OPERATION WINTERSPINE (Strings Between Us Book 2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN: OF RETALIATIONS, WAR ROOMS, AND THE FINAL HUNT

CHAPTER ELEVEN: OF RETALIATIONS, WAR ROOMS, AND THE FINAL HUNT

BIANCHI'S POV

SUPREME ALLIEVO ACADEMY | COUNCIL STRATEGY ROOM | 12:43 AM

The air reeked of smoke, dust, and failure.

Blueprints lay scattered across the long conference table—creased, torn, some pinned down by dented gear or snapped markers. Every corner of the strategy room screamed frustration. Overhead, the lights flickered like they were sick of watching us lose.

Rowan was leaned back against a council chair, spinning a broken Phantom Cross pin between his fingers before letting it clatter against the table. The sharp metallic ring of it hitting wood set my jaw tighter.

Lucian was pacing again. Third lap around the table. Fourth. I'd lost count.

"Four straight losses," he muttered under his breath, almost like a curse. "Fencing. Phantom. Archery. Dodgeball. What the hell's next?"

"Humiliation," Rowan said flatly, eyes still on the ceiling. "That's what's next."

My hand twitched above the table, hovering over the scorched Hunter's Line arena map. There were red Xs across every strategic point we'd thought would hold. And a single black circle—where Arielle Rylance Del Rio had stood, bold and unflinching, with Xythe Nathaniel Alcantara covering her six like she was still his crown.

The Ardent Court was playing at something deeper than glory.

And Khaizer Dylan Dela Vega? He was doing nothing. Not even watching anymore.

"The President's been silent ever since he got back from suspension," Lucian said, finally stopping near the board. He gestured at the timeline. "No counterattacks. No statements. Not even a warning glance. Just... fixed the festival like none of this touched him."

"You think he has plans?" Rowan asked.

I didn't look at either of them. My eyes stayed on the blueprints—on the routes we should've won. On the blood we didn't spill. On every moment we let them step over us.

"Khaizer Dylan Dela Vega never runs out of plans," I said, voice low, sharp, final. "He's just not moving yet. That's worse."

There was a beat of silence.

Then I looked up. Straight into their eyes. And finally said the one thing we'd all been dancing around.

"And let's stop pretending. He's chosen a side."

"It's not ours. It's hers. It's them."

"He's with the Ardent Court. He just hasn't admitted it yet."

Rowan stopped spinning the pin. Lucian's fists clenched. I let the words hang like knives. They were true, and they were poison.

Dylan had stood by while the Ardent Court swept in, masked in charm and strategy, cloaked behind transfer papers and reputation. And Arielle Rylance Del Rio—the girl we tried to bury in scandal and silence—had come back with eight shadows behind her and fire in her mouth.

He didn't even flinch when they crushed us. Because he wanted them to.

"So what now?" Rowan asked. "We wait? Watch him break the next line too?"

I turned toward the last folder left untouched. Lucian opened it without needing instruction.

Inside: schematics, terrain notes, and a mission envelope stamped with SOVEREIGN CHASE GROUNDS: AIRSOFT MANHUNT FINAL.

Our last sanctioned simulation. The last arena we still controlled. Forest perimeter behind Sovereign Court – Sealed Simulation Zone

A sprawling, multi-acre tactical field built into the woods. Usually off-limits. Designed for elite-level combat assessments. Only unlocked for legacy games or ranked simulations.