2. Ironside Speaks

2

Ironside Speaks

The following day, they gathered in their usual gym room at six in the morning. It was a Saturday, and they were all wary and sluggish after a turbulent night of interrupted sleep, but that was their normal now. They fell into their routines without thinking or waiting for direction from Mikel or Kalen, the latter of whom attended most of their training sessions now.

Isobel joined Oscar, Moses, and Cian for half an hour of warming up on the treadmill, but her exhaustion quickly threatened to catch up with her, so she moved to the mats and started up a yoga routine on the tablet Mikel had prepared for when they needed a break from the high-intensity training. Kilian soon joined her, and she spent the next hour trying not to get distracted by his shirt always slipping up to reveal stacked rows of streamlined, porcelain muscle or the flexing of his firm thighs when he shifted positions.

Before they finished up, Mikel cycled through each of them, checking over their tired and strained muscles, briefly working out the kinks in their necks and shoulders, or stretching out muscles that were prone to cramping. She only had ten minutes with him, but she already knew they would be the best ten minutes of her day. They were often so tired during these sessions that the others didn’t bother to shield her from the bond, so she was aware that Mikel’s hands on them felt purely medicinal— magical , sure, but medicinal.

That was why she always slammed her barrier down when he motioned her over to the bench, patting the leather for her to sit. They felt a little less medicinal to her. When she sat this time, she immediately grappled with her walls only to find them non-responsive. She chalked it up to how little sleep she had gotten and did her best not to moan until Mikel finished, but she still drew a few surprised looks, and even Mikel’s fingers paused when a sharp bolt of pleasure tingled through her body as he worked the tension from one of her muscles. She was too tired to care, and they were nice enough to pretend they didn’t notice.

Sweaty and bleary-eyed, they dragged themselves back to the dorm to shower. Isobel almost fell asleep with her head anchored against the tiles and the spray doing a terrible imitation of Mikel’s capable, strong fingers kneading into her shoulders. Her phone timer had her head jerking up in confusion as she sluggishly fought her way back to alertness. Most of their minutes were timed these days. There was too much to do and too little time to accomplish everything.

She dressed in tights and a sleeveless black crop top with a flowy, cutoff shirt thrown over the top. She was too tired to consult her schedule for the day without at least one cup of coffee, but there wasn’t a single day in her schedule that didn’t involve something active.

They were mostly silent on the way to the dining hall, with Elijah, Gabriel, and Niko leading the group, Oscar and Moses a few steps behind, Theodore and Kilian behind them, and Cian keeping step with Isobel at a slower pace than everyone else.

She had noticed that even though the entire Alpha group was close, everyone seemed to have at least one person they were even closer with than the others. Elijah, Gabriel, and Niko made sense since they had grown up together before Elijah and Gabriel were separated and sent to a different settlement. Theodore and Kilian seemed to gravitate toward each other naturally. Possibly attracted by their shared positive attitude, energetic nature, and unfailing optimism. Or maybe it was just because they were everyone’s favourites.

Must be nice at the top.

Even though Theodore and Moses were brothers, they seemed to be attracted to the opposite type of person, with Oscar and Moses usually pairing up. They were more introverted than the others, needing more time alone in their rooms or the library. They seemed perfectly content to be in each other’s company without uttering a single word or trying to force a conversation.

Of course, being the oldest, Kalen and Mikel spent more time with each other than anyone else, especially since they organised the entire group, discussing their plans while they worked out in the gym several hours before the rest of Dorm A had even woken up.

It seemed like Cian was the only one who didn’t have a best friend within the group, despite being one of the most affectionate people she had ever met. He was always sensitive to everyone else’s feelings and was usually one of the first to notice something wrong and jump into action to cheer someone up.

Isobel might have felt bad for him, but since the start of their third year, she and Cian had naturally fallen in beside each other, almost like the dynamics of their group had been incomplete without her. It was nice to have someone to walk beside and confide in while all the others were paired up in their close friendships.

They were too tired and grumpy to talk about anything that morning, but she felt a little bubble of gratitude welling up inside her as they walked together, just as in tune with each other as Theodore and Killian appeared to be, silently striding together a few paces ahead.

The students they passed on the way to the dining hall stopped to whisper to each other, but it was nothing compared to the sudden weight of silence that fell over the hall after they were several paces into the room and the rest of the room registered their presence.

Isobel wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t the Gifted students to tumble from their seats … and start clapping. It wasn’t quite a celebration—there was no whistling or cheering, but there were stiff smiles and nods and several calls of “Big call, guys!” or “We’ve got your back!”

I don’t understand . She spoke to the eight Alphas through their bond, opening all those doors in her mind and inviting them into the conversation.

They think it’s a ploy, Elijah answered. No Gifted in their right mind on the Icon track with a clear road to the end would risk it all for the sake of “friendship.”

What the hell kind of ploy could it be? Moses’ voice grumbled back, though he didn’t really sound surprised.

