I’m the punchline they’ll be retelling over dinner, my mangled corpse left on the arena floor.

“Better get started, Viridis,” a boy named Noah teases.

James stands atop his bunker, scanning the Arena like he’s daring something to come for him. Then he shouts toward me: “Don’t die on me, Trial Girl!”

Now is really not the time for my heart to do that weird little thing it does around him.

Across the sand, Hugo’s creation grows like something from a blueprint —sleek, symmetrical, layers of steel plates sliding into place, the faint blue pulse of an electric energy buzzing at its center. Something tells me that if I was to touch it, the thing would zap me like lightning.

A low hum builds from somewhere in the distance and I’m reminded of the urgency of our task.

I close my eyes, concentrating. Professor Maja’s voice echoes in my ears. Visualize it. Maja would say. Imagine it first. If I can picture it, sense it in my mind, I can make it.

I try to picture weapons (the one time we’re allowed to create them). Cannons. Anything with reach. Nothing sticks. My mind keeps circling the same thought, over and over, useless and insistent: I don’t want to get hurt.

An idea settles before I can stop it.

Light bends around me, coalescing into a translucent shell. A bubble—iridescent, uneven, barely thicker than glass. It doesn’t hum or bristle or threaten. It just encloses me, the air inside warm and still.

A laugh cuts across the sand.

“Bubble girl’s gonna die first,” Elara shouts from her tank.

“Create something else,” James yells before disappearing into his bunker’s hatch.

But I can’t. I try to shift it, imagine brick instead of a transparent wall.

Nothing happens.

A wind blows past, rippling the bubble’s surface, and that’s when I know.

The first attack is coming. The low hum from before builds, growing louder until it’s deafening.

They’re wasps.

Giant. Freaking. Wasps.

Their stingers gleam like finger-length daggers. They flood Timothy’s tower, slipping through slits and openings with ease. Screams pierce the air. Hugo’s steel cube holds, crackling as it fries each attacker like a colossal bug zapper, though even he must be wincing at the relentless pelting and surges.

A swarm dives at me, their pointed stingers aiming for the thin layer of the bubble. I brace for a series of stings, for the flimsy barrier to pop, but nothing happens. The wasps circle me, repelled by the translucent shield. Relief, warm and loose washes over me, but it’s short-lived.

Chaos explodes. Screams bounce off each creation as the wasps dive, wings cutting the air like razors. Arrows descend down from the window slits in Timothy’s fortress; his screams audible from somewhere inside. One arrow pierces a wasp mid-swoop, sending it spiraling into the wreckage below. Then another is harpooned without pause.

Another Ruber named Zeke yells out, swatting at a wasp latched onto his shoulder. Blood stains his shirt as its stinger drives in again and again, and he crumples to his knees.

Then, as quickly as they came, they’re gone.

I barely have time to breathe before the second wave strikes. Lava surges up from a hole in the ground, flowing with deadly precision. It dissolves Kael’s slender scaffold tower entirely, swallowing him with it. He doesn’t even have time to scream. He’s gone in literal seconds.

Elara stands on top of her tank as it slowly sinks with a shriek of metal. She hovers her hands in the air, looking like she’s trying to create something else. Hugo’s steel cube and James’ bunker groan under the pressure, the heat causing fissures to spread.

None of them can change anything. They’re trapped.

My bubble rises off the ground, lifting me just out of reach of an oncoming molten wave. Not because I tell it to. I know somehow, it floats because I made it only to protect me from harm.

Below me, the scene is horrifying. Creations melt, contestants cry. The stench of burning fills the air.

The lava lingers for a moment before dissolving into nothing. Elara still stands on top of her half-dissolved tank. Hugo’s cube still stands and James’ bunker is still miraculously there but melted.

The third wave comes. The rumble is more ominous than thunder and I gasp as I look up.

Massive boulders rain down from the top of the dome. Timothy’s tower collapses inward. The bunker caves. I hear screaming, muffled and desperate as people pound at walls they can’t reshape, can’t escape.

A shadow fills my vision.

I curl instinctively as the boulder slams into my bubble.

I catch a glimpse of my wrist as I try shielding my head with my arms. The glowing white script is still there, peeking out from under my long green sleeve.

Build what will remain.

The surface bows inward, compressing, but it doesn’t shatter. The force disperses, rippling around me instead of through me. The bubble holds.

A sudden wrenching snaps me sideways, light flooding my vision. I’m outside of the dome, standing next to Custos and Bullfred on stage, who look shocked to see me.

An eruption sounds, a mixture of astonished applause and belligerent booing, as I look up. Next to the number one spot, my name appears in those glowing red letters, hovering high above the arena. I watch through the transparent dome at the scene still unfolding with the remaining contestants, some fortified in their creations.

The other contestants begin trickling back onto the stage, those who have managed to avoid getting hit or being damaged from a boulder returning sooner than the others.

James strolls back onto the platform like he’s returning from a jog, a faint scorch mark across one sleeve and soot on his cheek.

“Anyone bring snacks?” He asks the nearest security officer. “Thought we’d be out there longer.”

Then he catches my eye again, and the grin returns. No apology, no fear, just a dare-you-to-keep-up kind of energy.

Hugo makes it back. Then there’s Dash and four surviving Rubers: Zeke, Noah, Orion, and Timothy, all of whom are badly injured. Custos greets them with a warm smile of congratulations. The crowd cheers wildly, but my focus is elsewhere. Two contestants are missing, their squares dark and lifeless. One is Kael from the tower that dissolved in the lava, obviously dead and will (hopefully) regenerate tomorrow. And I assume the other, Elara, was smashed underneath a massive boulder or something.

Whispers ripple throughout the crowd. I glance at Hugo, who seems shaken, but alive. The message that appeared on my wrist, gone now, lingers in my mind. Someone is trying to help me. But why?

Murmurs ebb and flow through the space as Security rushes the stage. I think I hear someone say, “hacked.”

Security officials quickly clear the crowd, and one escorts us off stage.

I ask, “What’s happened?”

The Security member escorting us looks at me with a somber face before responding, “One confirmed dead. One hacked. Can’t say more than that.”

My stomach drops. Hacked. That means someone’s trapped, mind locked in the system, body comatose in the real world. A living ghost.

I look back at the stage and see Rune smiling next to Bullfred, tapping diligently on his slate.

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There’s a monster in the library. As if I needed another reason to leave this place.

Not that the monster is actually the problem. If anything, it’s pretty low on the list.

It’s been over a week now and I still can’t log out. Can’t call, can’t message, can’t even send a virtual smoke signal.

I’ve asked every professor in this place why I can’t log out. Repeatedly. None of them seem nearly as concerned as they should be. According to Custos, temporary logout failures aren’t unheard of. Easy for her to say. She’s not the one trapped in here while her brother’s life ticks away.

Apparently, the Sen Academy is super cut off from the real world, by design. No messages in, no messages out, not even when you’re awake. Part of the lovely contract Sen Academy students and faculty “voluntarily” sign upon implant activation includes a strict NDA so we don’t accidentally leak any top-secret Skilled knowledge into the wild. According to Custos, their hands are tied. She said the glitch in my implant will correct itself or, most likely, someone in reality is working to fix it. Great plan. Nothing like trusting complete strangers with your consciousness while you’re trapped in a high-stakes digital school you didn’t even apply to.

Meanwhile, Leo’s stuck in a hospital bed and I’m here. Wasting time that I could be using to help him live. Every minute I spend trapped in this nightmare training academy feels like I’m letting him down. And the only person who can fix this is Levi freaking Sen, who’s apparently too important to be contacted unless I win his Trial-slash-possibly-fatal-apprenticeship-competition, which I’m not at all prepared for.

The first Trial is in a few days and maybe if I don’t die horribly, I’ll get the chance to ask him politely to undo this mess. So that’s the plan. Survive the Trials. Then find Levi Sen and beg him to get me out of here before my brother runs out of time. Oh, and avoid the secret room in the library and whatever creepy clawed monster resides within.

At least Rosie came through on her end of the deal, bringing me an impressive stack of books, despite looking like they belonged in a haunted attic. I’ve spent every spare moment poring over them, searching for answers about not being able to log out or about finding where Levi Sen is hiding so that I can shortcut my way home.

I haven’t found a single scrap of useful information about where Levi Sen actually is. No direct contact protocols, no office hours, not even a mysterious “Summon the Founder” button. What I have found in Rosie’s books: He likes black coffee, he once programmed an AI assistant to speak only in Shakespearean insults, and no one’s ever seen him enter or leave a room. Fascinating. None of it helps me.

The log out issue? Way worse. According to the books, there are a lot of reasons why someone might be unable to log out. Some are tech-related—server malfunctions, corrupted data, a bug in the implant. Some are darker. Deliberate. Theories of people being locked inside by someone else.

I’m choosing to bet on an implant error. Something glitched in my neural connection, and my dad (whenever he realizes I haven’t woken up) will get it fixed. He has to get it fixed.

I’m not the only one who thinks my mere presence is an error in the system. Every time I walk through the atrium, students are watching a new gossip video from some Senfluencer named Trent Chernov. Apparently my Clearing ceremony disaster is still trending. Last night’s upload was titled CLEARED GIRL: Chosen by Sen or Glitch in the System? I watched for twenty seconds before closing my own holographic window.

I tell myself it’s fine and brace for the impending doom that is Combat class. A normal, run-of-the-mill, let’s-punch-each-other-for-educational-purposes kind of thing.

Classes have been a catastrophe from day one. My controls keep misfiring whenever I’m stressed. Creations is somehow worse; every attempt ends with Professor Maja looking at me like she’s reconsidering my admission. Half the faculty seem convinced I’ll eventually figure things out. The other half seem to be taking bets on how spectacularly I’ll fail first. And now Combat is next on the list.

The moment I step into the Arena, the same cavern amphitheater where I was selected for the impending Trials, I spot all of the Flavus students standing off to the side. Just a long row of yellow second-years staring at me like I’m a joke. This is not the way Combat normally starts.

I crane my neck gazing at the sea of students, trying to find James, the blonde charming guy who defended me from that terrible Deirdre girl. That’s when I spot him.

Blood-covered boy. From the library. Except now he’s wiped clean. And because the universe is personally invested in my suffering, he spots me too.

His lips peel back, slow and sharp, like a predator baring its teeth. No amusement. No mercy. Only the promise that I’m next.

I immediately whip around, prepared to fake a sudden, tragic injury, or maybe develop spontaneous blindness, when—

“Ava!”

Izzy. My new friend. My kind, effortlessly athletic, much-more-competent-than-me friend. She jogs up, bright-eyed and excited, which is not the appropriate emotion for someone about to be punched in the face by a more experienced second-year.

“Guess what?” she says. “We’re paired.”

I attempt a smile even though my insides are sloshing. I think I pull it off. So far, in Combat class, we’ve only learned individual moves and tactics on our own. We’ve never been paired up before—certainly not with Flavus present.

“So, we’re going to take on a second-year?”

“Oh no. That’d be terrible. We’re fighting each other,” she clarifies, cheerful like we’re about to play dodgeball, not punch each other until we’re too injured to keep going, or worse—one of us dies.

“And that’s good news?”

She shrugs. “The Flavus students are here to coach us. I hope I don’t get Deirdre as a mentor. Can you imagine?”

Gut-punch. I’m going to have to battle my friend. I follow her gaze to the smug looking second-years and find Deirdre. She’s watching us like we’re prey. I involuntarily shudder.

“Don’t worry, Ramsey won’t let us die,” she adds. I’ve already died once, I am not willing to risk it happening again. I don’t want to become a Legacy. I’ll be stuck here forever and Leo won’t have a chance.

I shiver and glance toward the wall of Flavus again. They chatter, laugh, stretch.

I catch snippets of conversation:

“Last year, a kid’s arm reattached backwards.”

“Still twitches sometimes.”

“Lucky it wasn’t his head.”

I try not to vomit.

Professor Ramsey, barrel-chested and loud as a cannon, claps his hands. “When you’re a Skilled leader out in Senium, protecting some grandmother from a band of thugs or defeating an Ignis monster in the Forest Maudite, it won’t be creations or controls that will save you. It’s combat.”

He clasps his hands behind his back and walks around the center mat. “This Academy isn’t dangerous for the fun of it. Everything about this place is testing you, preparing you, for that day. Remember that when you fight.”

He stops in the center of the mat.

“Rules are simple. No controls. No creations. No mercy. The goal is to incapacitate your partner. If they die, we’ll bring them back tomorrow. Hopefully.”

Laughter. Someone whoops. No one flinches.

This is normal to them. This place is insane.

“Flavus students, find your assigned Viridis and mentor them through each drill. If they’re bad, make them better. If they whine, ignore them.”

That doesn’t sound great.

Luckily Deirdre moves past us. Izzy is paired with a buff Flavus, muscles the size of boulders stuffed under his shirt. I glance across the arena, hoping that James might be paired with me. Instead, he waves to Sebastian, who regards him like a strange insect. He catches me watching and jogs over.

“You’ll do fine,” James says, stopping just a little too close. “You’re the only one here who actually matters—Trial girl.”

Then he winks, squeezes my shoulder and struts back over to Sebastian. And I forget how to breathe. The way he looks at me, like I can do this, makes me want to prove him right. Deirdre watches us from a distance, jaw tight, like she’s not sure who she’s more annoyed with.

“Well, well,” someone drawls. “Looks like I’m stuck with you.”

I turn. It’s blood-covered guy, scrubbed clean and looking far too composed for someone who was nearly eaten alive by something with claws. His stare is sharp and unreadable.

“You’re my mentor?”

“Hugo Tyler,” he says and crosses his arms, like he’s introducing a problem I now own.

“No blood today?”

“Not if you follow instructions.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah?” I say, looking at Izzy and her beefy mentor. “Are you going to tell me how you escaped whatever that thing was in the library?”

“Why? Planning on opening your mouth again?”

I blink, taken aback.

“Wow. Someone’s cranky.”

“You’d be too if you spent most of last week in a cell, being interrogated by Bullfred about where I was that night in the library.”

My chest tightens. “What?”

“They knew about the blood,” he says, stepping a little too close. “Someone told them. And seeing as you’re the only person who saw me—I know it was you.”

I stiffen. “I didn’t say anything. I swear.”

He holds my gaze, clearly weighing whether or not he believes me.

“Doesn’t matter. You owe me now,” he continues.

Before I can say anything else, Professor Ramsey’s booming voice calls me and Izzy to the center. We’re up first. The crowd jeers, hungry for a show, anxious to see the “Cleared” girl fail. I drag myself forward, but Hugo stays close, all business.

The four of us head to the middle pit and take our separate corners.

“Feet apart,” Hugo instructs, standing next to me in the sand. “Bend your knees. You look like you’re about to tip over.”

I begrudgingly adjust my stance.

Izzy watches, waiting for the go-ahead to start our match. The entire class circles us to watch.

“Fists up.”

I raise them.

Hugo squints. “Are you trying to leave your face wide open for attack, or is this just a personal style choice?”

I frown. “Excuse me for not being naturally violent.”

Before I can decide exactly how to reposition myself, he casually flicks a finger against my forehead.

I stumble back. “Ow!”

“See?” He steps closer. “Weak guard. No instincts.”

I scoff, straightening. “You’re a terrible coach.”

“You’re not coachable.”

Izzy clears her throat. “Uh, should we—”

“Yes, yes, I’m ready,” I say quickly, because I have bigger priorities than my ego getting repeatedly trampled in the dirt.

Izzy moves. Fast. Too fast.

She lunges, going for a jab to my side. I yelp and fling myself backward. The crowd snickers.

“Wrong,” Hugo says, sighing. “Don’t run. Block.”

“She’s really good,” I wheeze, barely ducking her next punch.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he mutters. “Try again.”

I try. I fail. Spectacularly.

Izzy sweeps at my legs, and I attempt—keyword: attempt—to jump. Instead, I trip over my own foot and eat dirt. Everyone laughs. I cringe at the thought that James just witnessed my embarrassing lack of talent.

“I hate this.” I groan on the sand.

“You hate being bad at it.” He crouches beside me, too close, too smug. “Up.”

