OPERATION WINTERSPINE (Strings Between Us Book 2)

CHAPTER TEN : OF SUMMER BOYS, SHARP SHOOTERS, AND THE HUG

My hand clenched tighter against the upper railing. I'd meant to watch this match like I was supposed to. Neutral. Disconnected. Presidential.

But how could I? She wasn't participating in this match–-she was commanding it.

"Shift to pattern Razorburst. Double decoy fire. Xythe, draw the drones. Riyee, flank west."

"Don't die, Sniper," Xythe muttered dryly. "It's bad PR."

"You first, Shadow Prince," she shot back, already launching herself toward a rotating platform.

Her hair snapped behind her in the wind, and her grin—God, that grin.

"You both talk too much," Alexie added, voice clipped. "Cover me or I swear I'll shoot you instead of the target."

🎙️ "Are they BANTERING?! They're mid-match and casually arguing like they're in a group chat! And they're still hitting every shot?!"

I couldn't even smirk.I was too busy watching the way Riyee's feet moved—balanced, controlled, automatic. Like she'd been training for this her whole life.

"Platform collapse in 3. 2. Alexie, bounce now–-"

"Already gone."

She was. The platform dropped-Alexie wasn't on it.

🎙️ "AND SHE NAILS IT IN MID-AIR! Alexie Fernandez with an in-flight shot-I don't believe what I'm seeing!"

The gym lost it. Students were shouting, standing, jaws dropped.

Jodie stood two rows below me. Errol next to her was just straight-up holding his head.

"They're not even aiming anymore," he muttered. "They're just breathing and stuff dies."

He wasn't wrong. Wind bursts. Shielded targets. Drones overhead. Every single second, the map changed. And every time-it was like they changed faster.

"Xythe, fake high and swing left. Alexie, disrupt drone scan. Ari—"

"I see it. On your mark, cousin."

"Mark."

The arrow was already gone.

🎙️ "Another clean sync between Soriano and Del Rio! That's timing even our system can't keep up with-how are they reading the terrain that fast?!"

I didn't know if it was instinct, training, or both. But I knew one thing for sure.

No one on that field was playing around. And Riyee... she wasn't surviving the chaos. She was the chaos. She didn't look fragile or breathless or afraid. She looked free.

Powerful.

Mine.

And something in my chest tightened because I realized-this was the version of her she'd always been hiding. The one no one at SAA had ever seen.

Not the victim of council rumors.

Not the girl everyone whispered about in hallways.

Not even the girl I kissed under moonlight.

This was the girl who burned.

"Final sequence. Drop Line Tango. Triple fire. You miss—I disown all of you."

"Wow. Family bonding at its finest," Xythe deadpanned.

"Just hit the shot," Lyle said.

"With pleasure," Riyee muttered.

Three arrows.

Three voices.

Three seconds of breathless stillness-

Then a burst of light.

Targets exploded in blue streaks like fireworks over the Solstice skyline. The board lit up instantly:

ARCT - 297

SAA - 212

🎙️ "AND THAT'S GAME! Triple sync finale from the Ardent Court-total dominance! Ardent wipes the field in a near-flawless run-this is history in the making, folks!"

The crowd behind me was shaking the walls.

But inside me? Silence. Because through the noise and the chaos and the lights-she looked up.

Not at the judges.

Not at the scoreboard.

Not even at her team.

She looked at me. And smiled. Not like she'd won. Like she'd just promised me she wasn't done yet. Not with this match. Not with me. Not with anything.

And then—the applause shifted. Not louder. Not softer. Just tenser. Like someone turned the air cold mid-cheer.

Because down on the far balcony—where the red flags of the High Chamber hung-someone had stood.

Bianchi.

Her posture was perfect. Pristine.

Her expression? Not quite.

Jaw clenched. One hand still on the chair's edge, white-knuckled. The other? Snapped her pen in half without blinking.

Behind her, Damien leaned forward, squinting at the scoreboard like it was a declaration of war.

"They broadcasted everything," he muttered, voice low but not low enough. "Open mic. Full tactical transparency. Lyle handed that entire match to public record."

"It wasn't a match," Tomas said grimly. "It was a demonstration."

"They weren't playing for points," Maxine whispered. "They were making a point."

"They were mocking us," Bianchi said—quiet, lethal. And then her eyes slid sideways. To me. Not a glance. Not a flinch. A blade in stillness.

She didn't say my name. She didn't have to.

But her stare said everything:

You let this happen.

You watched it happen.

And maybe worst of all—

You liked it.

Bianchi turned without another word. Stood. Walked down the chamber row with quiet precision. And behind her, the rest of the High Chamber rose.

One by one. Silent. Stunned.

Shaking their heads and muttering terms like damage control, recalibration, containment. But it was too late. The damage wasn't just done. It had been televised. They weren't retreating. They were cornered.

Recalculating. Grasping for a script that no longer applied.

And I? I didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't blink.

Because for the first time all year—the Ardent Court had stepped into the light. And the shadows behind the High Chamber? Were starting to look very, very small.