Look at all the attention it’s gotten us, Gabriel responded. It could have been something we cooked up to pull us ahead of the human students. For all they know, we’re planning to disband in our final year and fight to the death.

They’ll look like assholes if they don’t support this, even if they think it’s a stunt. Cian sounded like he agreed with the others. They’ll try to sabotage us privately instead.

Isobel puffed out a short sigh, glancing over the food bar. The theme was clearly cereal because there was a whole wall of glass containers with antique bronze scoops stuck into too many different kinds of cereal to count. Isobel was too tired to make a decision, and she didn’t even recognise half of the brands on show. Gabriel must have noticed because he took her tray out of her hands and began to fill a few different bowls.

Isobel drifted away in search of coffee, Oscar shoving his tray off onto Moses before trailing after her. He didn’t speak to her and kept a few steps back, so he wasn’t there for the pleasure of her company. He was there for safety.

Mikel and Kalen reminded them almost daily not to go anywhere alone, but in her exhaustion, she hadn’t thought that walking across the dining hall was really “going” somewhere.

“Sorry,” she muttered just before they reached the drinks station.

Oscar brushed his knuckles down part of her spine, right between her shoulder blades, in a wordless acknowledgment. They mostly communicated wordlessly, these days. Neither of them were handling the stress and lack of sleep well.

“Quite the announcement, Carter.” Bellamy was already at the drinks station. A few third years hovered around him, but they scattered at the sight of Oscar, whose sleep-deprived expression made him even less approachable than usual.

“You think so?” she asked mildly.

“Mhmm.” Bellamy arched a brow at her, turning and leaning his hip against the table.

Who wants coffee? she asked through the bond, testing whether she could speak to them from her current distance.

A chorus of grumbled responses tumbled back to her.

Everyone, then, she replied, amused.

Make it a triple , Cian pleaded.

“You sure you want to give up the crown just like that?” Bellamy asked, brow still cocked, green eyes surveying her. He shot a brief look to Oscar but averted his attention just as quickly.

Isobel scoffed, lining up the coffee cups. “I was never going to win, Bellamy.”

“You had a pretty damn good chance.”

She hugged her torso, tilting her head as she returned her friend’s stare, wondering at the thoughts she could see shadowed behind his eyes. “Every single one of those Alphas had a better chance at winning. They’re Alphas .”

“Sure, they’re Alphas, but you’re the Sigma.” Bellamy waved his hand down over her front, though it wasn’t a very impressive front at that moment, with her arms wrapped around her torso and her slightly hunched posture. “The Princess of Ironside. Cinderella without a prince. The little darling of dance. The pride and joy of Dorm A.”

A choking laugh bubbled up in the back of her throat, almost bursting out. “The pride and joy of Dorm A?”

He grinned like he was preening that he had almost made her laugh. “That’s right, and speaking of pride and joy, you remember you have a boyfriend, right? Because?—”

“Quit flirting,” Oscar snarled, hooking a finger into the back of her shirt and pulling her back.

He twisted to the side, depositing her behind him and stepping up to Bellamy, who immediately backed up several steps, his palms displayed, his head shaking back and forth.

“No way,” he said. “That was talking . When I flirt, it works .”

“Fuck off,” Oscar snarled. “While you still have shit that works.”

“Nice chatting.” Bellamy peered around Oscar, pretending to be unfazed, even though he was still backing away. “Let’s try this again sometime.”

“I hate that fucking guy,” Oscar grumbled, turning back to the table to help her prepare the coffees. Nobody else dared to approach the drinks station.

“You hate everyone,” Isobel said, too tired to care that Oscar was being a big, snarling bully.

“I like you.” The words were a scrape of gravel, utterly without warmth. They still made her stomach burn, her skin tingling with pleasure.

“You also like Moses,” she noted mildly.

He made a sound that might have been an agreement.

“And you like Elijah and Gabriel when they’re arguing.”

This time, his mouth hooked up at the corner into a small, dark smile. It seemed to be another agreement.

“And Kilian,” she continued. “Everyone likes him.”

Oscar shrugged. It was as good as a resounding yes .

“And—”

“Okay, we get the point,” he snapped.

“That you’re basically the Taylor Swift of Ironside?” Isobel wasn’t deterred. “Got a whole squad and everything.”

He gave her a droll look. “I’m not responsible for you lot. Don’t put that on me. Make Elijah the leader.”

“Elijah is more fabulous,” she mused, hiding a yawn behind the back of her hand.

“Don’t tell him that. He’ll think you’re making fun of him.”

She glanced back to the table, noting Elijah’s perfectly styled hair, the silvery blond strands cut to an exact length as they drifted across his forehead, his reading glasses tucked into the pocket of one of the loose, oversized shirts he liked to dance in, his aristocratic features arranged into a sigh as he stared at the likely-not-nutritious-enough cereal in the bowl before him.

“You’re right.” She felt her lips twitch, but she bit back the smile.

