20. The Golden Ticket

“Anyone get snacks?”Moses asked as she fell into the seat beside him, checking her phone.

13 missed calls from Braun Carter.

She turned off her screen, glancing around. “I think Kili.”

It was time to watch the first episode of the new Ironside Show season, and selected people from all of the year groups had been invited to Ironside Row to react to the premiere. They entered the building labelled The Den and were ushered into one of several cinema rooms. The entire front row had their names on the seats, which had Isobel frowning. Her father had said that Ironside was trying to take the spotlight off them, but this very much looked like centre stage.

The humans in the third year sat right behind them, several other recognisable faces in the row behind that. Bellamy, Silva, Wallis, Ellis, James … Isobel winced, catching sight of a girl in the back with eyepatches covering her eyes.

Her heart was racing when she turned back to the front, and Moses must have been able to feel it, because he set his hand on her thigh, squeezing lightly. Oscar fell into the seat on her other side, passing her a cardboard sleeve filled with caramel chocolates.

“This is from Kiljoy,” he said, before lifting his hips and digging into his pocket. “And this is from me.”

He dropped a carrot into her lap.

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

He stared back at her, deadpan. “You don’t like my gift?”

“Have you given it to me yet?” she shot back.

“Not yet.” He ran his tongue over his sharp incisor. “Soon.”

“Could you maybe stop threatening her?” Moses grumbled. “People are going to think you’re hard for her.”

“Who says I’m not?” Oscar stole one of her caramel chocolates.

It was obvious, over-the-top acting.

Throwing it right in the camera’s face and giving the fans easy clips to throw into their compilation videos. She was saved from a witty response as the others all found their seats, and the episode began.

The first twenty minutes followed the humans as they all opened their acceptance letters, packed their suitcases, and toured the new Ironside location wide-eyed and full of wonder. There was some footage of Niko with Mei, but even more footage of Bellamy and Kahn.

She turned and caught Bellamy’s eyes. His brows shot up, showing her that he was just as surprised as she was, and she slowly faced the front again, realisation settling in. They weren’t in the front row because Ironside planned to highlight them.

They were in the front row so that Ironside could humiliate them.

There wasn’t a single piece of footage with her in it, or any of the other Alphas other than Niko.

Just before the premiere ended, Elijah’s voice echoed through the bond, pulling everyone into her mind.

Post your reactions live.

But this is a planned event,Isobel answered. Isn’t that against the rules? Shouldn’t it be photos only?

Trust me, he returned.

I agree,Gabriel chimed in. A little rule-breaking is in order, but maybe just one of us should post. Who would have the most impact?

Theo?Elijah mused. I would have said Niko, but …

But I’m a moody fuck, now? Niko snarled in their minds.

Kinda proving my point there, bud,Elijah said calmly.

Call me bud one more fucking time and I’ll force-feed you your own goddamn teeth.

Fuck’s sake, Niko, Moses groaned. All this just because we wouldn’t let you sit beside Isobel?

I told you I’m not good at sitting still for so long, and she calms me down! Niko was like a snarling, snapping animal inside her head, unsettling their bond.

I’ll do the live, she declared, standing up. The episode wasn’t even over, yet, but it was drawing to a close. She crossed over to Niko and sat on the arm of his chair, pulling out her phone. She leaned back, resting her head backwards on his shoulder and angling her phone to capture the entire line of Alphas as they leaned forward in their seats, staring into her camera.

“Which one of these big idiots do I have to kiss to get some screen time?” she asked cheekily, forcing a carefree grin.

Niko, to his credit, was managing a calm, amused expression, even though his connection to her was still vibrating with tension. She winked at the camera, blew it a kiss, and ended the live, but instead of returning to her own seat, she remained on the arm of Niko’s chair, kicking her legs up into his lap.

“Seriously?” one of the Russian twins leaned forward in his seat, glaring at her, his voice heavily accented. “That’s your angle? Slutting yourself out for views?”

She tossed her head back, her laughter loud and genuine. “I’m sorry, aren’t you famous for chopping wood half naked in the snow?”

His lip lifted into a snarl, but he fell back into his seat, choosing silence.