I push myself up, sore, annoyed, and wildly unimpressed by Hugo’s entire existence.

Izzy offers me a sympathetic wince. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re doing amazing,” I say. “I’m just horrific.”

“This is pathetic,” Deirdre shouts from the sidelines, impatiently. “Fight already!”

We reset. I actually manage to block a punch this time, but it still knocks me off balance.

Hugo says. “Terrible execution.”

“Not helpful!” I shout back.

“Look at you. You’re so predictable,” he says, standing beside me. “Which is why you are losing.”

“Can you just stop?” I shout at Hugo and throw up my palm. As soon as I do, that same strange coil from the other day with Deirdre and the green goo drink, winds tight in my chest, buzzing under my skin. My hands tingle, my vision edges with white, and before I can blink— Snap.

A pulse rips out of my hand like a shockwave. Hugo’s eyes go wide just before he’s launched backward, sand spraying in his wake.

Half the class gasps. The other half immediately tap their temples to end a recording. By dinner, Trent Chernov would probably have a thumbnail of Hugo flying through the air with three red arrows pointing at him.

Professor Ramsey whips around at me. Izzy freezes mid-step.

I stare at my hand, still tingling. “What—what was that?” My voice is high, panicked. “I didn’t—”

Hugo lies flat on his back, blinking at the ceiling like he’s been personally offended by gravity.

Izzy says softly, eyes huge. “You just hit him with a control.”

I wheeze. “Oh my god.”

Slowly, way too slowly, Hugo sits up. His hair is ruffled. His clothes are covered in sand. And—because the universe is deeply unfair—he looks annoyingly good like that.

“Unbelievable,” Hugo mutters, brushing sand from his sleeves. I brace for rage.

Professor Ramsey has had it. He stomps toward me, radiating pure fury. “Lumen. Explain to me why you so flagrantly disregarded the ground rules? No controls.”

I flail. “I—I don’t know how I did that, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry—”

Ramsey, still looking not at all amused, cuts me off. “Where did you learn to do that?”

I blink. “I didn’t. I don’t even know what I did.”

Silence.

Then Ramsey decides on a consequence. “Well congratulations, Lumen. You’ve earned yourself an hour of detention with Professor Bullfred. You too, Tyler.”

“What? But I didn’t—”

“You were in charge of supervising her. You failed,” he said. “Get out of my sight, both of you. Next—Vadra and Thomas!”

Hugo and I move like molasses through the tunnels toward the Fishbowl, neither one of us in a hurry to find a transporter square. Guilt gnaws at my gut, but Hugo’s silence is worse than yelling. His jaw is tight. He hasn’t looked at me once.

“I’m sorry,” I say eventually. “About detention.”

“Don’t.” One word, flat and final. No room for forgiveness, no room for me.

“And I didn’t tell anyone about what I saw in the library.”

“Oh yeah?” he says. “When did you log out that night?”

I hesitate before admitting, “I didn’t logout. I can’t.”

Hugo gives me a strange look before saying, “I don’t believe you.”

We pass Rosie, who’s casually munching popcorn and gawking at two students making out under a flickering tunnel light.

As we pass underneath it, the light turns blue. Hugo glances up at it, scrunching his brow.

I say casually, “Hypothetically, if someone did want to know more about the monster in the library—”

“No.”

I frown. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Because I already know the question. And the answer’s still no.”

He groans, stopping in his tracks, making me stop too. He looks over his shoulder to ensure we’re alone.

“You want to know why it’s down there? So do I. But if you keep poking around and blabbing your mouth, you’re going to get yourself killed before I figure out what it’s protecting.”

My voice drops. “So, you think it’s guarding something?”

It could be an exit.

It could be my ticket out of here.

He crosses his arms. “I think the Sen Academy doesn’t want us finding out.”

We continue walking, passing under another floating light. It turns blue briefly as we cross underneath it.

“Are you doing that?” he says, glancing up at the blue light that disappears as we pass.

“I’m not doing anything,” I say.

He gives me a look that screams he doesn’t trust me, not even a little bit.

“Hey, I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t rat you out. I want to find out what’s down there too, but I wouldn’t go asking a professor.”

It’s pathetic, how my chest tightens waiting for his reaction, like I need his approval just to breathe easier.

“Stay out of the library. And don’t go back down there,” he says gruffly, before turning onto a transporter square I hadn’t realized was nearby.

Who does he think he is? Giving me orders like I’m his kid sister or something.

If there’s even a chance that whatever’s hidden down there can get me out of this place—or help Leo—I’m going back. No matter what he threatens me with.

Because for the first time since arriving at Sen Academy, I finally have a lead.

And if Hugo’s right, if that monster is guarding something, then it might be the only way home.

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I’m officially done.

It’s not just the impossible coursework making my brain feel like mush, but also the endless side-eyes and weird, passive-aggressive questioning from students and teachers who seem convinced I’m some kind of interloper—which, honestly, is fair.

I spend most of my Senium History course and my Combat class just thinking about my strange wrist message Follow, trying to piece together what’s going on. Someone is trying to reach me. Maybe the same someone who messed with my student score? The same someone playing a game I don’t know the rules to.

By the time I fumble through Diagnostics, Controls, and Creation 101—failing a pop quiz, erasing my own chair, and creating a cup so mangled it’s both deformed and full of holes—my exhaustion has curdled into self-directed rage. I should have never entered that stupid competition. I should have done literally anything else. Taken a simulated nap. Learned to juggle. Dug a really deep hole and hidden inside until this whole thing blew over. Instead, I’m here, stuck in this nightmare, and for what? Homework while I sleep?

When the reminder bell to log out chimes, I almost weep with relief. The tunnels flood with students, all heading toward the transporter squares, laughing and stretching like it’s the end of a particularly grueling gym class. Reality is only a swipe away. Blessed, merciful reality. We’ll all wake up from sleep feeling rested and happy to start the morning in the real world. I’ll be back home to see Leo and apologize to everyone for a wasted night.

I shuffle into the Viridis common room, and that’s when I notice them.

Lockers.

I hadn’t registered them before. Rows of sleek, cedar-fronted lockers line a narrow corridor. They glow softly; each fitted with a wrist scanner. One by one, students approach, swipe their wrists across the pad, and blink out of existence. Simple. Swipe. Log out. Done.

I mimic them.

I approach a locker, swipe my wrist, brace for freedom— And nothing.

Not even a flicker.

I try again, adding a little flourish this time, like maybe the locker wants pizzazz. Nope. No change.

A nervous laugh bubbles out of me. Okay. Maybe this one’s broken. Totally possible.

I move to the next locker. Swipe. Nothing. Another. Swipe. Nothing.

By the fifth attempt, my smile is brittle enough to crack glass.

I glance around, casually, like, oh yeah, just taking my time. Definitely not stuck in a digital prison or anything. But everyone else is disappearing back to reality just fine. Around me, the last of the Viridis vanish, their lockers clicking shut as they return to their actual, non-virtual lives. And then it’s just me. Alone.

The silence is sudden, oppressive. Panic knocks, light at first, then harder, rattling the edges of my brain. There has to be someone who can help me. Someone who knows what to do when your log out swipe fails.

I’m about to make the trek to Guardian Custos’ office in the hopes that she hasn’t blinked back into reality yet, when I hear a voice.

It echoes faintly down the tunnel, lilting, oddly melodic.

And like my wrist message said, I follow.

The tunnels twist, colder the deeper I go, until I stumble into the creepiest library I have ever seen. And considering my school library once had a raccoon infestation, that’s saying something.

I round a corner and stop dead.

Rosie.

She’s sprawled across a table like she just fainted from Victorian-era boredom, except she’s very much awake, twirling her arms through the air as though conducting an invisible orchestra. She’s wearing a puffed-sleeve black dress that completely drapes the surface like a tablecloth.

“Rosie,” I blurt. Because my brain is nothing if not wildly unhelpful in moments of crisis.

Her eyes snap open, widening with melodrama. “Darling Dud! What on earth are you still doing here?”

Ah yes. That nickname has officially stuck.

I throw my hands up. “Oh, you know. Just living my best life. Except I can’t log out, I’m trapped in this virtual prison, and I may or may not be having a teeny-tiny nervous breakdown.”

She leans in, sniffs me, then pokes my arm with a bejeweled finger.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re not a hack, are you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

I groan. “Why does everyone think that? If someone were hacking me, don’t you think I’d be, I don’t know, less suspiciously roaming the Academy after hours?”

Rosie shrugs, twirling a ring. “I can help you find the Conservatory. Or provide vocal lessons. But assisted breakouts aren’t in my wheelhouse.”

Great.

Okay. Think, Ava. Think. I look around, my gaze resting on a spine that reads Sport Controls: On and Off the Field.

“Can you help me find a book?”

She blinks. “Certainly. On which subject? How to create a better wardrobe?”

I ignore the insult.

“Something about logging out. Or being stuck in virtual reality. Or, I don’t know, loopholes.”

“But,” she adds, and I groan because of course there’s a ‘but.’

“You have to agree to a Rosie-style makeover. At an event of my choosing.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“Take it or leave it, Darling Dud.”

“Fine. Deal.” Desperation wins. “Why are you so interested in my wardrobe? I didn’t think AIs had opinions about fashion.”

Rosie gasps, mouth agape. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that. Just so you know, I was modeled after the impeccably dressed Sengineer who programmed me. Unlike some people, she embedded her excellent taste in my code. Taste you are sorely lacking.”

She grins triumphantly, then swans off into the stacks, disappearing behind a mountain of dusty books.

I linger by the table, fingers grazing the cracked leather spines like I’m actually browsing instead of stalling. There has to be a book here that will explain why I’m stuck. And if there is, certainly an AI can find it.

My ears strain, catching the faint pops and sighs of a simulated old building settling. At first, I dismiss it. Libraries have plenty of creaks, this one was probably programmed to resemble a real one. Something shifts in my peripheral vision.

A tapestry stirs. The fabric ripples once, twice, and then parts like a curtain.

And someone steps out. Someone drenched in red.

My stomach nosedives.

It’s one of the Flavus Trials contestants. The one who looked like he wanted to push me off the stage when he said “Cleared” wasn’t an actual score. Except now he’s less mysterious bad boy and more possibly-committed-murder guy.

Blood streaks his shirt, slicks his hands, spatters up his jaw.

Okay. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Could be tomato sauce. Maybe he side hustles at an aggressive Italian Academy restaurant. Maybe the head chef had an accident involving twenty gallons of marinara.

Nope. Nope. That’s definitely blood.

Our eyes lock, and the air goes taut.

I’m alone in a room with a murderous-looking guy who wants nothing more than to destroy me. I should run. Or scream. Or do anything besides stare at him and wonder if he’d look even better in a leather jacket. Seriously, Ava. Priorities.

He takes a step forward.

Oh. That’s bad. That’s really bad.

He wipes the back of his hand across his face, smearing the mess into something even worse, like war paint. Another step, closer now, until the heat of him prickles at the edge of my space.

He’s looking at me like I’m the problem.

Alright. New plan. Definitely scream. Definitely run.

He stops just a foot away from my face, close enough that I can smell the metallic tang clinging to him. He lifts one scarlet-smeared finger, points it right at me, and says in a voice flat as a stone, “I was never here.”

And then he bolts out of the room.

Gone. Just like that.

The tapestry sways in his wake, and the silence that follows feels louder than the roar of the Arena.

What the hell was that? Pretty sure the guy just threatened me. Why is he the only other human left with me here? There’s no way I’m following him to ask for log out help.

Rosie is still missing, her singsong humming swallowed by the endless stacks. The silence makes my skin itch.

My gaze drifts back to the tapestry. It hangs limp and spotless, like a brooding blood-covered guy didn’t just slip out from behind it.

Every instinct tells me to leave it alone, but curiosity presses anyway.

I move toward the fabric, heart hammering. My fingers hesitate at the edge, then pinch the woven threads and tug. The tapestry sways, and behind it yawns a hidden archway practically begging me to go through.

A narrow spiral staircase descends into nothingness.

Down. Into pure darkness.

He probably just cut himself on something in an old basement. Or maybe this is an entrance to a hidden medical ward I don’t know about.

Or maybe there’s something down there that might eventually come for me too.

I know I shouldn’t go down. But someone also here after hours just ran out of there bleeding. Maybe he knows something I don’t. Maybe he is also trying to get out. He must have found some secret exit. I need to know what this place is hiding.

The air changes with the first step—thicker, damper, heavier, like I’ve dipped into another atmosphere. Each scuff of stone under my boots sounds amplified, traitorous.

The farther I go, the colder it gets. The chill seeps through my shoes, worms into my ankles, crawls up my legs until my bones ache with it. The wall under my fingertips is slick, clammy, as though the staircase itself is sweating.

And the smell. That metallic tang. Sharp, iron-heavy, clinging. It snakes down my throat, coats my tongue.

Blood.

By the time I reach the bottom, my heart feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.

A wooden door waits. Thick, ancient, scarred with scratches. A brass key juts from the lock, gleaming faintly in the dim. This is a terrible idea.

So naturally, I wrap trembling fingers around the key and turn. The lock clicks open with an audible snap that seems far too loud in the silence.

I push.

The door groans, hinges shrieking like they haven’t been oiled in centuries, and the room inside exhales stale air that makes my eyes water.

It’s small—just enough space for a massive oak desk that squats like a beast in the center. A single black candle flickers on its surface, its flame steady in the stagnant air.

The pale light paints the walls in sickly gold shadows, stretching every groove and crack into something sinister.

No blood.

Not a drop.

Like the boy I saw—drenched and dripping—had never been here. Like he wiped it all away with one pass of his hand. Which is somehow worse. Because blood should stain. Blood should stay. But not in this world. In this world, evidence of a minor crime can be magically erased.

I don’t know what I expected to see. Maybe a victim sprawled out on the floor, a puddle of blood beneath him. Maybe another one of the Trial contestants he didn’t deem worthy to compete against. Maybe a broken glass window the boy was attempting to exit through. What could have caused all that blood?

A sound interrupts the thought.

Distant. Low.

Thunder.

It rolls through the chamber, vibrating the candle, rattling the oak desk. But there is no sky here. No storm.

The sound is wrong.

I swallow, force my eyes toward the corner.

There.

Another door, hunched into shadow. Metal, thick, with an iron knob that twitches as though something on the other side is impatient.

The rumble grows louder. Not thunder this time.

A roar.

Deep. Guttural. Alive.

Something that does not belong in a basement.

The iron knob rattles harder, metal squealing.

My breath stutters.

Something drips down the door’s surface—slow, viscous trails glistening crimson in the candlelight. The metallic stench thickens, suffocating, pressing into my nose and mouth until I gag. Blood. Definitely blood.

I stagger back, one hand clamped over my mouth, the other groping for the wall. My legs beg to run, but I force them into a careful retreat. Step by step, inching toward the staircase. My hands shake so violently they scrape raw against the stone.

Whatever secret this room holds, I’m not ready. Not alone. And definitely not tonight. I make it halfway up before—Click.

Creeeeeak.

The bloody door opens. Not wide. Just enough.

Darkness seeps through the gap, thicker than shadow, carrying with it a scrape. Something drags itself across the floor. Heavy. Uneven. Claws against stone. The sound shoots lightning through my body.

I bolt.

I slam the wooden door at the base shut, twist the brass key until it bites, and stumble upward without looking back. Every careful step vanishes. I sprint, boots hammering the stairs two at a time, lungs burning, throat strangled with panicked air.

The growl follows. Low. Hungry. A promise.

The roar that follows rattles the entire staircase.

I burst into the library, yank the tapestry shut, and press my back to the wall, gasping.

Below, claws rake against wood. Long, slow, deliberate.

Whatever is behind that door isn’t trapped forever.

And it knows I was there.

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Instead of staying in the common room, I retreat into a tunnel alcove, chasing the quiet, chasing invisibility. I want to avoid everyone and everything at Sen Academy, but Rosie still finds me.

“Time for class, Darling Dud,” she says with a smirk.

Before I can respond, she hooks her arm around mine and snaps her manicured fingers.