Oscar frowned down at her before shooting a murderous glance across the room—in the direction Bellamy had backed away. “You’ll smile for him .”

“Cut it out,” she grumbled, swatting at his arm.

He cut his eyes to her, dark and fierce, and said nothing.

Sometimes, she forgot how terrifying Oscar was. He had been very careful with her in the past month, always keeping his distance and biting his tongue, swallowing whatever it was he wanted to say.

He was doing it again now: being careful and swallowing his retort.

She nervously cleared her throat, feeling heat creep up the back of her neck as possession began to pound away at her. It wasn’t the bond telling her about his feelings—it was simply the overwhelming weight of it, so vast and terrible that even though she wasn’t trying to suck in his emotions with her Sigma ability, she was being assaulted anyway.

He still wouldn’t speak, even when her breath picked up and the cardboard takeaway cup he had been holding collapsed in on itself, spilling scorching coffee all over his arm. She felt no pain from him, no awareness of it whatsoever. Only that raging, insistent, terrible possessiveness.

She swore, snatching up a bunch of napkins and trying to mop up the mess. Once she was done with the table, she grabbed his arm and gently wiped it down, ignoring how his dark eyes tracked her every movement, ignoring the muscles that twitched beneath her touch, ignoring the way his fist loosely formed, ignoring the way he shifted closer.

He suddenly turned away from her, snatching up a fresh cup. “My bad.”

Isobel chewed on her lip, searching for a light-hearted response. She felt him reining in his emotion and bringing himself back under careful control for the cameras.

“You just wanted me to look after you,” she teased, playing the little sister of Dorm A game. “You don’t have to hurt yourself to get my attention.”

As soon as he turned to glare at her again, she reached up and bopped him on the nose and then quickly grabbed one of the drink trays that was ready to go, hurrying away. She would have liked to think she walked calmly, but she was almost jogging by the time she got to the table.

She deposited the tray onto the table and had barely slid into her seat before the lights were cut, the electricity flickering out.

Oscar was there in a second despite the sudden darkness. She could smell his burning oleander right beside her. The doors to the kitchen burst open, briefly filling the room with light again. A group of people spilled into the hall. They wore full face coverings pulled up over their noses and dark caps with EDGC printed in white lettering across the top of them. There were twelve of them, dressed in fitted black combat gear, with long guns in hand and fierce, blank eyes above their face coverings.

The European Division of Gifted Control , Elijah spoke through the bond. There’s been some chatter online about a special task division since they moved Ironside to France. I wasn’t sure if it was real or not.

This isn’t good , she answered quietly, even though nobody else could hear them.

“Grab your stuff, everyone,” Elijah said as two officials—one male and one female—followed the special division group through the kitchen doors.

Isobel’s eyes were already adjusting to the lights being cut, so she could easily make out the group as the kitchen doors fell shut again—there was just enough morning sunlight from the few windows around the hall to illuminate their hard, focussed eyes—eyes that were fixed to Isobel and the Alphas.

Oscar’s hand fell onto her shoulder, and she slipped out, standing beside him, the rest of the Alphas following suit, grabbing their gym bags or computer bags. They stood as a group, waiting as the officials strode toward their booth, the female official pulling ahead. All Isobel could think about was why they had cut the electricity. They could have just stopped the camera feed—if their goal had been to keep the encounter from being filmed.

It seemed like they were trying to scare everybody. Judging by the looks on the silent faces scattered around the hall, they had succeeded. The ashen faces of the other students tugged at a fearful memory inside her, and she briefly thought about how cruel it was to march an armed task force into a hall of Gifted still recovering from a mass shooting. They didn’t talk about the tragedy of their last Consolidation Day, but it wasn’t because they had forgotten. It was because the officials wanted to wipe it from the history of Ironside. No footage of people discussing Crowe or the shooting had aired, and Isobel had heard a few people gossiping about receiving emails from officials to stop spreading misinformation about the event, with vague threats of punishment.

“Please follow us,” the female official requested as soon as she reached the booth.

She spun just as quickly, marching back the way she had come. The male official followed. The special forces group remained, fingers on triggers, faces impassive. Students were slowly inching into the booths, crowding and huddling together for protection.

Isobel found herself glancing toward Elijah. His jaw was set, his eyes hard as he assessed the display of force on show before he stepped forward, speaking from between his teeth.

“Let’s go.”

They were led through the kitchens and into the human-only grounds at the front of the academy, pausing in what appeared to be an office or official production building. It spanned only four or five levels but had a sprawling, glamorous reception area and suited officials bustling about in an important, hurried sort of way. At least it wasn’t a secretive room in the Stone Dahlia. Surely, they wouldn’t kill them in bright daylight in the middle of a busy office building.

Surely .

They were separated into three groups and ushered into elevators, which took them to the fourth floor. Then, they were led to a glass-walled meeting room and told to take seats at the massive table. The EDGC forces lined the sides of the room, just as watchful and wary as when they had stormed into the dining hall.