Cian leaned over Niko and patted her thigh. “Let’s go, then, before you get into a fight with the woodchopper.”

“Grandmaster,” the twin—she thought this one was Alexi, because he had longer hair—corrected angrily.

“Grandmaster of … what?” Bellamy asked from the third row. “You mean like Dungeons and Dragons or something?”

“Of chess,” Anatoly snapped, jumping in for his twin. “The entire reason we’re here, freak.”

“Oh, chess,” Isobel drawled, fighting back her rage. Bellamy was her friend now, and she didn’t like that word being directed at him. “I thought it was chest, because you’ve literally never worn a shirt in any of your videos.”

“You really wanna go there?” Mei snapped, jumping to her feet. “People only like you because you’re pretty. Get your head out of your ass, Carter. Your pretty privilege is suffocating us.”

“Oh my god, thank you.” Isobel pressed a hand to her chest. “I thought they only liked me for my Alphas.”

Several of those Alphas were now laughing, and it looked like Mei was winding up to say something truly hurtful, but Isobel’s mates all rose, unfurling lazily, their expressions amused. Maybe it was the sheer size of them, or the cold personas they had adopted since the summer break, but the simple movement of them standing up seemed to silence the entire room before any further barbs could be thrown.

They made their way back to the dorm and into swimsuits, meeting again at the terrace. Since the premiere had cut into their normal practice time and they only had an hour free before they had to start getting ready for their Friday night at the Stone Dahlia, she had suggested that they spend some time in the water.

She didn’t want to admit it, but Niko’s plunge into the river had shaken her in more ways than one. She didn’t like that the Alphas all had such an obvious, glaring weakness. They had begun teaching themselves to swim the year before, but she needed them to get to a point where they could be shoved into a river without the danger of immediate drowning. Being a big, strong Alpha meant nothing if they couldn’t use Alpha Voice on a tide.

She considered attempting to find a length of rope to tie across the pool, but the Alphas descended into immediate chaos, throwing each other into the shallow end of the pool, most of their fear over the water worked off by their antics in Alpha Lake the previous year.

So instead, she just laid out her towel beside the pool and sat on it in her plain black swimsuit, worriedly watching them get closer and closer to the deeper waters.

They stayed longer than they were supposed to, and her hair was still damp when she stepped into Room 43 with Kalen two hours later, but she was happy.

They had made Niko laugh.

Not a fake laugh for the cameras, but a genuine one, flashing his wide, bright smile and crinkling his beautiful hazel eyes as he tossed his head back, his silky hair sending droplets of water everywhere.

Four Alphas had to violently wrestle a snarling and kicking Oscar into the pool to drag that beautiful smile into existence, but it was worth it.

When she and Kalen returned home that night, she felt a little less uneasy about the others staying back at the club and continuing their search for the necklaces. She didn’t generally spend much time with Kalen outside of their shibari performances or their recorded group sessions, but he didn’t even bat an eyelid when she trailed him to his office that night.

He held the door open for her without a word, and then led her through another door to a small studio apartment on the ground floor. His bed was neatly made, both bedside tables stacked with books. He seemed to have an attached bathroom and dressing room like she did, but his sitting area was larger, with a small kitchenette and a little dining space, the luxurious furnishings matching the rest of Dorm A.

He opened his small freezer. “Chocolate fudge or strawberries and cream?” he asked, acknowledging her for the first time.

“Strawberries and cream,” she said, still hovering by the door.

He pulled out a small tub of ice cream, retrieved two spoons from the drawer of his kitchenette, and then lowered himself to the velvet chaise, turning on the flickering fake flames of his fireplace as he lowered a projection screen down to turn on a news station. They were talking about the Ironside premiere.

Even in the few minutes of an evening that Kalen had to relax, he was still working, researching, plotting.

She padded over to the chaise, folding onto the seat beside him and accepting the ice cream tub he handed to her before he stood again and retrieved a thick woollen blanket from a cupboard. The blanket seemed brand new. He draped it over her lap and sat again, an inch closer this time, his long arm winding across the back of the couch behind her. He had spoken a total of three words to her, but it wasn’t awkward.