We appear before the Security 101 classroom. The room itself is a glass box inside a cave. Fully transparent walls. No privacy. Stadium rows of desks line every side, with students already sitting and facing the lower middle, much like the Arena we sat in earlier.

“The Fishbowl,” Rosie states with a hand flourish.

Yep. That’s it. That’s exactly what this is.

Rosie disappears, probably back to terrorizing some other student. I enter the Fishbowl and see that Professor Bullfred is already there, seated at the lower center of the room, looking like an oversized English Mastiff that hasn’t been fed in days. Deep wrinkles, a permanent scowl, and eyes that could probably cut glass.

I pretend I don’t see her laser-focused gaze burning into me and pick a seat in the back.

As more students filter in and spot me, whispers spread like wildfire. A few boys outright point and snicker, making my cheeks burn and my gaze drop downward. My reputation is off to a stellar start. But then—I see Izzy sitting on the far side of the room. She gives me an earnest, reassuring smile, and just like that, I have an ally. Sebastian is here too, sitting in the front row. He doesn’t smile, but he gives me this strange little salute, which I decide to take as encouragement.

At the edge of the Fishbowl, a tall, angular man hovers, scribbling notes on a translucent slate. His shirt pulses faintly with a glowing white word, “Select.” He doesn’t speak, just stands there like a creepy overseer.

At exactly 11 p.m., holographic screens flicker to life on each desk. Professor Bullfred wastes no time before singling me out.

“Ms. Lumen. Stand.”

Oh. No. No, no, no.

I try to swallow the frog that’s suddenly decided to dwell in my throat and rise on shaky legs. I don’t do well with this whole “center of attention” thing, and tonight has been a lot of that.

Bullfred gives me a once-over like she’s expecting me to morph into something else right before her eyes.

“You’re behind. I’ll summarize the last three weeks of coursework for you. But you will need to collect notes from classmates.”

I nod and drop back into my seat faster than a malfunctioning elevator. Izzy catches my eye and mouths: I got you. My heart swells.

“This course,” Bullfred continues, “is Security 101: The Security of The Academy and Senium. And, arguably, the most important class you will take during your first year.”

She flicks her finger toward the ceiling, and the screens change. A video plays of a student in front of the Viridis common room door, struggling to get in. He knocks, pulls at the handle, even tries to body slam it open. The camera zooms in on his wrist. No tattoo key.

“Ms. Lumen, what are we looking at?”

Oh. So, this is how we’re playing it. Bullfred is setting her sights on the weakest, newest link.

I shift in my seat. I can feel everyone looking at me. My palms are so sweaty, it’s cringy. Bullfred knows that I don’t have the answer, but she wants to embarrass me.

I whisper, “I don’t know.”

Bullfred makes a big show of cupping her ear and says, “I can’t hear you.”

I repeat myself, louder.

A boy mocks me in a ridiculous high-pitched voice, “She said ‘I don’t know.’”

More laughter, louder this time.

Bullfred clicks her tongue. “‘I don’t know’ is not an acceptable answer in life or in Security class. We base decisions on evidence. What do you see?”

I sigh inwardly.

“A boy trying to get in, but he has no wrist key.”

“No key. Hmm. And what does that mean?”

“Something’s wrong?” I venture.

The class laughs at my ignorance and my face gets hot.

Bullfred barks, “Next” and flicks her finger in the air.

Another video plays—a student walking across the Arena, except he looks like a haunted glitch in a video game. Flickering in and out, his form distorting like he’s made of static.

“Mr. Vadra,” Bullfred calls. “What are we looking at?”

A boy in the front straightens. “Uh…someone who was hacked.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s, uh, fluttering.”

“The term is ‘vibrating.’ Next.”

Another video. This time, a girl in an amphitheater, speaking—but no sound comes out.

“Ms. Vasser?” Bullfred prompts.

A girl dramatically yelps, causing the class to collectively chuckle.

“She’s an excellent mime?”

A few students snicker. I instantly like her.

Bullfred, however, does not. “Try again, without the cheek,” she growls.

The girl, now pink-faced, mutters, “Inaudible speech is a sign of a hack.”

Bullfred doesn’t praise her correct answer or even hesitate at all before she booms out, “Next.”

Another video. On the screen is the figure of a man, a professor perhaps, who is walking down a darkened tunnel one second and gone the next, disappearing completely.

“Hypothetically,” Sebastian says, hand shooting up but not waiting to be called on, “if two hacks happen simultaneously, would the system prioritize the stronger code or fail entirely? Wouldn’t we be looking at more than one sign of a hack?”

“Mr. Thomas, I don’t believe you were called on.”

She flicks her finger again.

“And this, Ms. Lumen?”

I take a wild shot in the dark. “He disappeared. Another hack,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Bullfred.

The screens change. This time—to me.

My stomach drops. It’s me, in the Arena earlier tonight, staring up at my student score. The class erupts in whispers. My face burns hotter than the sun.

“And here, Ms. Lumen,” Bullfred says, “what has happened here?”

I wish I could shout out insults and storm out of the classroom. I wish I could tell her that this place is evil and anyone who would want to hack it is insane. But I can’t say anything. I just sit there in stunned silence.

Bullfred doesn’t wait for me to answer. “We have never seen a student enter the Academy with a score like yours. It should be a big, fat zero. It suspiciously says ‘Cleared.’ This may be the most obvious sign of a hack I’ve ever seen.”

Gasps.

“I knew she was a fraud,” the same awful boy who mocked me, says loudly to his friend.

I stare at the screen, helpless. If everyone’s so sure I hacked my way in here, why don’t they just kick me out already?

“Next.”

Bullfred moves on, but the damage is done.

The video vanishes and in its place the screen reads:

Evidence of Hacks

1. Vibrating image

2. Transparency

3. Inaudible speech

4. No wrist key

5. Disappearance

“Here are the five main ways to tell if someone’s implant has been compromised and their avatar is being controlled by an outside party. And while Ms. Lumen claims innocence, rest assured we will be investigating the incident involving her score.”

Bullfred and I glare at each other.

“Security at Sen Academy is of the utmost importance. Without it, our secrets of how to be Skilled would be available to anyone who enters Senium. There are many safeguards in place to protect our school from outside breaches. With that said, it can still occur,” Professor Bullfred pauses briefly.

“Over the seven years of our school’s history, people have resorted to extreme and barbaric ways of attempting to enter these virtual walls. Some have even physically removed the implants of students in the real world and re-implanted them in their own heads.”

The class collectively groans and grimaces.

“All who have tried, have failed. The implants never work as well when re-implanted.”

Sebastian raises his hand and speaks again, “What do the hackers get out of it in the real world? Can they control our minds in reality?”

Uneasy murmurs ripple through the Fishbowl.

“There’s no evidence to suggest that, Mr. Thomas.” Professor Bullfred maintains her stern expression. “If we detect a hack, our Security team steps in immediately with the Intrusion Response Protocol. The target will be protected.”

Bullfred’s gaze drifts over the class, searching for her next victim.

“Mr. Lee, what happens to a hacked individual if Security doesn’t intervene?”

“They go into a coma and become a Shell, Mrs. Bullfred, I mean, Professor Bullfred.”

A coma in reality and in Senium. A fate worse than death. I slump back into my seat, heat crawling up my neck.

“Those who have been hacked, especially for an extended period of time, risk falling into a coma. For others, they may be hacked for a short period and never know,” Bullfred says. “Security’s job is to stop these egregious attacks and find out who’s behind them.”

“West,” someone hisses.

The words spread like static.

“He doesn’t run the Academy anymore,” the boy in front whispers, eyes flicking around. “Levi threw him out. Maybe he’s hacking us to get revenge and using the Select Skilled to do his dirty work for him.”

“That was years ago,” a girl with glasses mutters back. “West’s Cloudkind now. He practically owns Senium.”

“Right, so he’s definitely not hacking his own implants,” someone snaps. “Use your brain.”

A low scoff. “Then who do you think it is? The Allskilled?”

The name hangs there—sharp enough to cut.

I know that name. Everyone who’s ever been online has heard it. They’re a cult of Senium users who think that everyone should be Skilled, not just the Sen Academy-trained leaders. They’ve been calling for Levi Sen to rollout universal C-skills to all users. There have even been rumors that some members are Academy grads and are teaching C-skills to everyday people, like granting superpowers to reckless children.

“That makes sense. Allskilled is hacking to spy on us,” the glasses girl says, a bit desperate now, “to see how we use our skills.”

The man who has been tapping on the transparent slate steps away from his corner. The silver “Select” on his chest pulses, slow and cold. He lifts a hand, and the double doors unseal with a low creak.

“Thank you, Rune,” Bullfred says.

It’s the first polite thing she’s said all night.

The words West, Select Skilled, and Allskilled still hang over the room like smoke.

Bullfred clears her throat and growls, “As soon-to-be Senium leaders, it is your duty to be vigilant spotting hacks of this nature and report them to Security as soon as possible.”

Professor Bullfred glares once more at me.

“Keep a close eye on your peers. They may be concealing more than you think.”

Class ends and I practically bolt out of the room. Rune lingers just outside the glass doors, like he’s scanning everyone who exits. His gaze tracks mine.

He mutters something like, “Skills shouldn’t be handed out to everyone,” as I pass by.

I’m so distracted by Bullfred’s assistant that I nearly crash into a Flavus girl with sharp cheekbones, sharper eyes, and a long ginger braid.

“You’re Ava Lumen?” she asks, her tone already sour. Her gaze slides over me, clearly unimpressed.

I nod, wary.

She must have been waiting for me. I look back toward the Fishbowl. When I see the swarm of students trickling out, I reluctantly turn away from them and face the hostile stranger.

She crosses her arms. “How exactly did you get picked for the Trials?”

I laugh. It’s that unintentional nervous laugh I sometimes do when in an uncomfortable situation. I cringe internally.

“It’s not a rhetorical question.” Her eyes flick down to my emerald uniform like it personally offends her. “Because students train for years to get a decent score. Students who actually belong here.”

I open my mouth, unsure what to say, but Izzy and Sebastian join us.

“Maybe you could stop being awful for, like, five seconds, Deirdre?” Izzy suggests. She sips at something green and thick bubbling up from a gilded goblet.

Deirdre sneers. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. She should forfeit her spot and give it to someone who earned it.”

“That’s not happening,” another voice cuts in—low, steady, with the kind of confidence that fills a room before he even steps into it.

We all turn.

It’s that blonde Trials contestant, the scarred Flavus—James. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, radiating that effortless kind of power, the kind that doesn’t need to posture because everyone already knows not to mess with him.

“No offense,” he adds with a charming smile, “but maybe not the best place for a public interrogation. Makes everyone look bad.”

Deirdre stiffens, but something in his tone, just respectful enough to keep from being called out, makes her pause.

“Just saying what everyone’s thinking,” she repeats.

James gives her a slow, deliberate nod that reads both calculated and dismissive. Like a lion flicking its tail at a barking dog. A flicker of something passes between them—pride, deference, or rivalry, I can’t tell— but Deirdre rolls her eyes and backs off.

“Ava Lumen,” he says, sizing me up, sharp eyes taking me in. “You’re making waves already. People are talking.”

“I promise I’m not actually that interesting,” I say. I don’t want to be talked about. I just want to find a dark corner to hide in until log out time.

He flashes a grin. “You score into the Trials after what—your first hour here? That doesn’t just happen.”

“Apparently it does,” I say, forcing a shrug.

He laughs, like we’re sharing an inside joke.

“You don’t pull that score by accident,” he says, voice low. ”That’s not luck. That’s flair.” Pause, smirk. “I like flair.”

I blink, caught off guard by the compliment. His tone is easy, warm. Flirty, even.

Behind him, Izzy sips from her goblet a little too slowly. Her gaze flicks to James, unreadable, then away again, like she’s trying not to watch too closely.

From the edge of the group, Deirdre suddenly pipes up. “You don’t actually believe she earned that score, if you can even call it that,” she says, arms crossed.

Izzy turns toward her, eyes narrowing. Sebastian steps closer too, quiet but clearly alert.

Deirdre continues, louder now, drawing stares from passersby. “Who did she bribe, or blackmail, or flirt with? Must be someone high-ranking.”

Something hot and sharp flares in my chest. I feel it rise, heat behind my eyes, in my fingers, tightening like a coil.

“Rule number seven of Gio’s Guide for Gentlemen says, ‘Maintain a composed demeanor in public settings,’” says Sebastian, the voice of reason.

Deirdre’s lip curls. “What did you just say to me?”

“Rule number—”

Izzy cuts in before Sebastian can finish. “Stop being an asshole and just leave Ava alone, okay? She obviously didn’t ask for this.”

She’s right. I never asked for this drama. I didn’t even know what I was truly signing up for. But Deirdre isn’t done.

“You’re pathetic. It’s girls like you—skipping the line, batting your lashes, getting special treatment—that ruin it for the rest of us.”

“Deirdre, stop—” James starts, but Deirdre is on a roll.

Her eyes bulge and her cheeks burn red. “Soon everyone will see what I see. You’re just a little, cheating slut. Aren’t you?”

Anger, fiery and deep, settles in my chest. But instead of burning upward like it normally does, it sharpens until I feel it hum through my fingertips, familiar, somehow, like my body has done this before.

The warmth surges. I don’t even think.

An invisible thread shoots from me, latching onto Izzy’s goblet. I expect resistance. There is none. The space between us tightens, like the world itself is leaning in, like it’s been waiting for me.

The cup shoots into the air, glowing faintly at the edges, like it recognizes my touch.

It flips.

Neon-green goo cascades over Deirdre’s perfect braid and mustard sweater, pooling at her feet in sticky rivers.

Sebastian steps back, deadpan. “Nasty.”

Deirdre stands frozen, fists clenched, mouth open in a silent scream.

James doesn’t flinch. He just watches me with unnerving interest, like I’m a puzzle he wants to take apart piece by piece.

Izzy and I exchange a look. Then we turn and bolt for the transporter, Sebastian right behind us.

“How did you—” Sebastian starts.

“It wasn’t me,” Izzy replies.

I can feel them both looking at me, but I keep my eyes fixed on the floor. I don’t know how I did it—only that I didn’t decide to. The moment had moved through me like muscle memory, like something my body remembered before my mind did. And beneath the confusion is something worse: a strange, aching familiarity, as if I’ve done this a thousand times before and the school itself has been waiting for me to remember.

“How do you know how to use an advanced control already?” Izzy asks me.

“What’s an…advanced control?” I manage.

Her eyes widen. “Controls are how we bend the world here—move things, change things—just by thinking it. Most are basic, like dimming a light or sliding a door shut. What you just pulled off?” She gestures at smoothie-soaked Deirdre. “That was a multi-step precision move. Lift, float, aim, dump. Not beginner stuff.”

Sebastian whistles, low and impressed.

Controls. Creations. There’s still so much I don’t understand about this place. I didn’t intend to use skills or to dump the drink over Deirdre’s head. It was a strong desire, like conjuring the rope ladder on the entrance cliff.

Izzy smiles. “You’re a badass.”

Deirdre moves her hands over her soaked clothes, air blowing from her palms in an attempt to dry herself and James is gazing straight at me with that same easy grin in place, like I’ve just confirmed something he already suspected.

The transporter zaps us outside the common room for a short break between classes. As I step toward the door, my knees wobble and the warmth in my chest that was there moments before is gone, leaving a hollow, aching cold.

The tunnel tilts slightly, enough to make my insides twist.

“Hey, are you okay?” Izzy says, clapping her hand to my shoulder to steady me.

“You look terrible,” Sebastian says.

I nod too fast. “Yeah. I’m—”

I collapse on the floor.

I’m not okay.

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Tuesday

10 p.m., Senium VR

The first time Nick saw the friar, he knew it wasn’t an AI, which made his sudden appearance worse.

The friar stood in the courtyard facing the church, limbs limp and lifeless. AIs didn’t stand like that. Definitely not the ones he’d come across at the Academy.

Had he made the friar one night and forgotten all about it? Unlikely, though he had been creating like a man obsessed lately. It was almost launch day.

