Page 116 of Prey It By Ear

Princess stands—because of course she does, she knows how to command a stage—and her voice is the exact opposite of what they want to hear. Her tone is flat, factual, and has zero emotion as she responds. “Professor, I sent repeated outreach to my assigned partners several times before the initial deadline, including offering to collaborate as intended. I received no reply from either to this very day. When I gave up and did my section solo, I let them know, which I documented and can provide in writing. If you’d like to see the full message log, I can submit that.”

Asani’s mouth twists, just for a second, in what passes for surprise in our family. The Heathers exchange a glance—Gold’s smile flickers, and Pink darts her gaze to the side, suddenly fascinated by the binder in her lap. My cousin recovers, of course, and tries to bulldoze. “Documentation is not a substitute for actual teamwork. If every student saved every contact and forced a tech review, each time they were questioned, we wouldn’t ever get anything done. You’ve already pulled this in the past, Drew.”

Dolly’s eyes don’t move from his. “I have, sir, and I was able to prove that accusation false. That’s why I tracked every message and completed my portion ahead of the deadline. If you don’t believe me, I’d suggest requesting an independent review from an independent tech auditor, or, if you prefer, the school’s IT department. I’m happy to comply.”

There’s a half-second of silence where everyone expects her to fold, but she doesn’t. Our mate sits, folds her hands again, and leaves the challenge suspended in the air. There’s no drama, no gloating—only calculated control as she lets everyone stew in her words. She is unbreakable, and the best part is that every pred in that room can smell it, I bet. Dolly is holding her own against one of my kin without backup in the room and without having to access her ‘Lucille-persona’.

It’s fucking beautiful, is what it is.

Gold is filled with eternal stupidity, it seems, so she jumps in. “I’m sure the audit team will confirm what we already told you, Professor. If there was any confusion, it’s because the communications were unclear and possibly misleading. We’re not responsible for other students’ failure to engage.” She sits back, a little too pleased with herself, and I know she’s done something shitty to prepare for our girl’s back-up plans.

However, I know my twin like the back of my hand. Guaranteed, he’s already built layers of protection on multiple servers, some not present or public, to house as many redundant copies of everything we all do to cover our asses. Even if the Heathers are going to weaponise words and claim misunderstandings, their bullshit will be bounced back so hard that their perfect teeth will shatter. Fitz would never fuck about when it’s about Dolly’s education, and after multiple tries at the brand of scheme, we’re not risking anything when it comes to the tech overlord nepo baby.

Asani falters slightly now that he’s heard the confidence in Dolly’s voice. “Fine,” he says, with the phony gravitas of a TV judge declaring a mistrial. “We’ll leave it to the review board. For now, I’ll grade everyone based on their individual merit.” It’s a lie—he will fuck her grade if he can—but he knows the clock is running out on his ability to bury her with this stupid stunt.

Dolly gives a small, perfect smile, just enough to say ‘thank you, that’s all I needed’, and then turns back to her notes. The rest of the room unclenches, and I watch as Pink fidgets, biting the inside of her cheek, and Gold’s hand shakes just a fraction as she reaches for her water bottle.

The camera feed flickers at that moment, and I realize I’ve been gripping the side of my laptop so hard that my fingers have gone white. The casing creaks, and I force myself to let go, flexing my hand. My chest feels hot and cold at once—a mix of pride and rage that is going to poison my stomach for the rest of the day.

When he hands out next week’s group and then finally starts his bullshit lecture, I let the camera run for a few minutes longer. I watch the way Dolly annotates her page with the same deliberation as always, never looking up even once as Asani’s voice drones on about the evolutionary basis for hierarchical social structures. He never mentions the project again, but he doesn’t have to. The damage is done for now, and it will hang over her pretty head all weekend, even though we know we’ve got it locked down. I close the laptop with more force than necessary and sit there, eyes closed, breathing through the urge to hunt down my cousin.

Not yet, Felix. Just wait for the right moment.

I’ll have to tell Fitz how it went. But for now, I let myself move towards calm, nursing the flame of hope that maybe, this once, we’ve beaten the pred system at its own rigged game.

Once I’m settled, I get up and grab my things so I can get to my office to do some work. I’ve got a lot of deadlines, and I used my spare moments to watch our girl today. As I exit the annex, my phone rings, and I know without looking that it’s my twin.

“Tell me you saw that,” he says without waiting for a greeting.

“I did.” I keep my words as flat as possible, because if I let the feeling leak, he’ll be on an unstoppable mission without fail. “Your camera worked, so good job. Asani made his play, but Dolly turned it back and forced them to agree to an audit. The Heathers are pretending not to care, but I could see they were rattled by it.”

Fitz barks a laugh. “She did the damn thing, bro. I knew she would, but damn, that was even better than I pictured it. Did you catch Gold’s hands? She started the morning with a full set of those microchip nails, and by the time it was over, she’d picked two clean off. That’s panic.”

I let him have his moment, then steer him back to the topic as I head toward the arena. “Yes, but now you have to focus. I want you to deal with Midori’s quarters tonight, and it will need a full sweep. You’ve been through it before, but it’s even more vital to do this before she can schedule some bullshit meeting for our mate. Figure out what you need to do to get her away and get this done.”

“Every academic administrator has a skeleton or three in their closet, but last time, her hard drives were cleaner than the day they left the factory. Even her search logs were vacuumed, which means she's got a second setup or she’s hiding the actual business by going old-school. There’s no digital dust anywhere. But I’ll give it a try, bro, and we’ll see what we find this time.” Fitz hums, and I can hear him already mapping out a fresh approach.

I keep walking, not letting his lack of confidence slow me down. “Whatever it takes. Go analog if you have to. She’s hiding something, and we need it by Monday. I want extra leverage to make sure this goes our way.”

My twin lets out a real tiger's growl of anticipation. “Old-school it is. Give me tonight and I’ll have a bug in every dust bunny-filled corner of her space. Do you want stills, sound, or full 4K?”

“Full suite. I want to see what she does when she’s sure no one is looking. If you have to rewire the place, do it.”

He’s silent for a beat, already off in his head pulling cable and measuring wall thickness. “On it. I’ll ping when the op is staged.”

I cut the call before he can start narrating his load out. It’s not that I don’t love him—he’s my twin, and I’d rather listen to his battle plans than any Council speech in history—but I need a buffer of time to let the pissy brain chemicals ebb and logic reset.

Working out my anger and pride involves letting them tangle, then dissolve as I head to my office. I focus on the tasks I need to complete when I get there to help. By the time I reach the stadium, the chill has settled into my bones, and my head is clear. My office inside is waiting, but for once I don’t dread it. There’s work to do, and much like Fitz, I have an angle to play as well.

Unfortunately, that requires yet another call to my dickhead father to mine for info on my asshat cousin.

Bring Me To Life

Delores

I’m seated at the far end of the lowest archive room in the annex near enough paper-wrapped folios packed onto the shelves that I have occasional anxiety about them toppling and pinning me for the rest of eternity. However, this is important work and I’m dedicated to it not just because it matters to my dragon, but also because it may help find our edge in the coming war. The table we’re working at is a slab of heavy wood polished enough to make me guess it’s older than most countries. At the center, like a Christmas present from Satan, rests the book that Fitz liberated from Rockland’s shelf—still wrapped in the threadbare cloth she’d used for transport.

It makes my stomach do odd flips as I look at it, but that’s probably because I trust Rockland as far as I can throw my dragon mate.