It was dangerously comfortable, and she locked away the feeling of soft wool and warm vanilla, the heat of his arm so close to her shoulders as sweet strawberries and cream melted against her tongue. She only stayed for a little while, making herself stand and leave before he was forced to kick her out, but that sensation of warmth and sweetness was something she basked in as she curled up alone in her bed.

The falloutfrom the premiere was harsh.

The fans were rioting, flooding the Ironside websites, fan pages, and social media pages with questions and disparaging remarks about the choice to leave Dorm A out of the first episode entirely. Isobel’s live seemed to have worked, because it was the most trending video on several different sites the next morning, and people were praising her tongue-in-cheek calling out of the Ironside Show.

She received an email from the officials saying that as a penalty for breaking their recording rules, she would be fined the same amount of popularity points as she would have otherwise earned if her trending video had followed their rules. In addition, she was banned from the Friday night Ironside Row competitions for the rest of the month.

She also received a fresh barrage of messages from her father, all of which she ignored.

There was a new message from Sophia, the notification almost buried beneath her father’s explosion of temper. She clicked on it, a smile breaking out over her face.

Sophia: Bitch, don’t make me a fan of Ironside just to see their reaction to that shit.

As she was reading, another message came through.

Sophia: Ugh I’m going to watch the show tonight, aren’t I?

Isobel: Only if you want to see Anatoly and Alexei’s nipples again. I swear they only spend every morning swimming laps to prove they can do something the Gifted can’t.

Sophia: Luis hates them. He calls Anatoly Butthead and Alexei Buttface. Together, they’re the Butttwins.

Isobel: Luis has taste.

Sophia: Want to skip the fancy food bar and come visit us for lunch? Mama made chile rellenos.

Isobel: How many overlarge men can I bring?

Sophia: One.

Isobel: Five?

Sophia: Two!

Isobel: Six?

Sophia: Oh my god. Fine. Three, but only if one of them is Cian. Luis put up a poster of him in his room and I think he wants it signed.

Isobel: One Cian coming up.

Sophia: Is that what your bond says when you get randy?

Isobel: Want me to switch Cian out for Oscar?

Sophia: You’re so mean. Has anyone ever told you that?

Isobel: Bellamy, like every time he sees me.

Sophia: Oooh, bring Bellamy!

Isobel: …

Isobel: Why?

Sophia: What? It was a joke. See you soon!

She was halfway out of the dining hall with Cian, Theodore, and Kilian when she suddenly paused, causing Cian to crash into her back. He looped an arm around her, catching her before he could bowl her over.

“Sorry!” A laugh bubbled out of her, realisation sinking in.

Was Sophia a fan of Bellamy?

There was only one way to find out.

She wove through the crowd of students, stopping at Bellamy’s table and leaning up against it, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Hey nutte—” he started, before catching sight of Theodore over her shoulder. He cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. “Nut … nutritious person,” he amended, floundering for a moment. “What’s up?”

“Come for a walk with us?” she asked, grinning at him. “I know someone who’s a huge fan and would really like to meet you.”

“Nope.” He was already shaking his head. “No way.” He waved his fork at Theodore, Cian, and Kilian. “That’s three against one. My face is too pretty to be broken.”

“Nobody is going to break your face,” Kilian said, rolling his eyes. He frowned, glancing at Isobel. “Right?”

She bit back her laugh, tugging Bellamy’s arm. “Just come on! She’s your biggest fan!”

Theodore pulled her hand away from Bellamy as soon as he lifted from his seat, but he didn’t glower at the Beta, instead flashing him a signature, superstar smile. Bellamy winced, muttering something about broken ribs, and followed behind them as they left the hall.

“What privileges did you get from trending in the premiere?” she asked him, forcing him to quicken his steps and fall in beside her.

He ran a hand through his hair, casting another wary glance at Theodore before answering. “They gave me a fucking date card to use with Kahn. I cannot stand that girl, but my dad is going to make me use it.”

“What’s a date card?” she asked.

“Some new thing they made up, I guess. It means they’ll arrange us a fancy-as-fuck date and film the whole thing.”

Cian scoffed. “How romantic.”