As soon as they were situated, the two officials disappeared, leaving them to wait. A few minutes later, Kalen and Mikel were also led in, and four more armoured men joined the other men and women lining the walls.

Well, this is about to get interesting. Mikel’s voice drifted through her mind, that slight echoing quality telling her that he was speaking to them all. Looks like we’ve finally been invited to the big kid table.

Oscar’s mouth twitched, and Moses glanced up to the ceiling like he wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t want to chance the punishing workout Mikel would put him through tomorrow if he did. The others remained stoney-faced.

“Should have brought my coffee,” Isobel grumbled, just in case they were being monitored. It was best if nobody guessed they could actually communicate in their heads. “I can’t do this un-caffeinated.”

“Any chance for coffee?” Cian asked casually, leaning back in his chair and eyeing one of the guards along the wall. His handsome face was utterly unbothered, his gaze a muted sapphire, his muscled arms casually stretched out to anchor against the table as he leaned away.

To Isobel’s surprise, the guard nodded and exited the room.

“How about some bagels?” Moses added, glancing behind him, expression dark and challenging, mouth tipping into a smirk. “Breakfast muffins? Croissants? Macarons? Champagne? No?” Nobody answered him, but two of the guards exchanged a questioning look.

Oscar scoffed quietly, fierce gaze fixed on the table. He raised it when he felt Isobel’s attention, the dark pools of his eyes swimming with amusement as he looked her over.

They were deliberately acting unaffected.

She tried to force a smile, but her lips trembled, and she bit down on her bottom lip to hide her fear. She slipped her shaking hands beneath her thighs and tucked her head down, trying to calm her mind.

A large man burst into the room, followed by three women—all of them impeccably dressed, though there was something just slightly off about the man’s appearance. His suit was too big—like he was trying to hide his protruding stomach—and his skin was a little pasty and patchy. On the other hand, the women were in form-fitting designer outfits without a single hair out of place with their make-up done so well they might as well have been walking into a televised interview.

Isobel only recognised one of the officials: a brunette with a sharp fringe wearing fitted, high-waisted cream pants and a navy blue silk shirt with a simple golden chain peeking out from the open collar. Olivia Frisk. Assistant to the Director of Ironside. She somehow managed to look tired and alert all at once. She seemed like a woman who excelled under pressure.

Isobel’s hands began to sweat, and something intangible snapped in the air around her body before sensations were crashing over her from all directions.

Fear, anger, violence, anxiety. There was also a fierce, dark protectiveness that had goosebumps popping up along her arms, too large to belong to just one of them.

The Alphas had lost control. They were no longer able to shield against her Sigma ability, though they were still managing to separate their emotions within the bond.

“I’m going to cut right to the point,” the man spoke, dumping a box onto the middle of the large conference table before rounding it to sit at the head of the table, right between Mikel and Kalen. The box was filled with microphones, straps, and battery packs.

She realised the Alphas had placed themselves around the table very carefully. Kalen and Mikel framed the head of the table, where they apparently assumed an important official would sit, while Theodore and Moses were framing Isobel, Kilian and Niko directly across from her, with Oscar and Cian on either side of them. Gabriel and Elijah were at the other end of the table, where they could clearly see everyone.

Callum Rowe , Kalen said through the bond. The Director of Ironside. He likes to stay out of the spotlight.

“I’m here to offer you a deal,” Rowe continued, without introducing himself, as he waved toward the box he had dumped onto the table. “The eleven of you walk out of here fully mic’d up, your every fucking action recorded from sunup to sundown, while you’re sleeping, while you’re hiding away in bathrooms and closets …”

He paused, leaning forward, gripping the table’s edge, misting up the shiny wood around his thick fingers. “Or you agree to play this game our way, by our rules.”

His eyes were shiny and dark, like wet marbles, as they rolled from face to face, pausing when he reached Isobel. He sat back, releasing the table and slowly taking her in.

“You’re pretty for a Sigma,” he admitted. “Even prettier in person. But not pretty enough to be the main character of this show. We’ll have to fix that.” He let out a low laugh, short and cruel enough to turn her stomach.

“I have a few suggestions.” The tallest of the women spoke, her words slightly accented. She had long, sleek blonde hair and bright, icy blue eyes with a full set of thick, fake eyelashes that looked like they were perfectly designed to flatter her angular features, and she spoke with a slight accent.

“Who are you?” Kalen asked calmly, levelling her with a blank stare.

Does he know the others? Isobel whispered through the bond to Mikel. The scarred Alpha glanced over at her, his mottled, blue-black eyes considering.

“You can call me Yulia,” the woman responded, arching a perfectly winged brow.

She’s the only one we don’t know, Mikel’s deep voice rolled through her mind. The other woman is Tilda, my ex. She’s the creative director.

Isobel tried to keep the shock off her face, and it took all of her self-control not to turn and stare at Tilda immediately.

“Yulia, who?” Kalen pressed, still the embodiment of calm. His expression didn’t so much as twitch as Yulia stepped toward him, her eyes crawling down his chest.