The friar definitely wasn’t a user’s avatar. Nick’s Mission didn’t have open access to the public yet and the priest’s look was too historically accurate for an everyday user to recreate. He would know.

“Hey there,” Nick said, approaching the priest.

No response.

It wasn’t a Shell. The man’s eyes were brown, not the characteristic glossy white of a Shell. He gazed past Nick at the church, unblinking. Weird as hell.

It could be an original Sen creation from one of the neighboring historic districts. But that didn’t make sense. He couldn’t have wandered in. Nick always kept the gate locked.

Nick waved his hand in front of the old man’s eyes to no reaction. He admired the priest’s hooded, brown robe tied with the standard rope cincture, three knots in place. It was authentic work.

No, Nick had created him off the cuff last night and simply forgot.

The holy man clearly lacked any embedded controls, so Nick didn’t have to worry about him setting fire to the Sacred Garden or erasing the cloisters. Nick had a mile-long to-do list to tackle. He wasn’t babysitting… whatever this was.

He’d leave him there. Maybe he’d even give him a name.

Wednesday

10 p.m., Senium VR

Only one more night until launch and there was more to do. He knew he was being overly ambitious, but if he could pull it off, he could get promoted to Lead Creator of the Senium Historic Division. Meaning: more coin.

Gayle and Robert will get a kick out of his Great Stone Church recreation. He had spent enough time on it. All month, Nick had buried himself in the archives, studying the old drawings and descriptions of the church before the earthquake. After work, he walked through the ruins to make sure he got every detail right. This wasn’t some unverified virtual home project.

He debated with himself about adding a plaque. One to memorialize what the disaster meant, the weight it carried, but ultimately he decided against it. He wanted to keep it original and untainted by history.

He gazed up from his to-do list and noticed something was wrong. The Grand Altar was different than it had been yesterday. The Baroque-style gold leaf was gone, like it had never belonged there to begin with. Nick hadn’t erased it.

He was losing his mind with this launch.

This would set him back a whole hour, at least. He still had to embed controls to enhance the atmosphere—the warmth of the lit candles, the sound of the bells. Controls had never been his strong suit.

He had just finished the altar when he glanced through the open doorway and saw the friar.

Still there. Still staring with those dead eyes.

Nick had been too consumed by his list to step outside and check whether anything else was glitching.

He’d almost forgotten about the materialized holy man standing across from the church and from Nick himself, frozen in the exact same spot as yesterday.

“It’s almost finished, Padre,” Nick called out before adding playfully, “You don’t have to keep pressuring me like this.”

Nothing.

It reminded him of an NPC from one of his dad’s vintage video games. Standing around, repeating the same lines when engaged, lacking real agency. He imagined the friar chanting when approached. That would be a sick mod.

Maybe he’d keep him there for the launch party. He would add to the experience, even though he didn’t serve any functional purpose.

Nick shrugged and went back to his list. He’ll name him Fred.

Thursday

11 p.m., Senium VR, The Launch Party

“Good Lord, Nick. Is this what you’ve been up to?” Gayle said, her eyes wide as she tilted her head back to take in the vibrant domed ceiling of the Great Stone Church.

He held his breath, waiting for her critique. From her expression, it was clear she hated the cherubs. He knew he shouldn’t have included those chubby baby-cheeked blobs.

“It’s incredible,” she said.

Nick let out a slow exhale.

“And what’s that smell? It smells like…”

“Frankincense. And beeswax. I thought about mixing in some wood oil, but ran out of time.”

“And you learned how to do all this at Sen Academy?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nodded; arms crossed over his chest.

This was going better than expected. He could count the coin hitting his account already. Maybe he’d gain some attention in the Senium historical circles. Maybe Levi Sen would visit.

He was getting ahead of himself. Gayle’s praise was just one opinion. And there were a surprising number of co-workers, friends, and family there. He needed to start making the rounds.

He shifted an odd piece of rubble with his foot on the way out. He’d have to fix that later. Robert waited just outside the church door.

“What’s up with this guy?” Robert said, pointing at Fred in the courtyard.

“Oh, that’s Fred,” Nick said, a smile playing on his lips.

“Did it get a little lonely playing God?”

Nick almost laughed. He didn’t have some kind of God-complex, if that’s what he was implying. He was perfecting the place, incorporating what should have been, not imagining something new.

“It’s not like that.”

“All this is just kind of sad, you know. I mean, you work at the Mission all day, man, and then you recreate it in your sleep?”

They strolled up to Fred who remained inanimate. There was something different about him, but Nick couldn’t place what it was.

“Look, I know you must think I’m some nerd for making this, but Cloudkind pays me to create virtual worlds. Plus, think how this will change tourism, education, everything. People from around the world will visit and experience something that they wouldn’t be able to otherwise. It’s history.”

“You’re a huge nerd, bro,” Robert said.

Nick glanced back at the friar. His rope belt was missing.

Friday

10:30 p.m., Senium VR

Nick sat in the chapel, tweaking a candle’s jumping flame. He couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t perfect yet.

The Mission was quieter tonight. He knew it would be. After the launch, his friends and family would return to their normal virtual lives—earning coin so they could upgrade their homes or visit more worlds.

New visitors wandered through, appreciating his craftsmanship. It felt good to know his work was respected. No trolls yet, so that was good. Except Robert, who had the balls to tell him that the color he chose for the roof tiles was slightly too brown.

Robert was jealous. He didn’t go to the Academy or learn how to use skills. Even if he had, he wouldn’t be able to recreate this. Nick had always been more creative than his peers.

Closing time came, and Nick strolled through the grounds carrying a candlestick to light his way because he enjoyed the authentic feel of it. He glanced in the church before closing the door, when he saw something lying on the middle of the floor.

At first glance, he thought it was one of the Senium rattlesnakes that roamed the area. On closer inspection, he realized it was a rope. A rope with three knots. It was coiled around a small piece of rubble. He picked the rope up, knowing what it was from.

As he turned around, facing the courtyard, he shivered, filled with a creeping sense of unease.

Fred wasn’t in his usual spot.

Someone had moved him. That would explain why his belt was lying in the church. This had Robert’s stink all over it. He probably snuck in here, moved Fred somewhere else to jump-scare Nick, and then would casually bring it up tomorrow in the break room.

Nick wasn’t going to be duped. He turned back in the church, unbothered, to continue his closing routine and check for stragglers. A single candle burned on the altar, the yellow wax melting over the metal holder.

Had it been lit before, when he found the rope? This church kept surprising him. First there was the missing gold leaf, then the chunks of rubble, and now the coiled rope belt and eerie lit candle. Robert was definitely screwing with him.

Still, something cold slithered down his spine.

Saturday

2 p.m., Mission San Juan Capistrano, CA

Robert was the type of guy to pull a dumb prank on a friend and then rub it in their face the first chance he’d get. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned anything about the friar during the first-half of his shift was strange. When Nick saw him in the break room after a few hours of walking the grounds, he decided he had to know definitively.

“Did you move Fred?”

Robert said, “Who’s Fred?”

“The friar. In Senium.”

Robert just stared at him blankly.

Nick sighed. “In my Mission recreation.”

“Oh, that dude? Nah, man.” He laughed. “What—did your own creation get bored of you already?”

Nick slumped in an empty chair and bit off a chunk of his protein bar.

Saturday

10 p.m., Senium VR

Nick hurried straight to the courtyard upon entering Senium. Fred still wasn’t there.

Someone other than Robert had moved him. He’d go and look.

He searched everywhere. It took a couple of hours. Every bougainvillea-framed bench, every shadowed corner, every possible hiding spot, but there was no friar. Which meant only one thing: someone had erased him.

Only Skilled like Nick knew how to use an erasure control. He hadn’t seen another Skilled, but he didn’t know all of them personally. Erasing someone else’s creation would be a slap in the face to another Skilled. And why the poor friar? Fred didn’t hurt anybody.

At ten minutes until hour 9, Nick locked up the gate and turned to see a light bobbing in the dark distance. He rolled his eyes and sighed. Someone hadn’t left when he gave the usual closing call.

It could be the Skilled who’s been fooling around, back to do more damage.

Nick stomped over to the arched cloisters in a fury. He didn’t want to, but he would use his combat skills if necessary. Not in the church. Even virtual places of worship deserved some respect. He’d keep it outside.

It wasn’t a Skilled though.

Nick’s chest tightened with a dread he didn’t understand.

“Fred?”

The friar stood at the far end of the covered walkway. His hood was up, concealing his darkened face, and he held a melted yellow candle, like the one Nick had found in the church the other night.

“Have you been the one creeping around here?” Nick laughed it off, though the effort felt weak and brittle.

Fred didn’t say anything. He started walking toward him. That was new. Nick’s stomach tightened. What else could the friar do?

Nick watched, his mouth hanging open, as Fred continued gliding toward him. Closer and closer. Approaching until he was feet away from him with no sign of stopping. Nick stepped back, but Fred kept coming.

Fred raised a hand, pointing behind Nick.

Nick’s eyes widened. There was no face he could see under Fred’s hood. Just the blackest shadow, as though someone had removed it.

What. The. Hell.

This was not an NPC. Not an AI. Not a Shell. Not his creation. This was something else entirely.

When faceless Fred was inches away, Nick shouted, “Stop!”

He blinked. Fred passed through him. Then he was gone.

SLAM.

A door shut behind Nick and the mission bells rang out, wild.

Nick bolted out through the front gate, leaving it ajar for the first time since he created it.

He looked back only once. It was enough. The Great Stone Church was a great pile of rubble.

Sunday

12:30 p.m., Mission San Juan Capistrano, CA

“Hey, you know that ghost story about the friar?”

“Nope,” Robert said, staring at his phone. He let out a loud belch, causing Gayle to gaze up from her turkey sandwich and click her tongue at him.

“Melissa said she saw him one night, but you know Melissa,” Gayle said, rolling her eyes with a snicker. “Why?”

“I—I think he’s haunting my Senium Mission.”

Robert and Gayle both turned to stare at him.

“Bro, you ain’t right.”

Gayle nodded.

Nick picked up his phone and started typing in the AI app chat box: “Am I losing it—” then he clicked his phone off. He didn’t need AI to confirm what he already knew.

Monday

10 p.m., Senium VR

Nick started work on his new project. The original marquee-style Disneyland sign on Harbor Boulevard was enormous. The mid-century design was a departure from the Spanish colonial he had perfected with the Mission, but he was sure he could do it justice, despite the massive undertaking of the project. This time he’d keep it cleaner. Even more accurate and original.

He sensed a disturbance in the air, a presence behind him. Nick turned around, hoping it was in his head.

The unsettling truth met him.

Dead eyes.

Folklore inspiration:

This speculative story draws inspiration from the enduring folklore of the ghostly friar said to haunt Mission San Juan Capistrano in Southern California. Rooted in tales of a faceless figure in religious robes who appears along quiet cloisters, the short story reimagines this legend, blending historical elements with the virtual reality setting of my sci-fi serial, The Viridis Survival Guide.

To subscribe to The Viridis Survival Guide, a weekly serial, click below:

Subscribe now

For more on the legend:

A Los Angeles Times piece on local ghost lore references long-standing stories of apparitions tied to the mission grounds.

For more about the Great Stone Church tragedy:

The Great Stone Church at Mission San Juan Capistrano was completed in 1806 and destroyed just six years later during the earthquake of December 8, 1812. The collapse occurred during morning Mass and resulted in the loss of dozens of lives, making it one of the deadliest disasters in early California history. Today, the ruins remain as both a historical landmark and a place of remembrance.

For readers interested in learning more, the Mission’s official website and historical archives offer detailed accounts of the church, the earthquake, and the broader colonial history of the site: click here.

Thanks for reading. I’d love to know what you think.

Except you, Robert.

Helena xx

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It all happens at once.

One second, I’m frozen on stage, the whole Arena holding its breath. The next, the crowd erupts like a shaken-up soda can, fizzing over with panic and fury.

Voices collide—jeers, shouts, my name hurled like a rock. Fingers stab the air in my direction, then toward Custos, then back at the scoreboard that still screams CLEARED in stubborn, glowing letters.

“What does it mean?”

“It’s rigged!”

“She just skipped four years of training!”

Cleared does not sound like a good thing. My stomach twists into a balloon animal, my palms are clammy, and I have this distinct sense that I should be running in the opposite direction.

But before I can choose fight, flight, or faint, a pair of beefy hands clamp onto my shoulders. Security. Their grip is firm, not unkind, but there’s no room for protest. I’m swept away, shoved onto a transporter square.

Whoosh.

The chaos disappears in a blink.

I stop in front of a heavy oak door, dark with simulated age. A brass plaque that’s tarnished, but meticulously polished around the letters reads: Guardian Elia Custos.

The door opens without a sound, which somehow makes it worse.

The office inside is cathedral-quiet.

A towering window frames the far wall, but instead of daylight it looks out over a storm-torn sea, waves black-blue and endless, like the ocean is pressing its forehead against the glass.

Security leaves me at the threshold with a curt nod.

Physically I’m still, but mentally my thoughts bounce, collide, ricochet into one another. What does Cleared mean? And why does every single person look at me like I’ve either committed treason or am about to sprout wings and smite them?

Then voices. Heated ones, muffled by the door.

I snap upright as it hisses open again.

Guardian Custos strides in first, followed by a squat, scowling woman who radiates I’m-about-to-ruin-your-day energy.

Custos sits behind her desk and the scowling woman and I sit opposite her. Custos’s expression is tight, almost apologetic, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle she’s not sure should even exist.

“Thank you for coming, Ava,” she says at last.

I blink. My brain short-circuits. I wasn’t exactly given a choice.

“Anytime,” I reply.

Custos gestures to her companion. “This is Professor Bullfred, head of Security.”

Bullfred does not extend her hand. She does not nod. She just stares, the weight of her gaze pressing down on me like lead.

I smile anyway, a twitchy, please-don’t-eat-me smile. “Hi. Big fan of… security.”

She doesn’t move.

I press my hands between my knees to prevent them from shaking. The movement feels oddly familiar. Like déjà vu.

Custos leans forward. “Your student score has given us quite a stir.”

A stir? I wouldn’t call that mosh pit ‘a stir.’ It felt more like the student body was on the verge of a collective mental breakdown. I understand they care badly about wanting to train under the virtual world’s creator, but that reaction was a tad extreme.

The scowling lady scoffs.

“It’s not a stir. It’s a blatant security breach. One that needs immediate correction.”

At least we’re in agreement.

Her glare slices straight through me, and suddenly, I feel exposed. Like she can see right through my skin, past my bones, and straight into the part of me that suspects—knows—I don’t belong here. That there’s been a mistake.

Custos ignores her and says gently, “Your score displayed a word. An unusual word.” She pauses, like she’s trying to gauge my reaction. “Do you have any idea why it would say ‘Cleared’?”

I shake my head. “I—I mean, I wish I did, but no. I’m just as confused as you are. Maybe more.”

Bullfred’s voice booms. “There are only two explanations. One: a system error.”

I nod so fast my brain almost rattles. Yes. An error. That’s what I’ve been saying all along. Finally, I’m going to get out of here. I want to hug her, give her a fruit basket, spray confetti.

But then Custos shakes her head. “The Sengineers have confirmed that the system is functioning perfectly.”

My internal fruit basket shatters into a million pieces.

Bullfred’s lips press together in a thin line. “Then that leaves option two: your student score was hacked.”

“Hacked?” I repeat, because surely I misheard. “Someone broke into the system to mess with me? Why would anyone do that? I’m not exactly—” I gesture vaguely at myself, “—a person of interest.”

Custos scoffs. “It’s absurd. No one would take that kind of risk.”

I understand what she’s talking about. I’ve heard about hackers in reality that try to break into Sen Academy and are caught. They’re sent to jail, their implants deactivated, and placed under lifetime Senium bans.

Bullfred gives me a long, considered look. “Maybe she didn’t need a hacker.”

Custos looks as bewildered as I feel. “You think Ava hacked her own score?”

My stomach drops. I don’t even know how to hack a microwave, let alone a student score.