“Where are we going?” Bellamy lowered his voice, pitching his head toward Isobel.

“The daughter of the Guardian who works at the chapel asked to meet you,” Isobel returned, unable to contain her grin. “Listen, just … I don’t know. Say hi or something.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Fine, but only because you’ll bully me into it either way.”

They reached the cottage and Isobel knocked on the door. Sophia pulled it open, already stepping back to wave them in, her mouth opening to say something.

Before she halted, catching sight of Bellamy.

“Hey,” she said, appearing at a loss for words.

“Sophia doesn’t really watch the show,” Isobel explained in a stage whisper, “so she doesn’t know about how you’ve been a total dick since the beginning.”

Bellamy grimaced. “How can she be my biggest fan if she hasn’t even seen the show?”

“Please,” Sophia scoffed, recovering from her shock and gesturing them into the house. “I don’t do fangirling, but you can stay for lunch if you need a break from croissants and macarons.”

“Actually, the theme today was global barbeque. I have a plate of perfectly good churrasco and bulgogi waiting for me.”

“Go back to your precious Ironside meat, then.” Sophia waved him off, looping her arm through Isobel’s and dragging her into the kitchen, with only minimal pointed glaring from Theodore and Cian.

Kilian was busy introducing himself properly to Luis, who was sitting at their small dining table clutching a deck of tarot cards and staring at the pale Alpha with wide, wonder-filled brown eyes.

Bellamy peered around the kitchen, choosing to ignore Sophia and invite himself inside. “Where’s the Guardian?” he asked.

“Just left to volunteer at the medical centre,” Sophia answered. “Everyone, help yourselves.”

There wasn’t enough room to sit around the table, so they gathered in the small lounge instead, Luis ignoring his food in favour of having Cian guess which tarot card he was holding behind his back.

He was giggling so hard his glasses had fallen off twice, and he kept nudging them back into place with his shoulder.

Sophia and Bellamy were the last to squeeze into the room, eyeing each other warily as they sat stiffly beside each other on the couch.

“You shouldn’t only eat the fried stuff,” Sophia lectured Bellamy as soon as she saw his plate. “There was salad in there.”

“Do I really look like I need a salad?” Bellamy drawled, popping a fried pepper into his mouth.

Sophia blushed, glancing away from him, and grumbling something beneath her breath.

“So you guys aren’t allowed to eat in the dining hall?” he asked, peering around their lounge room.

“No, Mama has to put in a grocery order every week with the staff office. It comes out of her salary.”

Bellamy frowned. “That’s stupid. There’s no way we finish all the food in the hall every day.”

Sophia shrugged. “The food is for the show.”

They stayed until it was time for their filmed group intensive, and Bellamy was silent as they walked back toward the rest of the academy, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Do you think—” he began, just before they parted ways.

“Probably,” Isobel answered immediately.

He frowned harder. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to ask me to send you Sophia’s number. The answer is probably.”

He rolled his eyes. “You owe me, remember? So …”

“So you’re collecting?” she teased. “You sure you want to spend it on this?”

“I’m becoming less sure by the second,” he grumbled, stalking off.

“You’re welcome!” Isobel called after him, causing Theodore to chuckle.

They hurried to the studio, and Isobel nervously fiddled with her headphones as they waited for the others to arrive. Today would be the day they performed their songs, and it would be the first time any of them—other than Theodore—had sung for the cameras. Kalen and Mikel entered with armfuls of camera equipment, which they began to set up without a word.

It seemed overkill, but maybe that was the point.

Are we going live? Theodore asked through the bond, and Isobel could feel that he had addressed everyone, inviting them all into her head.

No, Mikel answered. We’re just recording. It’s a message—that if they don’t give the fans what they want … then we will.

As soon as the cameras were set up, Kalen and Mikel stepped up to the rest of them.

“It’ll be Elijah’s birthday in a couple of weeks,” Mikel announced, “and one of your biggest tasks this semester will be to perform as a group at his party. If the performance gets over a million views in the first twenty-four hours, we will consider it a success. If not, you will have all failed the task.”

He paused, letting that information sink in before he continued.

“This first task was to decide our main vocalists for the performance, and our singular vocal lead.”