Something hot and ugly rose up inside Isobel, making her hands tingle.

“Novikov,” Yulia replied, her lips curving into a tight smile. “COO of the Stone Dahlia. I don’t really have much to do with the show, so our paths haven’t crossed before. But I’ve monitored a few of your performances in the Dahlia.”

Kalen dismissed Yulia as soon as the words were out of her mouth, glancing at the other two women by the door before turning his attention back to Rowe. “What are you asking us to do? Be specific.”

“You’re not the one who gives orders in this room,” Callum snarled, smashing his fist onto the table for emphasis before he seemed to regain control, running his hand through his rich- brown hair—hair that didn’t seem to match his complexion at all. It seemed far too thick and lustrous.

Isobel cautiously reached out with her power, attempting, and mostly failing, to resist the draw of the heightened Alphas all around her.

It was illegal to use a Gifted power on a human.

A death sentence if the power could be used to inflict harm.

But she had been stealthily sipping away at the anxiety and exhaustion of her mates for weeks now, with none of them the wiser. She had learned how hard to push and exactly when to back off to remain undetected.

Callum Rowe was humiliated and furious. It was boiling and bubbling up within him, threatening to spill over and scald them all.

Tread carefully , she addressed the bond. He’s on edge, about to snap. He’s angry and humiliated that we ruined their plans.

None of them answered, but Mikel cut his mismatched eyes to her in a stern warning, softened slightly by the bolt of fear she felt from all of them. They were just worried she would be detected, but she had already withdrawn, quiet and light as a ghost, the taste of burning fury still on the tip of her tongue.

Isobel , Elijah’s steady, deep voice captured her attention, so clear that she knew he was talking only to her. Can you keep Moses and Theo calm without them noticing?

Done, she responded, curbing her curiosity. They hadn’t seemed to be concerned about Moses and Theodore going feral in a while, despite the stress they had been dealing with. She was sure that of all the Alphas, Elijah was the one who might have clued onto her subtle siphoning tricks. She often found him studying her when the others deescalated conflicts instead of surging, tearing into each other, or losing control. Something seemed different, now, but she wasn’t sure what.

Everyone at the table remained silent, locked in a battle of wills. Rowe was waiting for Kalen to speak, and finally, the large Alpha crossed his arms and relaxed back into his chair, regarding the Director with a calm that seemed to be a physical blanket over the entire room.

“We’re at your disposal, naturally,” Kalen drawled.

Rowe’s thick nose twitched, his brows inching together like thick caterpillars crawling across his forehead. He had a very elastic, expressive face.

“You’ve put us in an incredibly difficult situation,” he said. “Ironside isn’t just a silly little talent show. It’s an industry . Ironside is the Stone Dahlia; with the Dahlia, we can make or break the economy of more than one country. We could hand-pick the next American president if we were so inclined. The last four French presidents were chosen by us, just so that we could influence their foreign policies and conservation laws while we developed the new Ironside. We could start a fucking war just for the sake of it. While you’re frolicking around in this little playground we built you, we’re out there in the real world making real moves. So if you want us to change the rules for you, you must make it worth our while.”

Isobel stared at Rowe with a sinking feeling, realising the magnitude of what he was saying. He gestured to Tilda, who stepped away from the wall, pulled out the chair beside Gabriel, and sat down. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek knot, sharpening her features. She had a slender nose and a cool, blue stare. She was very beautiful, very composed—but there was a sliver of steel to it all. Even her sensuality seemed to have a knife’s edge, as she levelled them each with a searing, heavy-lidded stare.

Isobel felt a few of the Alphas’ eyes flicker her way as she gawked at Tilda. She rechecked her walls, realising she had been so focused on her Sigma power that she had accidentally opened herself to the bond. It was happening so much that she was starting to wonder if she had lost the ability to close herself off at all. They could feel everything she was feeling, including her stab of jealousy. She could too-easily picture this stunning, terrifying woman with Mikel. Challenging him. Pushing him. Teasing out that dominant side of him.

Isobel swallowed, fighting back a slow roll of nausea. This was too much. Rowe, Tilda, Yulia, and Frisk. These powerful, bloodthirsty, cunning people. At least Rowe wasn’t as intimidatingly beautiful as the women, but Isobel wished they would show how rotten they were on the inside. She hated their cruel perfection.

Tilda opened a folder and extracted a piece of paper, looking down the table at Kalen. “We will allow performance groups to compete and win the Ironside Show ?—”

Wait, what?

“But they will be managed by Orion—Ironside’s new recording label.”

Tilda paused, allowing that to sink in.

They want money , Elijah muttered through the bond. Money is the only thing that will make this right .

Seeing that nobody was going to interrupt her, Tilda continued. “All groups will be required to declare themselves and their specialisations in their third year, where they will sign provisional contracts with Orion. If they win, their provisional contract turns into a fifteen-year permanent management contract. While at Ironside, your stipends will remain the same, but after you graduate, Orion will take 90 per cent of your earnings for the entire fifteen-year term. The remaining 10 per cent will be split between the members of the group.”

