The campus pizza place existed in that perfect sweet spot between "actually edible" and "won’t bankrupt a student." Tony’s Slice had sticky floors, grease-stained tables, and the kind of atmosphere that scread "we don’t care what you look like as long as you pay." Perfect for two guys who’d just survived federal cri attempts and needed to decompress with carbs.
Jordan slumped across from in our corner booth, looking like soone had run him through a blender set to "existential crisis." His usually perfect hair stuck up at weird angles, his uniform wrinkled beyond recognition. The guy had been stress-eating breadsticks for ten minutes straight.
"I’m done with won," he announced, waving a piece of pepperoni pizza for emphasis. "Completely. Finished. Over it."
I raised an eyebrow while taking a bite of my own slice. The cheese stretched in that satisfying way that ant Tony actually gave a damn about quality. "This because Belle almost got us expelled last night?"
"Belle, Naomi, that insane Aurora chick you’re apparently dating now, Blair and her psychotic power gas." Jordan counted on his fingers. "Hell, even Misato terrifies and she’s supposed to be on our side. How do you deal with all of them without losing your mind?"
The question caught off guard. How did I deal with them? By treating each relationship like a puzzle to solve, I guess. Belle was chaos that needed direction. Naomi was vulnerability that needed protection. Aurora was fire that needed careful handling. Misato was professionalism that demanded respect.
But explaining that would make sound like either a sociopath or soone reading from a pickup artist manual. Neither appealed.
"You get used to the drama."
"That’s not an answer." Jordan stabbed his pizza with unnecessary violence. "I want sothing simple. Normal girl, normal relationship, normal life. Get married at twenty-two, kids by twenty-four, retire from hunting by twenty-five with enough saved to buy a house sowhere quiet. Maybe start a small business. Teach at a local academy if I get bored."
He painted the picture with the kind of wistful longing usually reserved for describing mythical creatures. A peaceful existence where the biggest worry involved mortgage paynts instead of whether a giant centipede would dissolve your face with acid mucus.
"Sounds boring as hell."
"Boring sounds amazing right now." Jordan’s laugh held zero humor. "Yesterday I was calculating whether twenty thousand credits justified federal prison ti. That’s not normal teenage behavior."
Fair point. Most eighteen-year-olds worried about tests and dating. We worried about survival and whether our next gate run would involve creatures that could kill us in increasingly creative ways. The Divine Milking System had given power, but it ca with complications that made Jordan’s simple dreams seem impossibly attractive.
Or they would have, if I was the kind of person who actually wanted simple.
"What about you?" Jordan leaned forward, genuinely curious. "What’s the endga here? You’ve gone from lottery loser to academy rising star in three weeks. You’re dating multiple girls who could probably bench press cars. Vale wants to train you personally. Where does Jace Monroe want to be in five years?"
The question hit deeper than expected. Where did I want to be? The System kept focused on day-to-day survival. Points, abilities, essence extraction, staying alive long enough to see tomorrow. But what was the actual goal? What was I building toward?
In my previous life, I’d been drifting. Working dead-end jobs, playing gas, existing without purpose. The divine benefactor had given a second chance in a world where strength mattered more than credentials or connections. Where soone could climb from nothing to everything through sheer force of will and the right opportunities.
I took another bite of pizza, considering. The lted cheese and tangy sauce grounded in the mont while my mind raced through possibilities. Power was intoxicating, but power for its own sake was pointless. The System made stronger, but strength without direction just made a more dangerous version of nothing.
"The world, Jordan." I t his eyes across the sticky table. "Everything it has to offer."
Jordan stared at for several seconds, his pizza halfway to his mouth. Then he started laughing, pointing his slice in my direction like a weapon.
"Really? The whole world?"
"Yeah, I an—"
My phone buzzed against the table. Misato’s na flashed on the screen with a ssage that made my stomach drop.
Can you et at your room? Please. I need you right now.
The casual tone of our conversation evaporated instantly. Misato didn’t ask for help. Ever. She gave orders, provided guidance, solved problems for other people. The fact that she needed anything from ant sothing had gone seriously wrong.
Jordan noticed my expression change. "Everything okay?"
I showed him the ssage. His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline.
"Misato needs help? That’s like... gravity asking for assistance with falling."
"I need to go." I stood, grabbing my jacket from the booth. "Sothing’s wrong."
"Want backup?"
The offer surprised . Jordan wasn’t exactly combat-ready on his best day, and today definitely wasn’t his best day. But the gesture mattered. Squad loyalty transcended individual capability.
"Nah. Probably just needs to vent about our collective stupidity from last night."
"Fair enough." Jordan raised his pizza in a mock toast. "Go save our terrifying squad captain from whatever’s eating at her."
I left him with the rest of the pizza and jogged across campus toward the residential buildings. The evening air carried hints of ocean salt and the distant sounds of students heading to dinner. Normal academy life continuing around us while we dealt with increasingly abnormal complications.
The elevator ride to my floor felt longer than usual. Misato’s ssage kept cycling through my head. The phrasing was wrong for her usual communication style. Too personal. Too vulnerable. Misato maintained professional distance even when threatening to murder us for federal cris.
I found her sitting on the floor outside my door, back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest. She’d changed out of her uniform into civilian clothes. Dark jeans, plain black t-shirt, no makeup. Without the structured authority of her academy appearance, she looked young. Fragile in ways that made my chest tight.
"Hey." I kept my voice soft. "What’s going on?"
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