Isobel’s palms were sweating. She should have known there wouldn’t be any innocent, innocuous tasks. She was glad that she had spent so much time on her song, but she suddenly doubted if it had been enough.

“First up,” Kalen announced, making her panic snowball as she realised they wouldn’t even get one last practice in, “is Kilian. The booth is yours.”

Kilian jumped up and disappeared into the recording booth next door, and they all gathered around the three wide, glass walls. The studio was a large one, with three sitting areas and two banks of recording equipment, speakers lining the roof.

They could clearly hear Kilian as he set his printed lyrics—which she could see he had scrawled notes all over—onto the stand and leaned into the microphone.

“Ready whenever you are.”

He was so confident, so calm.

Mikel hit a button and started Kilian’s backing track, which was upbeat and poppy with a strong, driving melody and light, synthesized flourishes. Kilian’s take on the song was almost unrecognisable from her version. His voice had a sweetness and a warmth that enveloped the entire room, making the song oddly comforting. He belted the chorus in a soaring countertenor range that had her mouth dropping right open. It was something she struggled with herself, but Kilian held his high range with almost perfect clarity and strength.

When he finished, everyone clapped, and he walked back into the room like what he had done was no big deal at all.

“Next,” Kalen said, checking his notes like he agreed that it was no big deal, like he heard incredibly unique and powerful voices every day of his damn life. “We have Cian.”

Isobel tried to edge closer to the glass, her heart skipping a beat as she came to terms with the possibility that they could all be that good.

Cian’s backing track had a more sophisticated melody that had her palms sweating with nerves for him. It was a blend of piano, upright bass, and drums, the rhythm deceptively laid back, but he didn’t look worried. He didn’t pull out his lyrics, but simply began to sing. His voice was deep and resonant, with a sense of ruggedness. It had a raw, emotional edge, and he had a knack for adding texture with subtle nuances and embellishments, elongating the words or supplementing them with beautiful adlibs. His singing was layer after layer of depth, with a surprising range for someone so comfortable in his baritone. He was … just as impressive as Kilian, though the two of them were very different singers. Everyone clapped again when Cian was done, and he returned looking almost sheepish.

“Could have done that better, sorry.”

“I didn’t hear any mistakes.” Mikel brushed him off like this was something Cian did often, though his tone wasn’t unkind.

“Isobel,” Kalen said, “you’re next.”

She was shaking her head emphatically. “Please let me go last,” she begged, too worried to be scared of saying no to Kalen. “I won’t be able to listen to the others if you make me go now. I’ll just be panicking about how bad I messed up.”

Kalen considered her. “All right. Elijah, your turn.”

Elijah stalked into the booth, producing a notebook, which he must have copied the lyrics into. He nodded at the window, and Mikel started his track. It was faster, with a repetitive bassline and a smooth rhythm layered in melodic loops and sharp drumming, creating more of a modern, urban sound. And … Elijah didn’t sing.

He rapped the first verse, his delivery smooth and impeccable, effortlessly riding the beat, his entire body as loose and relaxed as it was when he danced. He rapped the first verse and pre-chorus, and then seamlessly transitioned into singing the chorus, his voice steady and smooth—not quite as unique as Kilian’s and Cian’s singing voices, but she assumed that wasn’t Elijah’s focus. When he slid back to rapping in the second verse, his tempo suddenly increased, the words flowing twice as fast, every other word altered or added to turn the verses on their heads, making them suddenly clever and shocking.

An astounded laugh burst out of her throat, and beside her, Theodore chuckled like he was enjoying her surprise.

Elijah was fast and very, very clever.

But still, when he finished, everyone clapped like it was just another day in the studio. And maybe for them, it was.

“Gabriel,” Kalen said, nodding toward the booth.

Gabriel slapped Elijah’s hand as they passed each other in the doorway. “Could have been faster,” he said.

“Didn’t want to make you look too bad,” Elijah shot back with a smile.