Isobel blinked at the table. She was shocked that the officials still had the ability to shock her. She quickly did the math, realising they were offering less than 1 per cent to each person.

They have to discourage large groups from forming, Moses scoffed through the bond. He didn’t sound surprised.

We’ve officially made it too inconvenient for them to arrange our deaths, Mikel added, so they’re pivoting to the extreme alternative. They’re making use of us.

“There will be rules,” Tilda added, unaware of their internal discussions, “and that’s where I come in. As the Creative Director of Ironside, it’s my job to make sure we put on a good show no matter what’s going on behind the scenes. Eleven against one isn’t fair or entertaining odds, so we’ll do our best on the show to challenge your group dynamics to make groups look more difficult and annoying than convenient, and we expect you to play along. For the privilege of having a group application approved in the third year, all groups will be tested and provoked to our fullest ability to prove to the viewers that we aren’t playing favourites or giving you a leg up.”

Tilda swept her eyes over them in a bored sort of way. “Furthermore,” she said, this time not waiting to see if they had any objections, “there will be a blanket no-fraternisation rule for all groups. Orion expects 100 per cent of your focus, effort, and determination. No dating within the group and no dating outside of the group. If you want it easy, you can compete in this game the way it was intended. If you want it your way, you’ll have to prove you want it; you’ll have to give us your all. Your time, your talents, your damn souls.”

A no-fraternisation rule? They were pretending not to know about the bond, and Isobel couldn’t fathom why.

“The group already has a management contract,” Kalen said, though his tone wasn’t challenging. He tilted his head at Tilda before shifting his gaze back to Rowe, waiting for one of them to explain.

“If groups would like to recruit other Gifted as producers, choreographers, or songwriters, they will be permitted to make that choice, as long as those Gifted are already at Ironside,” Tilda answered. Her cool blue eyes settled on Mikel for the briefest moment, her expression utterly neutral, before she returned her attention to Kalen. She ignored everyone else. “Since you and Mikel Easton have proven to be such valuable talent-makers, we have decided to utilise those special skills with our other groups. Each group is being assigned an Orion manager, and you will make yourselves available to the managers to consult as needed on all groups.”

“And when our group graduates?” Kalen asked plainly.

“If you can make them that famous despite everything we throw at you,” Rowe answered, eyes hard, “you can leave with them. You’ll be permitted to sign roles as producers or assistant managers under the management of your Orion-appointed representative. You will be subject to the same fifteen-year term and share in the same 10 per cent of earnings.”

Isobel would be nearing forty by the time their permanent management contract with Orion ran out. Ironside was offering to rob them of their earnings for the highest earning years of their lives.

“Additionally,” Yulia added, immediately putting Isobel even further on edge, “your Stone Dahlia contracts have been amended. Since you have proven yourselves to be so beloved by the public, we would like to capitalise on that interest. Miss Carter,” she was the first of the women to meet Isobel’s eyes, “you will be moved to the main stage in the Dahlia Room, which only our most important VIPs have access to. Your performances must be provocative and entertaining, sensual but tasteful—you will be marketed as an untouchable prize. The Princess of Ironside. Everyone’s darling, alluring little sister?—”

That’s not messed up at all , Moses grumbled through the bond.

Yulia finished, “We can hire a professional to plan and direct your performances?—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Isobel interrupted, trying to mimic Elijah’s cool, unbothered expression. She already knew she didn’t have a choice, so there wasn’t any point in putting up a fight. If she wanted to keep some control, she needed to step up now, before they assumed she couldn’t think and speak for herself.

“Very well.” Yulia arched a brow at her, and Isobel tested the other woman with her Sigma power, tasting the spike of frustration from Yulia as she seemed to fail to read anything in Isobel’s expression. “You will need to run your ideas by Cesar Cooper—he will either approve or reject your concepts and better guide you on our performance expectations.”

“What’s Cooper’s role in all of this?” Kalen asked, a slightly darker note in his voice. He seemed to be the only one speaking, the others sitting back and allowing him to take the lead.

“Cesar Cooper will be your Orion-appointed manager and liaison,” Rowe answered. “He will manage your group and your performances and negotiate with the record label on your behalf.”

“You mentioned that all of our contracts had been adjusted.” Kalen switched his attention to Yulia, showing no reaction to what Rowe had said.

“You’ve all been transferred to floater contracts.” Yulia shifted behind the table, watching Kalen. “But only for two hours a week while Carter is dancing.”

“And the rest of the time?” Kalen pressed, thick arms folding tightly across his broad chest.

“All eleven of you will serve in our Icon Cafe. We want you there every Saturday morning until midday. It’s a room for the wealthiest people in the country—and abroad, naturally—to book time with their favourite Icons. You’ll be required to pour their drinks, serve them food, compliment them, ask them polite questions that don’t broach their privacy, and pay them special romantic attention. Your clients will be international, so there’s no need to learn French.”

