Unwanted Alliances

The Chancellor’s Hall was packed again, but this time the mood was heavier.

Nerves clung to the air like fog.

Aiden stood near the back, one hand jammed into the pocket of his jeans, the other holding a folded sheet of paper — his acceptance letter into the next stage of the Challenge.

Only twenty students had made it through.

Beside the podium, Dean Whitmore cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.

“Congratulations,” he said, voice echoing through the hall. “You've proven yourselves exceptional. Now comes phase two: the research initiative.”

Aiden frowned.

Nobody had mentioned a team project before.

“Pairs have been selected," the Dean continued, scanning the room. "Assigned randomly, to test your adaptability. Excellence in isolation is easy. Excellence in collaboration — that’s rare."

Aiden barely heard the rest. His mind snagged on the word pairs.

He didn’t do teams. He worked better alone. Always had.

The Dean started calling names.

"Turner and Michaels. Levinson and Chang. Wren and Hart."

Aiden froze.

He heard it again — louder somehow — Wren and Hart.

A slow, amused murmur rippled through the crowd.

Even a few scattered laughs.

Aiden glanced up — and there she was.

Eliza Wren, standing perfectly straight, her mouth pressed into a line so tight it was almost invisible.

Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, but he saw the slight flex of her fingers. A tiny crack in the perfect facade.

Their eyes met across the hall.

Shock. Annoyance. Challenge.

All in one flickering second.

Aiden shouldered his bag and crossed the room. No hesitation. No retreat.

If they were throwing him into the ring with her, fine. He'd survive.

He stopped a few feet away, studying her cool expression.

“Guess we're stuck together," he said, voice low and even.

Eliza arched one perfect eyebrow. "Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just temporary."

“Sure," Aiden said, smirking. "Temporary. Like a root canal."

For a second — barely more — the corner of her mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one.

Dean Whitmore clapped his hands once, bringing the attention back.

"Your assignments will be emailed tonight. Projects will be presented in six weeks," he said. "Your grades — and your candidacy for the scholarship — depend on it."

The room stirred as students broke into their new pairs, some already whispering plans.

Aiden didn’t move. Neither did Eliza.

She studied him with sharp, assessing eyes — not hostile exactly, but wary. Like he was an unpredictable variable she didn’t know how to control yet.

Aiden shrugged casually. "Relax. I’m not here to sabotage you."

Eliza gave him a thin smile.

"You couldn’t if you tried."

He laughed quietly, surprising both of them.

For a heartbeat, they just stood there — rivals, uneasy partners, trapped in a game neither could afford to lose.

It was going to be a long six weeks.

And Aiden couldn’t wait.

It was going to be a long six weeks.

And Aiden couldn’t wait.