Lila retreated to her luxurious bedroom in the Third Floor Suite, the heavy door clicking shut behind her with an ominous finality. The room, decorated in opulent Blackwood colors of deep burgundy and gold, suddenly felt less like a sanctuary and more like a beautifully upholstered prison cell.
She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, seeing the panicked Ava beneath the flawless Lila mask. Her hair was slightly dishevelled from her library escapade, and her eyes, though currently brown, held a haunted glint.
"Okay, Ava," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. "Deep breaths. Just... deep breaths."
But the breaths wouldn't come. The revelation of the Elemental Seizure, Adrian's absolute surveillance, Marcus's threats, Harry and Rose's suspicion, and the utterly terrifying stakes of the Trials—it all converged in her mind, a maelstrom of inescapable doom.
She had been a normal, boring human, living in her tiny apartment, reading fantasy novels. Now she was trapped in one, forced to participate in a deadly game of politics and power that she didn't understand, with a toxic allergy to the most powerful being on the continent. She was a goldfish in a shark tank, and the shark had just told her he found her fear "delicious."
"I'm going to die," she whimpered, the sound small and pathetic even to her own ears. "I'm going to fail the physical Trial, become breeding stock, or Adrian's going to accidentally poison me to death with his 'delicious' pheromones, or I'm going to get killed by some jealous Omega because Adrian 'claimed' me. And I don't even have a phone to call for help! I can't even Google 'How to survive elemental magic and sexy psychopaths'!"
Tears welled in her eyes, hot and unwelcome. She hated crying. Ava hadn't cried since her internet went out for a week during a storm. This was so much worse than bad Wi-Fi.
She stumbled to her bed and collapsed onto the plush velvet duvet. "This isn't fair! I just wanted to read a book! I didn't sign up for forced proximity with a hot sadist who wants to study my toxic reactions like I'm a rare beetle! And I'm stuck here without a single bag of potato chips! What kind of hell is this where there are no chips?!"
She buried her face in a silken pillow, letting out a muffled scream. She felt utterly helpless. Her life had been reset to Hard Mode, and she didn't even have the cheat codes.
Suddenly, she remembered Adrian's parting words: Every low-ranking Beta and Omega on this floor is trained for one purpose: observation... They are unseen, unheard.
Lila froze. The walls. They were listening. Her meltdown, her pathetic whimpers, her angry rant about potato chips and sexy psychopaths—it had all been recorded. Adrian would receive a full report.
"Oh, for Moon Goddess's sake!" she hissed, scrambling off the bed. She looked wildly around the room. There were no obvious microphones, no hidden cameras. But he'd said "observation." Smells. Sounds. Subtle changes in temperature or air current.
Her eyes landed on a large, ornate ventilation grate near the ceiling. Aha! Sound travels through those!
Lila immediately began to act. She started doing jumping jacks, badly, then a series of awkward stretches, muttering loudly to herself.
"Right! Physical conditioning! Must remain strong for the Trials! No breeding stock for this Omega! Ha! Take that, future breeding stock! I will be too fit to be an incubator!" She puffed, terribly out of breath after three jumping jacks. "Oh, my muscles. They burn like the fires of Mount Doom! But I must persevere! For Adrian Wolfhart's career! And for my dignity! Primarily my dignity!"
She then marched around the room, picking up her clothes and folding them with exaggerated precision, speaking in a loud, clear voice, as if narrating a historical documentary.
"Yes, the True Blood Alpha requires research! So I, Lila Blackwood, must be a paragon of intellectual fortitude! I shall not be distracted by... by foolish fantasies! No, no! Only scholarly pursuits! Perhaps a full analysis of the geopolitical ramifications of Alpha-Omega mating rituals!" She dramatically thumped a historical tome that she couldn't actually read.
She then went to her vanity, picked up a beautiful, silver-backed hairbrush, and began brushing her hair with furious, aggressive strokes.
"And personal hygiene! Crucial for an Omega in my... prominent position! No unpleasant scents for the True Blood's delicate nose! No sir! Only the fresh, floral scent of... of despair! No, wait, that's not right. The scent of... Blackwood pride! Yes! A fragrance unique to our lineage, Adrian! Take that with your 'delicious fear'!"
She then made eye contact with her reflection, her face a mask of furious determination. "I am not a research project! I am a human being! Who is terrified! And needs chips! And will definitely survive these stupid Trials! And I will NOT become an incubator! I will become a very expensive, very well-read, very angry old maid! Ha!"
She finished her monologue with a dramatic flourish of the hairbrush, then flopped back onto her bed, completely out of breath. Take that, surveillance system. Now Adrian thinks I'm a maniacally dedicated, slightly unhinged Omega with an obsession for proper grooming and a burning desire for geopolitics. Much better than a pathetic, chip-craving mess.
Meanwhile, in his private study, Adrian Wolfhart sat before his ancient music box. A fresh slip of paper lay on the lacquered wood, delivered silently by an unseen hand. He picked it up.
Omega Blackwood: Elevated heart rate. Muffled whimpers regarding 'dying' and 'no chips.' Followed by sudden, intense physical exertion (3 jumping jacks) and loud declarations of 'Blackwood pride' and 'geopolitical ramifications.' Subject appears to be engaging in active self-soothing through performative affirmations.
Adrian read the report, his lips twitching. He rarely smiled, but Lila Blackwood was proving to be an endless source of amusement. Her fear was potent, yes, but her clumsy, defiant resistance was a far more intriguing scent than mere terror.
"A pathetic, chip-craving mess," he murmured, a genuine, soft chuckle escaping him. He reached into a hidden compartment in his desk and pulled out a small, silk-wrapped package. Inside lay a delicate, intricately carved wooden figurine—a tiny, sleeping wolf.
"She needs a distraction," he decided, his silver eyes gleaming with a new, playful malice. "Something to remind her of her... prominent position."
He called for a Beta servant. "Deliver this to Assistant Blackwood's room. Tell her it's a gift. And inform her that tomorrow's mandatory conditioning will include a survivalist trek through the Academy's forested hunting grounds. At dawn."
Adrian leaned back, a full, predatory smile gracing his lips. She wants to survive? Good. Let's see how much fight that little, angry Omega truly has.