“It’s illegal to—” Kalen, began, but Rowe cut across him.

“We aren’t asking you to fuck them, West.” He rolled his eyes like Kalen’s almost-objection was beyond ridiculous. “At most, you’ll be asked for a hug or to put your arm around them for a photo. It’s within our interest to keep you all shining, pure, and untouchable. It makes the clientele want you even more. The Icon Cafe is the gold standard of Icon interaction, and you’ll be expected to represent the grace and humility of our Ironside Gifted during your shift. Nothing less will be tolerated.”

We can’t pull Oscar from fights, Elijah’s voice echoed into her mind.

He needs the outlet, Mikel agreed. I was hoping to train Niko, Theo, and Moses to get them in there too.

“Oscar Sato and Mikel Easton earn a significant amount of money from their fights,” Kalen addressed Rowe, subtly grinding his teeth together, his jaw flexing. “Far more than they can get from a floater contract.”

“Very well.” Rowe waved a large hand. “Whoever wants to fight can apply, but they must perform at the same time as Carter. Everything you do from now on, you do as a group, that includes time spent in the Dahlia.”

Kalen’s jaw looked like it was about to crack, but after a moment, he rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded, forcing his pretend calm to roll over the table again. “While we’re negotiating?—”

“This is not—” Rowe started, but Kalen didn’t break stride.

“—we want the cameras out of the Dorm A bedrooms.”

Rowe scoffed but didn’t immediately object, and Kalen only waited a moment to continue.

“Historically, Dorm A bedrooms have been camera-free, and my Alphas are uneasy with the change. You want them to train harder and give more than any other student, so in return, I’d like you to give them back a modicum of privacy while they’re sleeping. You have cameras in all the hallways and all around the dorm so it’s not like they’ll be sneaking other people into their beds. I just want them to be able to relax for the few hours they have every night to themselves. If you give them that, they’ll work harder for you. Isobel will, as well. It was unfair to make her work her ass off for a private room in Dorm A only to make it public the day she finally moved in.”

Rowe actually seemed to be considering it as he leaned back in his chair and regarded Kalen. He glanced over at Tilda, who gave a short nod, and then sighed. “Fine. If you sign the contracts, all recording devices will be removed from inside the bedrooms only.”

Kalen’s expression wasn’t victorious. “How long do we have to think about this?”

Rowe smiled unkindly. “As you know, your Stone Dahlia contracts can be amended at any time. That’s already done. But if you’re referring to?—”

“I am,” Kalen said.

“Then we’ll give you an hour.” Rowe stood, straightening out his jacket. “Olivia, leave them the contracts.”

Frisk nodded, dropping a pile of booklets beside the box of microphones, before opening the door for Rowe, who paused in the doorway, glancing back at the Alphas and Isobel.

“As I said,” Rowe’s features tightened, “you accept this deal, or you’ll be wired up at all times, in all areas of the academy. It’s your choice.”

He left the room, Frisk following him. Tilda and Yulia exited without a second glance, and then the two EDGC men returned carrying trays of coffee and several brown takeout bags. As soon as the scent of pastry filled the room, Isobel’s stomach grumbled loudly. She was shocked and scared, devastated by the options set out before them, but apparently, her stomach didn’t care.

The men set everything onto the table as Elijah and Gabriel reached for the stack of notebooks, grabbing one each and sliding two copies down the table to Kalen and Mikel. The rest of them were silent as Isobel and Cian began dividing up the coffees and croissants.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, catching the eye of the armed man who had brought in the food.

He paused, not expecting her to try to talk to him. He dipped his head in a short nod before averting his attention to the wall.

Isobel devoured her croissant and downed half her coffee, eyeing Niko, who was only pushing his pastry around on a paper plate while he stared at Gabriel and Elijah, flicking through the pages of the unbelievably thick contract as fast as they could, while wincing at the scalding coffee they kept sipping without tearing their eyes from the pages.

After a few minutes, Niko seemed to register the food in front of him and somehow stuffed it into his mouth in three bites, inhaling it the way he used to eat food. It made Isobel want to cry, and several eyes flicked to her face. She quickly reached for one of the contracts to distract herself, but the language was far too technical for her to understand, and she eventually closed the pages, feeling defeated.

“Do we really have a choice here?” she asked, lifting her eyes to Kilian sitting directly opposite her.

He shook his head, answering with the perfect amount of defeat and hope to colour his voice, putting on a performance for however the officials had chosen to monitor them during their hour of “decision making.” Better to be safe than sorry.

“Not really.” He shrugged delicately, pale eyes dropping back to the table. “They’re right—the investors in this show aren’t going to allow something like this unless it benefits them. They can’t only allow us to form a group without offering the same recourse for others, but they also need to consider measures to control the group sizes to keep the show competitive and entertaining. Students may consider forming a group now, but they might decide against it for the sake of the money. If they win as a single Icon, they have the freedom of their own career and get to keep all their earnings. If they win as a group, they only get their share of 10 per cent and are still owned by Ironside for another fifteen years. The fans and other students will probably consider this a fair trade-off since it would be easier for a group to win due to the combined popularity of all the members.”