Gabriel also had a notebook, and he gazed at it with as much calm, relaxed composure as Elijah. His backing track had an upbeat rhythm with a pop feel, but it was fused with a more soulful melody, a bouncy bassline, and crisp chord progressions, making it more of a dynamic track. He started off singing, a slightly raspy quality to his otherwise smooth timbre, but then he switched up the cadence, and then the rhythm, and then the vocal tone, effortlessly shifting between rap and singing segments, adding in words and verses to bend the lyrics to his style. He displayed an impressive vocal range. Just like Elijah, his singing didn’t quite match up to Kilian and Cian, but the shifting of his vocal inflections and the beautiful texture of his softer, slower rapping was hypnotising. Isobel wasn’t very knowledgeable when it came to rappers, but she was certain that she was standing in the same building as two of the most impressive rappers Ironside had ever seen.

She gazed at Kalen, realising that all the talent she was seeing had, essentially, come from him. He had told her when she teleported into his house in the Mojave Settlement that his grandmother had perfect pitch and an eidetic memory, and that she had taught him everything he knew. Of course, everyone knew who Silla Carpenter was. She had been a born superstar, a musical genius. She had won her season of the Ironside Show and then refused to live in the outside world, choosing to return to her settlement instead. Kalen had said that Theodore had more talent in his little finger than most people had in their wildest dreams, but that Elijah was the real prodigy. With Kalen and Silla’s knowledge, Theodore’s talent, and Elijah’s brains, they had somehow created and curated this little group of the most talented performers of their generation.

And they were just … sitting on it.

Waiting for their moment to strike.

And she was somehow supposed to match them. As much as she had loved singing, it had never been where her natural talent rested. Her father had seen that and had forced her to drop the subject. Her talent was with dance. Even with Gabriel and Elijah in the group, she was sure that she still had something to offer, because if she wasn’t as good a dancer as Cian and Kilian were singers, or Gabriel and Elijah were rappers—then she was going to train until she was. She was sure that she could. She just needed to try harder.

She needed to train longer.

“Niko, you’re up,” Kalen said, noting something down.

Isobel finally pulled her attention from the glass long enough to realise that Kalen had been taking notes on all the performances.

What could there possibly be to say, other than perfect, perfect, perfect, ten thousand out of ten?

Niko pushed into the booth, swathed in a hoodie, his features tight. “I didn’t really practise,” he said into the microphone. “Can someone send me the lyrics?”

Of course he hadn’t. He could barely think straight.

“Sending.” Elijah was tapping away at his phone.

“Ready when you are,” Kalen added. He didn’t sound pissed that Niko hadn’t practised. If anything, there was a note of understanding in his deep voice.

Niko propped his phone onto the podium and nodded, scanning the words quickly. He was quiet for a little while as his backing track played. It seemed like he had never heard it before, and she thought back to all their time in the studio over the past week. Niko had spent most of his time alone, either sitting in the corner or leaning against the exit, waiting for the session to end. Everyone had left him alone, and he brushed off any attempts at conversation. He spent most of the time watching her—she had grown so used to his eyes on her that she had stopped noticing.

He couldn’t go on like this.

When he began singing, he had a rich, velvety tone and a smooth, stable delivery. His voice was so warm and inviting, it felt like she was staring at the old Niko, and she never wanted him to stop.

Just like the others, his range was impressive, and he played around in it with seeming ease, but it was his unique, rich tone that set him apart. He coloured the words he had barely bothered to read with so much raw sincerity and emotion that it took her breath away. Everyone clapped for him, but he walked out of the booth looking pissed off, rubbing his temples.

“You did great,” Elijah told him.

“I read the words wrong,” Niko snapped back.

“It’s not a reading comprehension exercise,” Gabriel said. “You were fine, Niko.”

Niko sighed, giving him a nod, and moving back to the glass. Isobel edged toward him experimentally—it was always a gamble whether he would welcome comfort from anyone—as Kalen directed Oscar into the booth. Gabriel shifted, allowing her to stand beside Niko, and she hesitantly brushed her pinkie over the back of his hand, waiting for him to jerk in surprise.

He took her hand immediately, squeezing tight, a low breath rushing from his lips. He didn’t look at her, or say a word, but she could feel something settle inside him, so she edged closer. He threaded his fingers through hers, looping his arm over her shoulders so that their joined hands crossed over her chest and he could tug her into the side of his body.