I lift my hands. “Okay, listen. I have zero computer skills. I’m supposed to be a guinea pig for Cloudkind. I’m in the Workforce Program, testing new features and reporting anomalies. I’m here by mistake. If you just let me leave, you wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”

I feel like a broken record. When will these people get it?

Bullfred’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you think it’s strange?” She muses aloud. “A late Viridis arrival. Claiming to be here by mistake. No student score. And in its place, a cryptic word.” She turns back to Custos. “Who cleared her? And why?”

The room goes silent.

Custos nods her head. “I want a full investigation into the matter.” Then in a surprisingly warm movement, she walks over to me and rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Until then, you may remain in the competition.”

No. I don’t want them to get to the bottom of this. I don’t want to be in their ominous competition anymore. I want them to realize this is all a big misunderstanding and send me home immediately.

But if I’m in the competition, I should at least get to speak to the man I’m competing to work for.

“When do I get to meet Levi?”

The silence that follows feels like a stab in the gut.

“Only the victor of the Trials will meet and build alongside Mr. Sen,” Custos says.

I don’t know why I thought it was immediate. I don’t know if I was thinking at all when I signed up. I’m just so desperate to get out of here, back to Leo, and figure out what went wrong.

Bullfred stands, her face tomato-red. “We need to complete the Intrusion Response Protocol. She could be hacked right now.”

“You can’t go around sniffing inside innocent implants. She’s exhibiting none of the classic signs.”

Bullfred levels a sharp look at Custos. “When this all blows up in your face, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Then she shifts her glare to me and says, “I’ll figure out what you’re hiding.”

I swallow hard.

Custos gently squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sure you belong here as much as anyone else. And I know we will see wonderful things from you.”

I make a sound that’s half nervous laugh, half strangled sob. Sure. Wonderful things. Like me spectacularly failing whatever this contest is and embarrassing myself in front of everyone.

Bullfred storms out and Custos guides me out of the room, down a dark corridor that should lead back to the common room. When I’m alone, I lean against the cold stone of the tunnel, trying to make sense of what just happened. I glance down at my wrist.

The Viridis tattoo stares back at me.

I think about the message I saw earlier, the one from the unknown sender.

[SOURCE: UNTRACEABLE] Follow.

A chill prickles down my spine.

I don’t know what it means. Follow what and who? The mysterious figure from the boat who dove into the ocean? Even if I knew who it was and what they wanted, I have no way of following them anywhere, let alone into the sea. The Sen Academy appears locked up with no such exit. Even the ferry entrance I used upon arrival is sealed up.

I have a terrible feeling that someone wants me here.

And it definitely isn’t the other students.

Their loathing is sticky and inescapable. They threw rocks at me during the Entrance Ascent like failure would erase me. On the stage, their boos were so loud that I could feel it in my bones. They’re convinced that I cheated, that I slipped through a door meant to stay locked. They smell it on me, my wrongness, the way animals sense an intruder in a pack.

I wish I didn’t care. But what terrifies me is the thought that I’m not just passing through, that I might be trapped here with them, night after night, in a place where being hated is the atmosphere. A place where both monsters and students thirst to end me.

“You’re not wrong,” someone says behind me.

I spin around.

A woman stands a few feet away. She’s petite but there’s nothing soft about her. Black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, blunt bangs shadowing her pale face. Silver piercings line both ears, glinting against the sharp edge of dark eyeliner and matte lipstick. Her clothes are tight, minimal, and definitely not regulation.

“You look like you needed someone to say that aloud,” she adds. Her expression is tired, but kind. Like she’s seen this exact moment a dozen times before.

I instinctively straighten, brushing my palms over my sleeves like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“Sorry—I was just—processing. I can move if you need to get through—”

She arches a brow. “Relax. I don’t grade tunnel breakdowns.”

I manage a thin smile. “You’re a professor?”

She extends a hand. “Maja Andersson, but please call me Maja. I’m your Creation 101 professor,” she says cheerfully. “And you’re Ava Lumen.”

It’s not a question. The entire school knows me now.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

“You look like someone trying very hard to disappear.”

I lean back against the wall. “Pretty sure half the student body thinks I cheated my way in, and the other half thinks I’m just some error in the system.”

Maja tilts her head. “Let me guess—you’re trying to figure out how to fix that.”

“I just want to leave.”

“Walk with me,” she says, moving slowly down the tunnel toward the common room.

I follow.

“You could be the kindest, smartest, most well-intentioned person in a room, and someone will still misread you. Or dislike you. Or twist your story to fit their own.”

My chest tightens. Try the entire student body hating you.

“Controlling how people see you is a full-time job with zero payoff.”

“So, what? I just stop caring?”

“No,” she says gently. “You care about what matters. Your work. Your people. Your passions.”

Leo. I’m getting too side-tracked worrying about this stupid place that I’m forgetting the real reason I’m in Senium to begin with. I need to get into the Workforce Program and help Leo.

“Let them think what they think. You’ve got better things to do than manage someone else’s projection.”

I look down at my wrist, still glowing green with the word Viridis.

“And what if I am an error?”

Maja and I stop at the Viridis common room door. “Look, I’m not going to tell you that things happen for a reason because that sentiment is garbage.”

I smile at her blunt honesty.

“If this has all been a mistake, it will be corrected in reality. Until then, I suggest you focus on what matters. The rest is noise,” she says, resting a warm hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let the rough exterior fool you. This place will teach you amazing, wonderful things if you let it.”

I nod. I don’t want to, but her warm voice makes me believe her words.

Maja smiles sympathetically. “See me after class. I’ll show you the things they don’t want in the syllabus,” she says with a wink.

She disappears into the corridor, leaving me alone with the dread of what comes next: my first class.

Security 101.

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That word pops up again in the holographic message that blooms above my wrist. I have no idea who sent it or what they want me to follow this time. I’ll have to ask Rosie or Custos, not that they’ve been much help so far.

Ironically, I do follow someone—all of the other first-year students who make their way to the transporter square. The Trials Selection Ceremony is about to start. And I’m hoping I’ll be picked to meet Levi Sen and get this mistake sorted. I need to get back to Leo and reassure him that I’m going to do everything I can to fund his treatment.

I squeeze myself on the square between a tall guy with freckles and another whose patchy goatee looks like it’s still buffering. Someone yells, “Arena,” and before I can even process that, the world shifts.

A moment later, I’m swept up in the crowd as it funnels through a narrow entrance into an enormous stone amphitheater. Stadium seating encircles a stage and a gaping hole in the ceiling lets in ample moonlight. A miracle. Finally, a room that isn’t drowning in ominous darkness.

The energy in the air crackles with excitement as Guardian Custos strides onto the central platform.

I climb the blocky steps, looking for a seat. It’s a sea of emerald-clad first-years just like me, but also students in red, orange, and yellow clustering in their respective colors, shouting with excitement and stomping their feet in unison. I make a mental note: student year color coordination is a thing. I select an empty row in a green section.

A girl plops down right next to me, like we’re long-lost besties with two feet of air between us. A flash of something on her feet grabs my gaze downward. Her shoes are fire-engine red high-tops with laces that move like flowing lava. They’re incredible and make me feel instantly self-conscious about my standard issue black flats.

“Oh, thank Sen,” she declares, like she just escaped a tunnel monster. “Someone here who isn’t chanting to see bloodied corpses.”

She raises a chipped, ink-dark chalice to her lips and takes a loud sip, the scent of strawberries and cinnamon rolls wafts toward me. I bet it tastes amazing.

“You new? I’m new too. I mean, technically not. Started when everyone else did, but we Viridis are all pretty new.”

I smile, relieved that someone is actually talking to me and not pelting me with rocks.

“Yeah, just arrived and already questioning all my life choices.”

She grins and tucks a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear, revealing a cascade of piercings. She’s one of those rare people who walks into a mysterious school already fully assembled. Effortlessly cool, like she downloaded the premium update and I’m still glitching through the beta version.

She sets her chalice on the dusty floor and sticks out a hand like we’re not surrounded by shouting strangers.

“Welcome to the mayhem. I’m Izzy.”

I shake her hand, as some guy nearby lights a fire with zero supervision. I pretend not to notice it.

“I’m Ava.”

“You’ve got good vibes, Ava,” she says, grinning.

Good vibes. I’ve never been called anything other than bookish, and I so want to believe her.

A few adults in black uniforms labeled “Security” across the chest pass us as they march up the stone steps, and I notice more of them gathered around the central stage.

Izzy regards them too. “Don’t freak about all the guards—they’re just there in case. There’s been more hacking lately. It almost never happens, but if it does, they jump in and do some weird implant override stuff.”

“We can be hacked?” This just keeps getting worse.

Izzy shrugs. “Perk of being at Sen Academy. They don’t know who’s doing it, but it’s basically mind control. Probably spies. They slip into your implant, take over your avatar, and walk it around like it’s theirs. Free access to everything we’re taught.”

A chill crawls up my spine, and I shove it down fast. Nope. Not going there. Not today. Not when I might actually get picked to meet Levi. I should be thinking about the competition, what it is, how bad it’s going to be, not glitching out over getting hacked.

“So, what are The Trials exactly?”

“Oh, it’s mostly an excuse for students to punch each other,” she says, leaning back on her elbows. “The rest of us are here for the snacks and the spectacle.”

Alarm bells start blaring in my skull.

“Wait, so . . . it’s fighting?”

Izzy raises an eyebrow. “Volunteering for the Trials is like announcing you’ve got a death wish and no impulse control.”

Something inside me cinches tight and I can feel the blood draining from my head. Death wish? Of course, Rosie didn’t mention that. I should have asked more questions before signing up. I don’t fight. I don’t even know how to throw a punch.

“Everyone wants to prove themselves the best student, and of course, work with Levi. Apprenticing under him would be like studying fashion design under Vivienne Westwood.”

She points at a boy reading a book a row below us. “That’s Declan. Says he volunteered. The kid can barely float his pencil via control. I don’t know how he expects to be selected, let alone win.”

“One should not discuss others as if they are not present,” a voice from behind us says.

I turn. A guy with curly hair and black-rimmed glasses sits behind us, completely expressionless. I can’t tell if he’s serious or making a dry joke.

Izzy just rolls her eyes.

“Enough with Gentleman Gio already, Sebastian. That’s the fourth time today you’ve brought him up.”

He stays impassive. “There’s only a 17% chance a Viridis will be chosen. The first seven will be Rubers.”

“How do you even know that?” Izzy says before continuing, “Wait, don’t answer. I don’t care. What I do want to know is why anyone would volunteer for this thing. My AI Guide said competitors have to sign waivers in case they get painfully axed or something. Can you imagine?”

Waivers. Axed. I go a little numb. This is definitely not what I thought would happen when I signed up.

She turns to me. “Are you okay?”

I’m not okay. My stomach is staging a full-scale revolt.

“Fine,” I manage. “H-how do they pick who competes?

Izzy starts to answer—but then bam. The hole in the ceiling shuts.

The Arena plunges into total darkness.

A hush ripples through the space. Then, floating lanterns flicker to life, their warm light bouncing like disco balls. A spotlight lands on Custos, who smiles like this is the best day of her life.

“Welcome to the Apprenticeship Trials Selection Ceremony,” she announces. “Contestants selected tonight will face three trials later this year, competing for an extraordinary opportunity: an apprenticeship under Levi Sen himself.”

Izzy belches loudly after sipping more of her drink.

Sebastian clicks his tongue, muttering something about Izzy never being quiet.

“Relax. I grew up with three older brothers. That was nothing,” Izzy says.

Custos continues from the stage. “Tonight, ten volunteer contestants will be chosen based on their overall student score. If your name is called, please rise and take your place on stage.”

A giant holographic scoreboard blazes into the air.

Your student score consists of your three C-skills—combat, control, and creation. The more experienced students (Ruber upperclassmen) are likely to have higher scores. Or at least that’s what Izzy whispers to me under her breath.

Guess I’m safe.

Silent electricity buzzes through the crowd as Custos begins.

“Our first contestant is,” Custos says, pausing for dramatic effect before a name, year, and student score appear magically on the scoreboard, “Dash Maddox, Ruber. ”

The whole stadium erupts. Cheers crash like waves against stone walls, stomping feet rattle the ground, and somewhere a trumpet blares three triumphant notes.

A guy in scarlet with slicked black hair saunters forward, every movement deliberate, like he knows half the audience would kill to be him and the other half already worships him. His grin is wide and unhurried, the grin of someone who’s had a lifetime of practice basking in applause.

“An impressive score of 590 out of 600,” Custos announces.

The number blazes on the scoreboard, and an impressed-sounding whistle trills from the scarlet Ruber section, followed by raucous laughter and pounding applause.

Sebastian leans forward, his voice low but smug, like a professor correcting a misinformed student.

“Ruber.”

Izzy groans. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Probability. Of course it’s Dash. Head of the freaking Twenty-Four Club.”

I stiffen and ask, “What’s the Twenty-Four Club?”

Izzy turns to me, incredulous. “They’re the Academy’s elite monster hunters. Dash took down all twenty-four Sen-created monsters in year one. Record time too.”

Her eyes gleam with both disgust and reluctant admiration.

“Every Ruber wants in their club. You have to destroy all twenty-four to be invited though.”

Sebastian adjusts his glasses. “Waste of time.”

“Still,” Izzy mutters, folding her arms. “I feel sorry for whoever’s competing against him. Dude kills monsters for fun.”

On the stage, Dash raises his hand like a victorious gladiator. The crowd roars.

Custos moves down her list, each new name igniting fresh applause.

Five Rubers take the stage, each radiating a different kind of threat: the chiseled Cloudkind prodigy, the feral crowd favorite, the charming daredevil, and the silent powerhouse with the highest score. Together, they form an intimidating wall of red—less students than a recruitment poster for war.

“They can’t all be fourth-years,” Izzy says.

Custos clears her throat, voice brightening. “Our sixth contestant…”

The name glows: a female this time. Orange-clad.

The crowd’s mood shifts instantly. Cheers cut sharp into jeers and wolf-whistles. I sink lower in my seat, embarrassed for humanity.

Izzy shoots up, scanning the crowd with murder in her eyes.

“Sexist pigs,” she growls. “That’s Elara Vasquez. She bench-pressed Professor Ramsey’s pet wyvern last week. Who the hell boos that?”

Sebastian clicks his tongue again, though this time I don’t think it’s directed at Izzy.

Elara strides down the steps with the unbothered poise of someone who’s been booed before and decided not to care. She’s tall, shoulders wide, muscles defined under her orange tunic. The scoreboard blazes: 588.

Izzy mutters, admiring, “Hell yeah, Elara.”

Contestant seven is another Ruber who emerges without fanfare, until his score proves he belongs among them.

Contestants eight and nine are both listed as Flavus—second-year males—dressed in the unmistakable mustard hue of their year. The scoreboard flashes 575 beside each of their names, identical scores that feel more like a challenge than a coincidence.

They climb the stage in sync, two figures who don’t mirror each other exactly but somehow seem cut from the same cloth.

The first is James Marwood, who I recognize instantly as the attractive blond guy with the scar I saw earlier in the tunnel with Rosie. He waves casually to the crowd, as if this is all just theater to him.

Beside him is Hugo Tyler: darker hair, darker presence. Where James shines like sunlight, Hugo is shadow, his gaze inward, posture grounded. He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t even acknowledge the cheers or the jeers. His attention flickers instead to the scoreboard, studying the numbers like they’re sacred text.

There’s something magnetic about the two of them together. A push and pull—one all brightness and bravado, the other gravity and seriousness. Their differences make them more striking, not less, like they’re two halves of a story I haven’t learned yet. And despite myself, I can’t look away.

Izzy leans closer, voice pitched low. “If anyone in this place deserves to meet Levi Sen, it’s Hugo.” She nods toward the brunette; her tone tinged with something like respect. “The kid worships him. Probably has his biography memorized.”

“That’s inaccurate,” Sebastian interrupts flatly. “There is no Levi Sen biography.”

Izzy doesn’t even glance at him. “You know what I mean.”