“You’re right,” Theodore muttered, tipping his head back to sigh at the ceiling. “And it’s in our Ironside contracts that the level of surveillance can be increased or decreased at any time without notice. They’re even technically allowed to put cameras in the bathrooms. They could realistically make it very unappealing for us to not sign these contracts. We could lose all privacy.”

And, he added, through the bond, if we take this option away from them, they will probably try to kill us again. They don’t have many avenues here . Turning ourselves into a money-making machine for them might be the only way to ensure our safety.

Isobel nodded at the table, and they fell back into silence, finishing their coffees and food as they waited. Mikel absently nudged his croissant over to Niko, who inhaled it without thought.

Isobel was going to grow obsessed with watching him eat.

“It’s comprehensive,” Elijah finally said, after their hour was almost up. He closed the booklet and tossed it back into the middle of the table, pinching the bridge of his nose after pulling off his glasses. “They will own us, but they’re at least giving us a modicum of creative freedom. They’re entitled to suggest changes in our performances and songs and to impose deadlines and mandatory practice time on us, but we can come up with our own songs and choreography.”

The others set down their booklets, waiting for what else Elijah had to say, since he seemed to be pausing only to consider his next words.

“The … lifestyle restrictions might be more of a challenge,” he allowed, making eye contact with Kalen and Mikel, passing them some sort of unspoken message. “No fraternisation between members or outside of the group. No marriages or engagements until the end of the fifteen-year contract period. No pregnancies for the contract term—if anyone comes forward saying that one of us got them pregnant, or if Isobel gets pregnant by someone, then the entire group will be dropped by the label, and each member will be sent back to their respective settlements until the end of the contract term. After that time, we will be free to live as citizens of the United States, but we won’t have any money and our careers will be dead.”

Isobel blinked at his impassive, handsome face. “Why?” she blurted.

“I assume they want us in peak performance condition, untethered and unburdened by family commitments until the end of our contract term,” Elijah answered. “They want us to make as much money as possible while we’re tied to their label—they want our full commitment, attention, and energy.”

“Is that all?” Moses asked, brows drawn low, lips pressed tightly together, his long eyelashes lowered to conceal what Isobel was sure would be a stormy expression.

“No,” Elijah sighed out. “There’s more. There are weight and body fat ratio requirements. We have to record our data and send it to Cooper, who is allowed to tell us to lose weight, change our diet, or change our exercise regimes to reach specific goals. And,” he continued before any of them could respond properly, “there’s a zero-tolerance drug policy, a two-drink alcohol policy, and you must apply to Cooper for permission for any body modifications such as piercings, tattoos, or significant hairstyle changes.”

“Jesus—” Cian cut himself off on a heavy breath, shoving his hands through his hair, pulling the golden strands out of the loose bun they had been swept into. “Okay. What else?” He tugged out a silk hair tie that looked like Isobel’s and retied his hair.

“We have to produce a demo album before the end of year three?—”

“ Before we graduate?” Kilian interrupted, frowning.

“Year three ,” Elijah emphasised. “ This year. If they don’t like your demo album, they can disband your group. At the end of the day, they only want groups who will earn them money.”

“How the fuck are we going to produce an entire demo album before the end of the year?” Moses growled, thumping his palm onto the table. “Between practice and classes during the week, Friday evenings at Ironside Row, Friday nights in the Stone Dahlia, and Saturdays at the Icon Cafe, we aren’t even going to have time to sleep.”

The others grumbled their agreement.

“It’s doable,” Kalen mused. “We can make it happen. They’re making this all seem impossible for a reason—to dissuade people from choosing this option and to filter out anyone who thinks this might be an easy road to the finish line.”

“Why are we even discussing this if we don’t have a choice?” Niko grumbled, crossing his muscled arms tightly over his chest, hazel eyes scanning the armed men and women silently lining the edges of the conference room, acting like they couldn’t even hear the discussion happening before them.

Technically, they did have a choice. On paper , they could compete as individuals and give up the remaining vestiges of their privacy for a shot at ultimate freedom and earning potential, or they could give up their earnings and freedom for fifteen years after they graduate for a shot at staying together as a group in the outside world.

But that was only on paper.

The officials were well aware that Isobel and the Alphas were bonded despite everyone pretending it was still a secret. In reality, this truly was their only safe option.

If they walked out of the room with microphones strapped to their bodies, it would only be a matter of time before the officials added cameras to their closets and bathrooms. They would find a way to expose the bond and destabilise their fanbase until the group lost the support of the public and, by extension, their untouchable status.

Or they would just organise another accident and make a martyr out of their golden boy, Theodore Kane.

There was no option.

Elijah sighed, reaching for a pen.