The cameras were watching, but he didn’t care, and the action was so like what Niko had done in Kalen’s office the day she was reunited with him that nobody could have pried her away from him in that moment. She sank into the side of his body, pretending that nothing inside him had changed.

Oscar started singing without preamble, playing with the softer, slower instrumentals of his track with a confident mastery. His singing voice, much like his speaking voice, had a raw, gritty quality, but he was able to manipulate it beautifully. The powerful delivery of his raspy timbre within his comfortable lower range lent him a unique edge that the others didn’t have, giving him a deep and resonant tone that almost seemed to vibrate through the room. She felt the hairs along her arms rise as he finished, and everyone did their furiously polite, unimpressed clap again.

She should have gone third.

She should have gotten it over and done with before she realised how utterly unimpressed they were with the exceptional talent on display—though it was possible they were just too familiar with each other’s voices. Moses was next, and her throat threatened to close up as soon as she heard his velvety smoothness. It was like honey pouring out of the speakers. It had a distinctly haunting quality, delicate and powerful at the same time, with the occasional growled edge that gave him a dark, distinctive sound. She was astounded that they had all received the same training—presumably from the same people—and yet they were all so unique. Though perhaps that made more sense than she realised. If they had all trained together, they would have deliberately tried to find ways to differentiate themselves.

Theodore was last, and even though she had heard him sing before, she still held her breath, waiting to see what he would do. It wasn’t until Niko squeezed her hand that she realised she was still holding her breath, and it escaped her in a rush as she stared at the man inside the booth. Theodore effortlessly demonstrated, once again, that he was the most extraordinary voice she had ever heard. He had impeccable control over his breath, his modulation, and his vocal dynamics, easily navigating through complex vocal runs in a voice thick with raw power and magnetism. He easily danced between an incredible five octaves, from smooth bass notes to the most impeccably delivered high notes. Everything was a dance, an interaction with the lyrics and the music that commanded attention and refused to release it. He played with a vibrating vocal fry and a raw falsetto without a single hint of effort showing in his face or body.

He could have been talking about the weather if they had turned the sound off.

It was like he wasn’t even trying, but he was. She had heard him sing without trying when he recorded the track for her first Ironside dance. She didn’t realise it at the time, but now, the difference was obvious. This was him very much trying, his control was simply so extraordinary that none of the effort showed.

When he came out of the booth, several of the Alphas clapped him on the back, and she finally realised what she had been seeing for the past two years. She understood why they always shoved Theodore into the spotlight, why they always pulled back at the last moment and let him win everything, why they treated him like he was special.

He was their secret weapon.

Their golden ticket.

She did not want to go into the booth after Theodore, but she swallowed her pride and tucked her head down, approaching the podium and unfolding the lyrics from her pocket. She nodded shakily to let them know she was ready, and then she closed her eyes. She had the lyrics memorised, anyway.

She sank into the slow backing track, keeping her breath light, with the sweetness and purity that Mikel had said was her natural tone. It was the most comfortable pitch for her, allowing her more control when she slipped into her soprano range, allowing her to hit her high notes with more clarity and agility. She was still learning control over her whistle register, but Elijah had been training her all week during her sixth period, and she was able to pull it off this time without her voice breaking or wobbling. When she reached the chorus, she was able to belt it out just like Theodore had, her vocal runs sounding powerful and intricate, that sweet tone she maintained the whole way through infusing everything with a rawness and a vulnerability that she leaned into, right until the last note.

She didn’t open her eyes again until the song was finished, and then she folded up her lyrics again and slipped them back into her pocket with shaking fingers. She pushed open the door, and there it was.

The polite clap.

Though this one was accompanied by a few shocked looks and Elijah’s proud smile. She grinned back at him, wobbly and uncertain.

“Fuck yes, Illy-stone!” Theodore scooped her up, spinning her around. “You’re going to be our secret weapon!”

She stared at him as he set her down and then jumped onto Moses, his excitement contagious as he shook his brother.

Was he insane?

The way he didn’t even realise he was easily the best singer any of them had ever heard absolutely floored her.