On stage, James flashes another grin, soaking up the attention like a sponge, while Hugo’s eyes flick briefly in our direction. The look is unreadable, but it makes my pulse skip, as if for that one second the noise of the arena dropped away and he saw me.

One spot left remains on the list.

Silence descends as everyone waits with bated breath for Custos to say the final name.

And when she does, my heart slams into my ribs.

“Ava Lumen, Viridis.”

I freeze.

There has to be a mistake.

The likelihood that I would be picked, out of everyone here, students who have trained and studied for their moment of glory, is laughable. I’m instantly regretting my impulsive decision to swipe my wrist, to volunteer, to follow. I want to go back in time and shake myself, but I can’t. Because I’m here, a spotlight locks onto me, pinning me in place. A thousand eyes glued to my pathetic face.

“You volunteered?” Izzy says, her mouth agape.

I could run. I could bolt right out of this colosseum. That’s what I should do.

Izzy nudges me with the kind of shove that’s half-friendly, half-football practice and says, “You’re braver than me, new girl. Don’t puke. Or if you need to, just don’t get it on me.”

My legs betray me. I stand. I walk. The stage looms closer.

I have one shot to get out of this.

I step forward, heart hammering against my ribs, prepared to tell Custos there’s been yet another mistake—because there has to be. I know I don’t belong in this contest.

But no one is looking at me.

Everyone is looking up. They’re looking at the scoreboard.

I follow their stares, my breath catching in my throat.

There’s my name—Ava Lumen, Viridis.

But where the other names have scores, next to mine, there’s just one word.

Cleared.

One word. The spotlight hits like confession. My name goes up without a number, just a stamp—CLEARED—and I feel suddenly borderless, like paperwork someone else filed in my name. My mind races: Did the implant do this? Did I?

Silence grips the Arena. Not the stunned, excited kind that came before. No—this is something else. A vacuum of sound. The air itself feels like it’s holding its breath.

“Cleared?” The brunette Flavus boy’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade. “That’s not an actual score.”

He is glaring at me, lips pressed thin, like something holy just got violated.

Custos takes a full step back, her poised expression flickering—just for a moment—into something that looks a whole lot like fear.

Then—

Total chaos.

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The fear, the weightlessness, the explosion of pain are gone.

I blink. I’m back at the base of the Entrance Ascent. Rosie stands there, admiring her talon-like manicure as if I hadn’t just plummeted fifty feet. But there’s no blood. No injury. No proof it happened.

Had I imagined it?

“Did I—”

“Fall to your very painful death and regenerate the next night as though nothing happened? Correct.”

I exhale slowly and frown. “So, I’m alive in reality? I don’t remember waking up.”

If I’m alive out there, I should remember the pull back into my body. But I don’t.

Instead, I’m still annoyingly virtual.

I should have woken up in the clinic the moment of my simulated death. Dr. Kasian and Dad would’ve found out about the placement error. They were monitoring me all night. They would have pulled me out of Sen Academy immediately, reset me, shoved me back into the Workforce Program before I even had time to think.

So why am I still here? And why can’t I remember reality?

Rosie tilts her head. “You humans. Your memories are so fickle.”

She points to my wrist where a fresh holographic text pulses above it.

“Rule 2 of the survival guide is—don’t get used to surviving?” I ask.

Rosie shrugs. “This isn’t a warm and fuzzy place, Darling Dud.”

Yeah. I’m getting that. This is an execution pit disguised as a school.

“How do I send a message?” I ask. “I need to tell my dad where I am.” I rub the glowing script on my wrist like maybe it has a hidden reply button.

Once my dad knows, he’ll fix this. He has to.

“You can’t,” Rosie says, “It’s forbidden to speak with anyone outside of the Academy.”

The words slam into me like a locked gate. No outside contact. No exit. This whole place is a digital prison cell. But she said forbidden, not impossible. There has to be a way around it.

I scan the cave, but it’s still the same closed-up space as yesterday, just quieter. A few students linger in the shadows above, watching. At least they’re not throwing rocks.

“Go ahead and climb. I’ll meet you at the top,” Rosie says with a grin.

“I’m not doing that again.”

“Yes, you are,” Rosie says. “You’re a natural Creator.”

“Creator? What are you talking about?”

“The rope ladder, silly. It wasn’t the most inspiring creation I’d ever seen and you’re clearly not agile enough for combat—”

“I made that? So, that was a test.”

I gaze up at the towering rock. A ridiculous, deadly test.

“A prerequisite,” Rosie says. “To see where your gifts align. Sen Academy is dangerous by design. Students need to be properly prepared for what they’ll face as leaders out in Senium.”

I’m definitely not climbing that again. If I slip and fall, if I fail, there’s no way I’d regenerate a second time. I’m not risking my life to prove I belong here, because I already know I don’t.

“I’m opting out,” I say. I sit down on the cold, rocky ground. I’ll wait it out here. I’ll wake up this time, I know I will. Reality me will fix it.

Rosie hands me the heavy survival guide I had set aside last night. “You may want to skip ahead to rule seven.”

“Why? What’s rule—”

Rosie disappears with an ominous wave as a wet, high-pitched screech sounds behind me.

I turn to see an enormous slimy creature emerge from the shadows. It doesn’t have eyes. There’s only a stretching maw of tiered sharp teeth glinting as it wails. It creeps toward me, its ten clawed-legs clacking with sinister speed on the stone.

I don’t think. I run for the cliff face. But this time, instead of climbing, I imagine that rope ladder, longer, sturdier, hanging all the way down to the ground from the ledge.

It furls down from the ledge in seconds. I climb up the first rung but the creature is right behind me.

SNAP.

A sickening crunch echoes through the cavern as a sharp jolt of pain bursts from my left hand. The thing’s teeth dig in sharp through my middle finger. It’s still holding on as I scream and pry it off of me. I kick the monster hard on the head and it rips part of my finger clean off.

An animalistic cry wrenches out of me.

My hand is throbbing in agony and wet with blood, but I can’t stop to look at it. I grasp and heave myself up each rung with the speed of a possessed monkey. When the creature below me grabs hold of the lowest rung with its massive teeth and yanks on it, the whole ladder sways wildly and I cry out into the darkness.

I cry for help, to wake up, to get out of this sick nightmare. I did not sign up to be chased by flesh-eating monsters. And I refuse to die again.

If there are any students still watching me tonight, they’re quiet. Or maybe my shrieks frightened them off.

I don’t look down. I continue to climb. Thankfully, the creature with a tail like a scorpion and clawed feet like a lobster, doesn’t or can’t follow me up. Still, it twists and tugs the ropes, causing me to clutch the rough rungs hard enough that my palms bleed. Sweat, blood, and stubbornness carry me to the top. And finally, I crawl over the edge, my lungs burning, the remainder of my finger screaming.

My limbs go heavy as I lie flat on the ledge, panting, like they don’t belong to me anymore. All the energy is sapped out of me from that climb. Despite it all, I’m safe.

Rosie is waiting with her ever-cheerful, punchable face.

“Nicely done,” she chirps. “You’ll feel drained after using that creation. I’m surprised you managed it so well. It was more likely that you would be eaten by the Scorb.”

“What. The. Hell,” I manage between ragged breaths.

This place just sics monsters on people, as part of a test? It’s vile. Why would anyone ever want to stay here?

I groan, cradling my mangled finger as another spike of pain hits.

Rosie beckons a man over from the shadows. He’s dressed in a dark uniform that looks like it was engineered for intimidation. His expression is unreadable, and he doesn’t speak. He just raises a hand over mine and closes his eyes, concentrating.

“Hey—wait—” I flinch back, but it’s too late.

A pulse of blue light sweeps over my hand like waves across sand. There’s a flash of cold, then nothing.

I gaze down. My finger is intact. The blood and pain are gone. It’s perfectly restored, like that freaky monstrosity didn’t just chew it off.

The man steps aside without a word, and vanishes as I mumble, “Thanks.”

I flex my healed hand and stare at the space where he disappeared, wishing that I could too.

“He’s the best Healer that we have. Only the best for my little darlings. Even if they are duds,” Rosie says brightly.

I resist the urge to show her my healed finger as she pulls me to my feet.

“You’re officially a Viridis,” Rosie announces, blowing an exaggerated air-kiss against my cheek like we’re on some red carpet instead of inside a dimly-lit tunnel.

“A vera what?” I grimace. “Look—I’m not officially anything. I’m getting out of here, one way or another.”

“Come along,” she singsongs, waltzing her way through the shadows.

We enter a massive, cylinder-shaped atrium. A spiral staircase built into the rock winds up hundreds of floors, balconies jutting out like jagged teeth. In the middle of the floor sits a perfect wooden square, mahogany polished so bright it gleams against the grit. It’s a bizarre sight, like someone decided the underworld needed a patch of hardwood flooring.

She leads me onto the wooden square and a grid of glowing white circles springs up around us, each labeled with places like Pool, Storage, Aquarium, Refectory Hall, Library, Rooftop, Conservatory. The choices hover in the air like a vending machine of worlds.

“What’s this?”

“The transporter.” Rosie claps like a child at a magic trick. “It’s time for the Grand Tour, Darling Dud.”

She taps one button labeled Viridis Room. The cavern dissolves. The wooden square hums. A massive door materializes inside a dark tunnel.

I glance down at the polished planks beneath us, raising my eyebrows in amazement. We’re not in the main atrium anymore.

“What just happened?”

“Stand on one, choose your destination, and poof!” Rosie says.

“I thought this was a training academy, not a Hogwarts field trip.”

Rosie’s pitying look could curdle milk. “Darling Dud, no one here is learning magic. They’re learning how to be Skilled.”

“Skilled,” I repeat, my tone as flat as the transporter floor.

“Like them.” She points down the tunnel.

Five male students stride toward us with the terrifying certainty of people who never ask for permission.

“They’re training to use combat, controls, and creations,” Rosie goes on. “The three C-skills.”

Her words blur, drowned by the sight of the guys. Their uniforms match mine in cut, but the colors—scarlet, gold, ember-orange—flare like they were tailored for royalty. Their beauty is almost hostile, too polished to feel human or real. The tallest one, the blonde, has brilliant gold eyes and a scar across his cheek that makes him look dangerously handsome rather than marred. I hold my breath as I take in the sight of him.

“Rubers are red—fourth year students. Aurantius are orange—third years. Flavus are yellow—second years. And Viridis, like you, are green—first years,” she explains as they approach.

Then, like it’s an afterthought, Rosie adds, “Of course, green suits you. March seventeenth always favored it. Delivered on March 17^th at 8:36 a.m. to be exact.”

“How do you know when I was born?”

The fact that she knows my birthday isn’t the creepy part. Rosie probably has access to my medical records from Cloudkind. It’s probably how she knows I’m not a Legacy. But the time of birth…

Even I don’t know that. I’ve never known that.

So how does she?

Rosie doesn’t answer, just tilts her head and smiles with a dreamy look in her eyes at the five guys who pass by us.

They don’t glance at me. Not once. I’m a flicker at the edge of their vision.

I linger on the attractive blonde guy without thinking.

“Oh, the Dud has taste,” Rosie says, raising a wicked eyebrow at me. “Engaging with upperclassmen is not advised. Especially those five. They’re precisely exceptional.”

Her gaze slides over me like she’s fitting me for a label. “You, on the other hand, seem more like a messy improviser.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

Rosie motions toward a blank metal plaque on the door where a knob or handle should be. Then she grabs my wrist. “This is the common area for first-year students. Simply scan your wrist.”

I glance down and freeze. On my left wrist, green block letters spell out VIRIDIS. It glows like a neon brand. Like I just joined the weirdest club ever.

“It’s your passcode,” Rosie explains. “Just wave it, like so.”

A scream slices through the stillness. A real, guttural, bone-shattering scream rips through the tunnel behind us. It’s followed by a roar, like something ancient just woke up hungry.

I freeze. Every inch of my skin prickles.

“What was that?”

Rosie’s expression doesn’t change, but the usual sparkle behind her eyes dims, just a fraction. Her voice remains chipper, but the tempo tightens.

“Time to go,” she says. “Now.”

She seizes my wrist, stronger than I expect, and swipes it across the metal plaque. The door swings open. She pulls me in and slams the door shut behind us. The sound of the scream lingers in my ears, rattling my ribs.

“Wait—If someone’s hurt—shouldn’t we—”

“Just another student-created monster. Don’t worry. They’ll regenerate tomorrow,” Rosie says. “Probably.”

“The monster or the student?”

“Both,” Rosie says.

Both. Great.

I remind myself that tomorrow I won’t be here. In the meantime, I need to find a way to talk to Levi Sen. And at the very least, avoid a painful death by monster attack.

Inside the common room we are greeted by a careful hush. Every couch seat and chair is filled, the soft percussion of pages turning and keys tapping. No music. No laughter. Even the couches are occupied by students leaning forward, elbows on knees, shoulders closed, reading, thinking, focusing. The fireplace crackles with a knowing spark as several heads lift in my direction, gazes sliding up from notebooks.

My stomach twists as I gaze over the students.

They don’t look surprised to see me. They look assessing. I feel it immediately, that strange sensation of being both too visible and not important enough to acknowledge properly.

I smile, automatic. The kind of smile I give strangers in elevators.

No one smiles back.

One girl blinks, slowly, then returns to her holographic tablet. Someone near the fireplace tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to place me in a category that doesn’t quite fit. The quiet hum of the room returns, as unsettling as the emerald wallpaper that crawls with patterns of shifting vines.

Rosie, oblivious, points to a massive glowing schedule on the wall.

“Here’s the Viridis training schedule,” she speaks at normal volume.

A couple of the students glance up again, irritation barely disguised. Not at the noise so much as our presence.

A floating schedule zips through the air and slaps itself against my wrist before I can flinch.

“What the—”

“Auto-sync,” Rosie chirps. “They like to keep you updated.”

I glance down. My wrist display keeps shifting before I can read it— flashing WARNING: LATE in angry red letters that get bigger every second.

“I’m late to something already,” I whisper.

“Ignore that,” Rosie says, swiping her finger and tapping my wrist. “Technically, you’re about a month late to the semester. Not to worry. Here we go.”

A list of classes appears in a holographic window above my arm.

Glancing around the room, I avoid eye contact with the students. No luck. One spits in my direction. Another snarls something under his breath to the girl beside him. It’s definitely about me. These must have been some of the same students who were taunting me on the Entrance Ascent.

“Rosie,” I murmur, “they’re looking at me like they want to kill me.”

“How observant of you, Dud,” Rosie says. “That’s because they do want to kill you.”

“Why?” I pause, heart hammering.

“Only 50 students can move up to Flavus, and there are about 100 in Viridis, 101 now including you. If they get rid of you, that’s one less competitor for those spots.”

“What happens if they don’t move up?”

“They have to repeat year one again, until their student score is high enough.”

I can’t imagine staying here any longer than necessary, repeating the same courses and dealing with whatever’s roaring in the tunnels. But I draw the line at killing an innocent student. The other kids seem to feel differently.

I take a moment to step back from Rosie and the center of the space, feeling suddenly too much in the middle of the room. That’s when I see it. Another red countdown, hovering midair off to the side. The numbers blink with slow, deliberate rhythm—9:59… 9:58…

I squint. It’s positioned just above a holographic sign-in board. The name at the top: Levi Sen — Apprenticeship Program Trials. The other students fade. My thoughts snap into place.

Levi Sen.

The only person here who might be able to help me.

I walk over to it, reading a long list of names written in glowing script. I glance back up to the countdown as a strange beeping begins.

“That’s the time left to volunteer. It’s an exciting night. They’ll be selecting soon.” Rosie gestures to the list of names. Underneath that is a wrist keypad similar to the one on the door.

My brain screeches to a halt. If I meet Levi, I can ask him how to get out of here. Or at least how to get back to the Workforce Program.

I freeze in front of the sign-up pad, pulse thudding in my ears. And something strange happens.

The word Follow glows faintly across the metal. It’s that same word I was bombarded with before the ferry.

“Do you see that?” I ask Rosie, pointing to the pad.

“See what?”

She doesn’t see it. Only I can. Someone is trying to tell me something or help me.

