Chapter 147: _ Fight in The Courtyard
Ivy’s words hang in the courtyard like a flag unfurling before battle.
And indeed, students are gathering. They aren’t running yet, but eyes are turning, footsteps are slowing, and the air is filled with that electric curiosity that clings to schoolyard fights like perfume. From the balcony above, a pair of second-years lean over the railings, whispers darting between them. Someone’s elbow nudges their friend; someone else holds back a laugh, waiting for the bloodbath.
Heidi feels it. All of it. The eyes, the whispers, the quickening heartbeat of a crowd hungry for drama. It prickles along her skin, sets her wolf pacing behind her ribs. The wolf is practically wagging its metaphorical tail.
"Yes," her wolf growls, delightedly. "Let them all watch. Let them see who you really are. Tear these pretty dolls apart."
Heidi’s fists are tight at her sides, but she unclenches them slowly, like she’s unwrapping something fragile. Her voice, however, when it comes, is not delicate.
"Funny," she says, tilting her head just enough to make strands of damp hair slide loose from her knot. "I didn’t know placement was decided by a pack of mean girls in pencil skirts. I thought it was earned." She lets her eyes flick from Sierra to Ivy, to Maribel, to Ginny, making them squirm under her gaze. "And if surviving the labyrinth doesn’t count as earning my place, then what exactly does? Buying more lipstick?"
The crowd murmurs. Someone giggles. Someone else makes an "ooooh" sound like they’re watching a fireworks show.
Sierra’s jaw tightens. That sugary smile disappears for the briefest millisecond before she pastes it back on. She steps forward, her heels clicking against the courtyard stone with the authority of a judge about to pass a sentence.
"Careful, darling," Sierra purrs, though her voice is less confident now. "You don’t want to confuse surviving with thriving. Just because the labyrinth spat you back out doesn’t mean you belong here. It just means you were too insignificant for it to finish."
Her friends erupt in laughter right on cue. Ivy claps her hands together once like an overenthusiastic cheerleader. Maribel throws her head back, earrings flashing. Ginny actually slaps her knee, which makes the whole thing look more absurd than intimidating.
Heidi raises a brow. "Wow. Did you all practice that laugh in the mirror this morning, or does it just come naturally?"
A ripple of laughter bursts from the bystanders. Even the students on the balcony are leaning closer, eyes wide, and hungry for every word.
Sierra hears the shift and subtle tilt of power as humor slices her dignity open. That fades her smile, stripped away to something sharper. She takes another step forward, closing the distance.
"You think you’re clever," Sierra whispers, just loud enough for Heidi and the circle of listeners. "But clever won’t save you. Not here. Not when you’re nothing but a Moon Blessed mutt trying to play pack heir games."
Heidi’s wolf snarls at the word mutt. She feels the sound echo through her own chest, like a growl trying to claw its way up her throat. She swallows it back, but her eyes flash with something intently... something the crowd catches.
Her lips curl. "Careful, Sierra. Keep calling me a mutt, and I might just bite."
The courtyard explodes with gasps, laughter, and a few nervous whoops. The sound swells, feeding Heidi’s confidence like gasoline to flame.
That infuriates Ivy, turning her face red. "You can’t talk to Sierra like that!" she snaps, stepping forward until she’s shoulder-to-shoulder with her queen. Her hands are balled into fists that look prettier than dangerous, but she still thrusts her chin forward. "She’s..."
"What?" Heidi cuts her off. "She’s what? Queen of the Alphas? Owner of this school? Newsflash, Ivy — last I checked, her last name isn’t engraved on the gates. Unless it’s painted on the back of your tongue."
A collective oooooh rises from the crowd.
Maribel’s eyes burn with rage. "You little..."
But Sierra raises a hand, silencing her friends like dogs on leashes. The gesture alone is enough to make Heidi’s stomach twist, because for all her malice, Sierra is practiced at control. It’s even funnier since Maribel and Ginny come from a family with more power than the Castells. However, somehow, Sierra is the leader of the group.
Not that Heidi cares about their friendship dynamic anyway.
Sierra steps close enough that Heidi can see the shimmer of her eyeshadow.
"You really think these people respect you?" she hisses, nodding subtly toward the crowd. "They’re not laughing with you, Heidi. They’re laughing because they can’t believe a Moon Blessed nobody has the audacity to raise her voice."
Her lips curve into a smile and a snarl. "And when we’re done with you, they’ll laugh harder. Because no matter how loud you get, no matter how tough you act, you’ll never be one of us."
Heidi swallows. For a minute, the words sting, pressing against that old, familiar wound of not belonging. But then her wolf’s voice reprimands her.
"Wrong. You belong more than they ever will. You bled. You fought and you survived. They’re just parrots in pretty cages."
Damm right they are.
Heidi inhales, straightens, and smiles, and it’s not the forced kind Sierra wears, but a dangerous one.
"Funny, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the one sweating."
And there, just there, in the arch of Sierra’s brow, the twitch of her jaw, there is a flicker: The crowd catches it. Another ripple of murmurs.
Ginny’s shrills out. "Enough talk! Let’s just put her in her place already!"
The crowd roars approval. Someone shouts, "Fight!"
Another yells, "Finally, some entertainment!"
The expectation in the courtyard is palpable, making Heidi feel like she’s standing in the middle of a stage. Eyes are glued to her, waiting and wanting her to either crumble or explode. And as much as she wants to rip Sierra’s smug lip-glossed mouth right off her face, another thought streaks through her brain like cold lightning.
The Alphas.
They are still inside that building. Still close enough to hear the noise if this turns into a full-on brawl. And if they come out? She’s not ready. Not ready for their eyes on her. Not ready for Morgan’s impossible green gaze, or Grayson’s innocent indifference, or Darien’s hard judgment, or Amias’s cold curiosity.
She cannot—absolutely cannot, face them right now with her blood singing and her claws itching for violence.