The countdown keeps ticking, each second hammering into my chest. My dad always said never sign a contract you don’t understand.

“So, if I sign up for this, I’ll meet Levi? Soon?”

“If you’re selected, it’s one in ten,” Rosie says with a laugh. “Everyone’s clamoring for a shot at apprenticing under the head Creator, even if it’s just to talk about rolling out universal C-skills.”

If I can meet Levi and get out of here before wake up, it’ll buy precious hours that I could be using to help Leo. I bite my lip, and before I can overthink, I thrust my wrist against the sign-up pad. It beeps. The glowing word Follow disappears.

Rosie gasps. “That was bold, Darling Dud. Are you sure?”

“I… I think so.”

I watch as my name is added to the long list of volunteers.

“You haven’t even had your first class yet.”

“I need to meet Levi,” I say and force a smile.

Rosie looks at me like I’ve just said the dumbest thing in the world.

“Rule 2, Darling Dud. Remember rule 2.”

Rosie doesn’t have to worry for me. I won’t get used to surviving here. Because I’m about to meet the man who will get me out for good.

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A glowing white line of text “NEW MESSAGE” shimmers across my wrist like a tattoo. I touch it with one finger. Rosie’s full holographic note blooms in the air above my arm, obnoxiously cheerful.

The only way out is through.

Through what exactly—a cave of nightmares?

A chill slides down my spine. A towering rock face looms ahead, dark and slick like a waiting monster. Metal staples jut from the stone, pinning the mountain together. Halfway up, the rock turns unnaturally smooth. And far above, a single scrap of light. A possible exit.

Illuminating this cavernous horror show is a massive, blinking red countdown, the numbers big enough to crush me if they fell. So, that’s comforting.

This isn’t what a school looks like. There are no creaky blue desks, chipped posters, or gum-stuck floors like those of West Orange High. This place is dark. Like my life’s been deleted and replaced with a nightmare beta test.

A woman glides toward me, appearing out of nowhere. With her perfectly curled bob and long, slender frame, she reminds me of a walking Q-tip. But she’s smiling at me, which I take as a good sign.

I let out a small, nervous laugh. I’m going to have to tell this smiling stranger that I actually don’t want anything to do with this death-trap looking school.

“You must be Ava Lumen,” she says, her voice surprisingly high-pitched. “I’m Elia Custos, Head Guardian here at Sen Academy.”

She knows my name too, like she’s been expecting me. Maybe she knows how I got sent here. Maybe she can help me get out.

“Arrivals this late in the school year are highly irregular. You must know someone very important.” Her tone makes it sound more like suspicion than admiration.

“I don’t.” I bite my lip. Here goes nothing. “This is all a big mistake.”

Custos’s voice carries the weight of practiced skepticism. “A mistake?”

I eye her tidy demeanor. This lady screams Type A personality. She’ll fix this. She seems like the kind of person who meticulously plucks her eyebrows in real life, leaving no straggler behind. Surely she’ll see that I too don’t belong here.

“I think there’s some error with my implant. I’m supposed to be starting the new Workforce Program, but when I entered Senium, something strange happened. I got an error message and I ended up on the ferry with Rosie.”

Custos exhales slowly, the way adults do when they’re trying not to roll their eyes. “It’s completely normal to feel disoriented upon arrival. You’ve just been granted access to something much bigger than yourself. Every hero hesitates when the call comes.”

Why doesn’t anyone understand? I’m not disoriented or getting cold feet, I literally am in the wrong place.

I try again. “This is important. My brother’s in the hospital. My job in the Workforce Program is going to help him. I agreed to the implant for the paycheck. I need that job.”

Custos looks vaguely bored. “I see. Unfortunately, Sen Academy is a highly classified Senium institution. Once you’re here, you can’t simply leave. Only Levi Sen can authorize a transfer.”

“Is Levi Sen around? Maybe I can talk to him?”

My voice sounds pleading and pathetic, but I don’t care. The longer this takes, the longer Leo will go without the funding for the treatment he needs.

She laughs. LAUGHS. Like throws-back-her-head and laughs out loud.

“Mr. Sen is inaccessible.”

My stomach sinks. “So, I’m stuck here?”

“Until your sleep cycle ends. Eight hours, give or take. When you wake, you can file a formal report with Cloudkind and request a transfer. I should warn you, though, it’s never been done. They may decide to deactivate your implant instead.”

Deactivate my implant? I can’t do that to Leo, no matter how much I might want to get this glitchy tech out of my head. I need to find a way back into the Workforce Program.

But it looks like I’m trapped here for an entire night of sleep before this mistake can be fixed.

“Now,” she says, pivoting toward the cliff wall, “you’ll complete the Entrance Ascent.” She gestures toward the imposing rock face. “All students must complete it. Alone.”

She’s grinning at me with giddiness, like she just handed me a ticket to a popular thrill ride. Yeah, sure. Just climb the rock wall of death to the training academy I didn’t sign up for. That sounds like a great use of my time.

“Oh, fun,” I say, my voice flat. “But I really don’t think I should.”

She shrugs. “Then you may wait out the sleep cycle in this chamber. Your choice.”

I turn around to where the ferry was, where the cave opening was, but nope. Both are gone. So much for Rosie’s cute little message. The only way out isn’t through, it’s apparently up.

I turn back to face Guardian Custos, hoping to convince her to at least send a message to my dad, but she too has vanished.

“This is so stupid,” I mutter, glaring at the cliff.

I whisper a curse, gazing up at the impossible climb. How is anyone supposed to do that?

My breath fogs in the air and I realize the cave is freezing, like someone just turned the temperature gauge down to zero. That’s when I hear the voices coming from the rock.

One by one, faces peer out from jagged crevices and shadowy openings. Students, I assume. Watching from above. Their eyes gleam, hungry for spectacle.

“This should be good,” one boy snickers, his voice echoing.

Another laughs.

I search desperately for one kind face in the crowd. Someone who might give me a nod of encouragement. But every gaze is sharp with ridicule. They want me to fail.

I stare at the greasy metal rungs. My breath comes too fast, too loud. The cliff is sheer, endless, lethal. My brain shrieks: I can’t do this. And my body already believes it. I wipe the excess sweat from my hands onto my black slacks.

But if I stay here, I’m stuck. Eight hours in this freezing cavern. Alone, yet gawked at by tens of sneering faces. While Leo lies in a hospital bed waiting for a paycheck I may never earn.

Fuming, I set down the survival guide and grab the first rung.

It’s slick as oil, but I manage to pull myself up and find a foothold in the rock. My foot slips, my knee scrapes hard against stone. Laughter erupts from above. My muscles are already trembling, my stomach a lead weight of panic, but I force myself higher.

Echoes of my own rigid breath push me along as I slowly inch my way up. It’s surprisingly realistic, this climb. My arms already ache. My legs quaver.

I can’t slip. I don’t want to fall down to my simulated death only to discover that it caused me to die in reality. What if I don’t get extra lives? What if I’m the one who doesn’t regenerate?

The voices grow louder and meaner.

Students lean out of their openings, shadows with teeth. One shines a strobe of bright light down at my eyes until spots dance in my vision. I blink furiously, fighting vertigo. The laughter that follows scrapes down my spine.

“Don’t look down,” someone sings.

Another pelts me with rocks that ping against the rungs. Sharp edges slice across my knuckles. More cheers.

“She’s already shaking!” another hollers.

Assholes. What is this, some sort of messed-up hazing ritual? I’m not going to feed into this lunacy. I tune them out as I continue on. If all those jerks made it, who’s to say I can’t as well?

Every sound ricochets inside me, louder than the pounding of my heart. My throat tightens, my breath too short, too fast.

There’s no mercy in the faces looking down at me, no friendly witness. Just a hundred bright eyes, delighted to watch me break.

Halfway up, I look down. Bad idea. I’m instantly dizzy. The cavern floor is way too far. I look up. Worse idea. The rest of the rungs are gone.

“Fall! Fall! Fall!” they chant, throwing more light, more rocks, as if the spectacle isn’t thrilling enough without my suffering in stereo.

I press my forehead against the stone, the nausea sharp, my arm quaking. My vision flickers from the blinding flashes. My hands are cut from the rocks, my grip is failing, and still they taunt, raining distraction and cruelty down.

I shouldn’t have started this climb. I should have just sat on the cold cave floor and shivered for eight hours. Would have been better than dying this way.

Leo’s face flickers in my mind—the beeping machines, the sharp antiseptic sting, Leo cracking dumb jokes through a haze of meds—those memories crowd me, press into my chest as if the cliff itself wants me to remember why I can’t fall. He wouldn’t stop here. And he wouldn’t let me.

I gaze up at the remainder of the climb. It’s impossible. There are no more rungs, just wet rock that juts out overhead. I’d have to defy gravity and hang upside down to climb over the edge.

“She’s never going to get it.”

“Fall already!” someone shouts.

I ignore them and try to reposition my grip. Every moment sends fresh fire up my arms and my muscles scream, but I cling to the wall anyway. I can’t die now.

Leo would think this is all some great adventure game. Entering a cave that looks like Batman’s hideout. Being tasked to climb some impossible cliff just to get inside. Use magic to conjure a dangling rope ladder.

And then, as if the cliff hears my thoughts, something shifts.

The exact thing I imagine unfurls from over the edge—a dangling rope ladder. I stare at it behind me, almost laughing.

“Who bet a creation?” someone shouts from above.

“Useless,” hisses another.

And it is useless because the ladder hangs too far away for me to reach, about five feet behind me. I’d have to jump for it and not only hope to catch it mid-air but be light enough that the ladder I manifested with my mind won’t snap on me and send me plummeting. With a shaky hand gripping the wall, I ready myself.

“...Okay. Here goes nothing.”

A glass-shattering scream escapes my lips as I leap through the air and windmill my arms, reaching and clawing for the hanging ropes like a desperate cat. But it swings away from my grasp. I snatch only empty air as I freefall.

I shriek, shrill and sharp. The world goes quiet.

In that endless second I realize I was never supposed to make it, because I was never supposed to be here.

I watch the rope ladder swinging, already shrinking as I plunge.

Down.

All the way down to my death.

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Entering the dream—or my new sleeping alternate reality—feels like being pulled under water by a stranger. I haven’t even had time to process the eerie feeling before a corporate onboarding message emerges in my field of vision, all cheery font and fake enthusiasm.

And then an error? Conflict detected.

The message dissolves into blackness.

There’s no text. No blinking prompts to interact with. Just darkness. Then white. Then, even more unsettling, static.

FLASH.

A figure stands at the water’s edge, motionless. Something about them tugs at me, low in my stomach. Recognition. Or fear. I can only see their outline. It’s fuzzy, like a dark shadow. My breath hitches. Their head tilts, as if listening to the sea. I inhale and the world snaps.

FLASH.

The figure is in a rowboat now. Pale hands. Heavy water. Jagged black rocks ahead—like something that shouldn’t exist. The image tears. Bars of static carve across the scene. Lines of code flicker at the edges, nonsense to me: // external stream // trace-id: obscured //

FLASH.

The boat jolts. The figure has their back to me. They look down over the side of the boat before standing and diving into the water. Vanishing without a sound.

Something cold opens in me like a door I didn’t agree to walk through. One minute I’m reading a predictably stale corporate greeting, the next I’m getting an error message and being flooded with confusing images of someone throwing themselves into the ocean.

A high-pitched whining noise claws at my skull. My teeth ache and my jaw locks. I can’t tell if I’m screaming or if the simulation is screaming for me. My throat burns like I’m the source and I try to stop it, but the sound won’t break, just keeps rising and rising.

Make it stop. I want the piercing screech to stop.

The noise stretches like a wire pulled tight through my skull. The static thins, and a layered, filtered voice slides into whatever is left of my composure.

“Follow.”

One word. Ominous and confusing.

Then everything collapses into white noise.

A wave of salty air slaps into me. I can taste brine on my tongue. But I’m not wet.

My eyes sharpen and I see that I’m on a ferry.

Not a cute commuter ferry. This thing is wide and riveted, brass railings, and a deck that shines like someone forgot to let it dry. No crew, no passengers, only empty benches and lights that sputter as though haunted.

I stumble backward. My legs hold me, solid and shaking all at once. I grip the railing hard. I’m awake, but this isn’t real. It can’t be. My hands won’t stop trembling.

I check my pockets. No phone. No wallet. No ID. I’m in virtual reality after all, so I guess that makes sense. My clothing is wrong. I’m in an emerald-green button-down and black slacks—not what I was wearing before. Not what I would ever choose to wear.

Okay. Deep breath. I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again. That was weird, but I appear to be in Senium now. I must be traveling to the place I’m supposed to be testing.

I walk around the ferry, trying to make sense of how I ended up here. The deck is lined with empty benches, their metal seats rocking slightly with the motion of the water. Inside is no different—rows of vacant chairs, the air stale and waiting.

I’m about to descend the stairs to the lower deck when a loud, echoing song slips through the empty interior and lures me to the top deck.

There, balanced on the railing, is a woman belting a ballad so confidently it should be illegal. She wears a slick black gown that clings to her like liquid and her matching hair flows like a long waterfall, disappearing over the railing and into the sea. She manages to hold a sloshing martini glass in one hand without spilling a single drop.

I’m suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. Everything about her face is too perfect, the way someone tries to reconstruct a person from memory and forgets the quirks that make them human. Nothing about this is normal.

This is definitely Senium.

“Uh, excuse me?” I say, hesitant to interrupt the song she’s clearly enjoying.

She holds up a finger, motioning for me to wait while she absolutely nails a high note.

Wow. Okay. Rude, but talented.

She continues singing and something inside me bristles, probably the part that’s spent a lifetime smiling and nodding through nonsense. But I don’t have time for nonsense right now. I need some freaking answers.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt again, “but can you tell me what’s going on?” The words burst out of me in a single panicked breath.

Singing lady stops and smirks.

“Welcome to Senium, Ava Lumen.” She extends the back of her free hand up to my mouth and says, “I’m Rosie, your AI Guide.”

I take her hand awkwardly and shake it, although she leaves it lingering there like she wants me to kiss it or something.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, withdrawing my hand. “So, is that where we’re going?”

I gaze out toward the dark mountain that looms before us. It’s not at all the cubicle-office scenario that I had envisioned for day one.

“Bit dramatic, isn’t it? The pointed cliffs, the ominous fog, the whole ‘island of doom’ aesthetic,” she says, a wide smile plastered to her face, “Fitting for Sen Academy.”

My breath catches. That death-trap mountain is the Sen Academy?

I’ve heard whispers about it. Only five percent of implanted young adults make it in, the best and brightest. Because it’s the elite training ground for Senium’s future leaders. They’re entrusted to create and maintain the virtual world, enforce its laws, and protect its users. I’ve heard they’re trained to wield specialized powers; abilities people are desperate to have.

“No. That’s impossible. I’m supposed to be in the new Workforce Program, not building the virtual world.”

I have no business being at that Academy. I’m no leader. Leo needs me, he needs money for his treatment. He doesn’t need me fooling around with special powers or building some lame simulated castle or whatever it is these people do all night.

I smile though, half-expecting her to tilt her head back and laugh like it’s all some big joke or offer some explanation about a change in office headquarters. But neither happens.

“And yet, here you are,” she says. “This special ferry trip is quite unprecedented. You’re a late arrival and students aren’t usually admitted after the start date. I just had to find out: what makes you so special, hmm?”

I sputter a nervous laugh. She’s got this wrong, all wrong.

“I’m not special,” I murmur, shaking my head. “This is a mistake.”

Rosie sighs. “Ugh. So ungrateful. Do you know how many of you humans would kill for this opportunity?”

But I don’t want this opportunity. This is not at all what I signed up for. I’m supposed to be earning money for Leo, money I won’t be getting staying here on this boat.

Panic sets in. I have to get out of here. I have to wake up and tell Dr. Kasian my implant malfunctioned. My gaze skitters around the deck, unable to settle. Railings. Empty benches. Vast ocean waves. We’re completely alone.

“How do I get out of here?” I say, frantic, leaning over the railing. I could jump. I could swim. But to where?

The ocean stretches out before me, so vast and real that my stomach flips. But maybe if I just jump, I can swim to shore. Maybe there will be some kind of back door. It’s a virtual world so, I can probably dogpaddle my way there. Or… I don’t know, leapfrog across the waves.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, darling,” Rosie singsongs, as though reading my thoughts.

I stiffen. “Why not?”

She turns to face me, sipping her martini slowly before answering, like she has all the time in the world.

“Swimming is an advanced control,” she says. “Not that you’d know that. You’d last all of five seconds before perishing.”

I stare at her, processing the grim weight of her words.

She smirks, clearly enjoying my terror. “You might regenerate, of course. But I have heard from several other unfortunate souls that simulated drowning deaths are by far the most uncomfortable.”

My stomach turns. Okay. That sounds terrible.

“But if I die here, I’ll wake up in reality?”

If I can just get out of this, no matter how painful drowning feels, I can figure out what went wrong and fix it.

“That’s the thing about simulated deaths,” she says lightly. “It’s really a roll of the dice. Some wake up. Some… don’t.”

Time stretches thin. What the hell? Real-world death? I thought Senium users always regenerated in VR. Dr. Kasian never said actual death was possible.

“Looks like you could use this,” Rosie says, handing me a book. “Try not to die too much. Unless you want it to be permanent.”

I take the surprisingly heavy thing like it might bite me. It’s an emerald green book with glowing white text on the front that reads, The Viridis Survival Guide.

“Does this say how to undo a life-ruining clerical error?”

Rosie doesn’t blink. She just smiles with that vaguely apologetic AI face, like she’s been programmed to register disappointment but not actually fix it.

“Look, I shouldn’t be here,” I say, flipping the book open just to give my hands something to do. “I’m supposed to be testing out features and getting a paycheck. Not this— whatever this is.”

Rosie’s eyes narrow as she studies me. “Darling, you’re not a Legacy are you? Is that why you’re so willing to jump to your grave?”

A shiver runs down my spine at her words, at the way she says them so casually, like she’s discussing an errand.

“I’m not dead if that’s what you’re asking.”

When a Senium leader or Sen Academy student dies in the real world, their family can choose to have their consciousness uploaded into the virtual world. These “Legacies” continue living virtually, able to see their loved ones, continue their work, and return to the hobbies and routines they once had. It’s one of the perks of being specially chosen.

I can’t be dead. Not only would I remember something as consequential as that, I’m not supposed to be a Sen Academy student.

She shrugs, taking another sip of her martini, savoring it like she’s savoring my discomfort. “Well, I’ve never heard of such a thing. Students aren’t placed here by accident.”

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. If I died during implantation, after being sent to Sen Academy by mistake, I would qualify as a Legacy. But would my dad choose for me to stay in Senium forever?

I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife or heaven, but I do know that my mother died before Senium even existed, when I was just a baby. And if her consciousness, or her soul, or whatever it is, doesn’t reside here, then I don’t want mine to either.

“No,” I say. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t right. I need to talk to someone. A real person. Or—whatever counts as real around here. I can’t stay.”

Rosie scoffs, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Leave? You want to discard such an incredible gift?” She shakes her head, her expression one of genuine disappointment. “There are only two ways you leave Sen Academy. One is graduating. And two is Levi Sen himself creating an exit for you.”

“Is that an option? How can I talk to him?” I ask. I know he’s the creator of the world and all, but there’s got to be a way to speak to him, especially if there’s an emergency. And this is definitely an emergency.

Rosie leans back, studying me with a bored expression.

“Why are you such a dud?” she says, her tone almost petulant. “You’re standing at the threshold of greatness and all you can think about is leaving?” She picks up her martini glass, which has been balancing impressively on the railing, and finishes the drink in one smooth gulp before tossing it into the simulated ocean.

Before I can respond, she winks at me. “Good luck, Darling Dud. You’re going to need it.”

With that, she vanishes into thin air, leaving me alone, survival guide in hand, as the ferry enters the gaping mouth of a cavern that swallows all the light.

So much for AI guidance.

I glance over the rail one last time. The waves look brutal, but maybe survivable. If I jump now, maybe I can still get out. Get back to the real world. Back to the program. Back to Leo.

A floating walkway unfolds, leading to an entrance in the rock. I hesitate. I need to wake up, claw my way out of this nightmare. But what if I die and don’t wake up? I don’t want to be stuck here forever. I need to get this glitch sorted fast so that I can start earning for Leo.

I glance back at the sea. The cave opening is gone. Just like that.

I take a breath. Okay. This is happening.

The shadows press in as I step onto the unfolding ramp, and something deep inside me knows—

This is only the beginning of something much worse.

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I decide I will survive this the same way I survive physical exams and bra fittings and going dateless to school dances, by pretending I’m fine.

I am exceptional at pretending I’m fine.

I smile when Dr. Kasian congratulates me. I nod when Dad tells me I’m doing the right thing. I thank everyone at the Cloudkind clinic when the word “opportunity” gets said like a blessing instead of a warning.

If I were honest, I’d admit this feels less like a door opening and more like a floor giving way.

But honesty is not what got me here.

Leo’s message buzzes against my wrist: “Good luck Ava, your new job’s gonna be fire. Also, you HAVE to tell me what it smells like in there.”

I smile, hovering my finger over my watch’s reply window. Good sisters answer right away. Good sisters don’t cower behind tech, no matter how tempting it may be.

“Sure,” I mutter, watching it transcribe my words in slow, punctuated beats. “Bet it smells like old batteries and indentured servitude.”

Too honest. I cut it like a clean incision.

“Bet it smells shiny and new.” I hit send.

I paste on a smile for no one, more out of habit. The clinic machinery hums around me like it knows when I’m faking it.

Dad paces in precise, clipped steps and I can read the tension in his jaw. Only he sees through my smile, through the way I pretend this is celebration and not sentencing. His worried glance ricochets off of the curved walls: Don’t mess this up.

Everyone treats tonight like it’s my birthday and graduation rolled into one. I’m supposed to be thrilled for the upgrade. I nod and play my part, but it feels less like a milestone and more like an execution chamber built just for me, where applause replaces the final prayer.

Maybe it won’t be completely soul-crushing. Maybe the first night will be like this room—small and clean and manageable. Just logging in, learning the rules, getting shown around like a normal new hire.

“That’ll need to come off now,” Dr. Kasian says, nodding at my wrist.

My watch. It’s a scratched-up, passed-down relic that barely texts and keeps worse time.

I hesitate. “It’s just an old watch,” I manage. Admitting what it truly means would split me open.

“Sorry. It’ll interfere with the mapping.”

I unbuckle it slowly, almost expecting the thing to fight back. I wore it the first time Leo collapsed in the yard. I wore it when our family sat in waiting rooms, while the minutes dragged like years. It was how Leo and I stayed tethered—me glancing at it between classes, him sending me texts from a hospital bed, both of us measuring the same hours apart when everything started unraveling. Now I’m supposed to hand it over like it’s just meaningless metal and plastic. Not the last fragile thread between us.

“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a small smile.

Dad takes it from me and tucks it in his pocket with the same absent care he’d give a plastic trinket from a birthday goodie bag, already forgetting it was ever in his hand. His eyes are fixed instead on the computer Dr. Kasian begins typing on.

“She starts tonight, then?” Dad clears his throat. “And the first paycheck?”

My shoulders tense at this question, bearing more of the heavy guilt that’s been crushing me ever since we found out about the treatment Leo needs. I could have applied for this job months ago. I could have already earned enough to cover the costs. Instead, in true Luddite fashion, I’ve avoided the microchip and everything related to Senium.

Dr. Kasian doesn’t look up from her screen, fingers still moving.

“She starts immediately. First paycheck in a week.”

Dad exhales, slow and careful, shoulders loosening just a fraction. “Good. That’s good.”

Of course, Dad thinks this is all good. He thinks the implant is some kind of bodily enhancement, not a shackle. He doesn’t care that I despise virtual reality. I’d rather live inside a book than in a synthetic world stitched into my skin.

“Seventeen is on the younger side for our Workforce program. You must be excited,” Dr. Kasian says, trying for small talk, the kind that’s supposed to distract me from the moment about to split my life in two.

“It’s a big opportunity,” I say.

“And no prior VR use,” she says, sounding impressed. “That makes you a perfect candidate.”

“Lucky me,” I whisper. I don’t mean it at all.

Dad doesn’t beam with pride or thank me. He doesn’t even acknowledge what I’m giving up, only what I’ve delayed.

“We could have used the extra paycheck,” he says, his voice a guilt-laced needle poking me, “I still can’t believe you missed the first interview.”

I flinch and stare at my hands, wishing I could fold myself small enough to disappear from the room.

He scheduled the first interview for me last year. The one I no-showed for, and he forgot all about. With Leo being in and out of the hospital, it was just one more thing of mine that fell through the cracks.

I swallow and say nothing, letting his version of the story stand. I don’t need a lecture. I already know I messed up.

“Forget it.” Thankfully, he waves it off. “You’re getting it done now. That’s all that matters.”

After Leo’s last hospitalization, the doctors gave us five months. They said it gently, like kindness could change the math. If Leo doesn’t get the new treatment by January, there’s almost no chance he’ll make it.

I breathe in. The antiseptic smell stabs my nose like the clinic’s offended I’m still 100% human. Dr. Kasian’s fingers fly across the keyboard, checking and rechecking something on the screen, probably making sure the shiny new chip won’t fry my brain on first boot-up.

Dad launches into a detailed description of a treasure hunt he found in Senium last night. Something about floating ships and hidden maps. I barely register any of it. His voice drifts past me, relaying adventures of a world I don’t want, while I’m trying not to panic in this one.

“So, I say to him,” Dad rambles, “you think you’re Levi Sen or something? The idiot dives into the sea and swims all the way to the sinking ship. Just like that. So, I’m thinking must be some Sen Academy type, right?”

Dr. Kasian humors him with a polite nod. “Must be.”

Heat crawls up my neck. He already lives half his life in Senium. If that didn’t disqualify him, he could be the one sitting in this chair. He could be the one earning. Instead, it’s me—because I’m the only one in this family who stayed stubbornly unimplanted. The only one untouched enough to be useful.

He’d pay for it if he could, I know that. He already burned through everything on my brother. Every doctor, every test, every hospital stay that was supposed to fix it, all of it stacked into a mountain of debt so high he can’t even pretend to see over it anymore. My employment in the Workforce program is his last resort. I’m Leo’s last resort.

I sit rigid in the prep chair as Dr. Kasian lifts a sleek, ring-shaped scanner, the metal glinting under the lights before it hovers above my head. The hum isn’t gentle at all, it’s sharp and needling, like a swarm that knows exactly where to sting. My palms sweat against the armrests, but I keep my face still. I’m supposed to act like this is routine, like a trip to the dentist, I remind myself. Even though no dentist ever made me feel like I was about to be erased and rewritten at the same time.

“Stay very still,” Dr. Kasian says. “We’re mapping your neural patterns. It’s like fitting custom software.”

Custom software. I almost laugh. That’ll make this totally fine.

She lowers the scanner until it almost touches my hairline, and a dozen cool, metal tendrils unfold from its edge, gently pressing against my scalp.

I take a deep inhale. I can do this. It’s just an implant. A tool.

The scanner hums louder.

Dr. Kasian has me blink in patterns, do mental math, think of a happy memory. Lights blink on a nearby screen. A stream of code scrolls alongside it like my consciousness is being debugged in real time.

“We’ll begin the procedure soon,” she says.

The humming intensifies. I glance toward Dr. Kasian and dad off to the side of the room.

Dr. Kasian lowers her voice, not quite a whisper, but not meant for me either. “She’s aware of the side effects?”

Dad doesn’t blink. “Of course.”

The humming stops, replaced by a tight, shrill ding.

Dr. Kasian hesitates just long enough to make it obvious. Then she taps something on the screen. A soft chime echoes through the room. “You’re synced.”

I’m still processing what I just overheard.

“Wait,” I say. “What kind of side effects?”

Dr. Kasian glances at my dad, then back to me. She’s good at the soft face adults use to make difficult things sound manageable.

“Microseizures. Chronic migraines. Cognitive lock-in. Memory distortion, in rare cases.”

Dad clears his throat. “Ava. We talked about this.”

We didn’t. He talked while I nodded until my jaw cramped. I never got to ask the questions I wanted to ask.

“Your mom would be so proud of you,” he says softly, and it catches me off-guard. He never talks about her and the surprising mention makes me fold.

He adds, “And you’ll be helping your brother.” That alone justifies everything. Leo may only be my half-brother, but he’s the whole world to me. After Leo’s mom left, dad and I are his whole world too.

I press my hands between my knees to stop them from shaking. My fingers need something to do that isn’t spiraling into panic.

“Can I ask something else?”

Dr. Kasian nods patiently as Dad sighs. He gives me that tight, stretched smile. The one that screams to just go along with it

“What kind of things will I be testing?” I ask. “It’s not… dangerous, right?”

They were tight-lipped and vague about it in the interview, and I needed the job badly enough not to press for details.

“The implant is calibrated exclusively for Senium. You’ll be entering a controlled, tightly monitored sector,” she explains with a reassuring smile. “Your job is to test new features, explore environments and scenarios before they reach the public, and report anomalies.”

There’s a knock at the door and a nurse enters with a tray, a needle ready. I hate needles.

Dad says too quickly, “She’s ready.”

“You’ll feel drowsy in seconds,” Dr. Kasian says, like that’s a comfort. “If everything looks good after your first night of observation, you’ll be able to sleep back at home.”

Dr. Kasian explains the microinjection and guided fusion like she’s talking about gluing two Lego pieces together. No scalpels. Minimally invasive, the consent form said in neat typed words. The needle is in her hand.

The heaviness sinks in.

I hear Leo’s voice, bright with curiosity: Tell me what it smells like in there.

I wish I could lie. But there’s no smell I can describe as I fade—no treasure hunt scent or battery-stench, nothing cinematic. No sound.

It’s hollow, like the space before a scream.

Table of Contents | Next Chapter

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The Viridis Survival Guide is a YA sci-fi serial about Ava, a people-pleasing 17-year-old who enters a virtual program while she sleeps to save her dying brother, only to discover she may never wake back up.

How to Read

New chapters drop every Monday, with the first three available now.

I’m adapting and revising this novel in real time for a serialized format. Chapters vary in length, but I hope to keep them under 3,000 words.

Start with Chapter 1 here.

Table of Contents

1. Chapter 1: The Clinic

2. Chapter 2: Onboarding

3. Chapter 3: The Entrance Ascent

4. Chapter 4: Viridis

5. Chapter 5: The Arena

6. Chapter 6: Questioning

7. Chapter 7: The Fishbowl

8. Chapter 8: What lurks in the library?

9. Chapter 9: Ava thought she was unprepared…then Combat Class.

10. Chapter 10…coming June 15th

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If you’re enjoying the story, you can subscribe to get the new chapter delivered straight to your inbox.

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I wrote this story as a form of therapy for my chronic people-pleasing, which felt more affordable (and more fun, tbh) than actual counseling.

I hope you enjoy it.

Helena xx

Here’s the premise:

To save her dying brother, people-pleasing Ava agrees to work inside a virtual world that activates while she sleeps. But when she’s trapped inside a brutal academy designed to break its recruits, pleasing the wrong person could cost her any chance of waking up.

Instead of pursuing traditional publishing right away, I’ve decided to share the story the way many novels once appeared: as a serialized narrative, released one chapter at a time.

Beginning in late April, I’ll be publishing the novel here in weekly installments. Each chapter continues the story from the previous one, so readers can follow along as the world, and the dangers within it, unfold.

If you subscribe, each new chapter will arrive directly in your inbox.

Between now and the launch, I’ll be sharing a few glimpses of the story’s world: introductions to the characters, small previews, and occasional notes from the writing process.

If you enjoy discovering a story as it grows, I’d be glad to have you along for the journey.

You can subscribe below to follow the series from the beginning.

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And when the first chapter arrives, you’ll be able to start reading here:

Start Here

Thank you for being an early reader and following me as I begin this journey.

Helena xx