"Holivan's still in his academy uniform."
"For fuck's sake—what now? You want to change him too? He stays with us!"
"I'd rather not leave Alan behind," Andrew cut in.
"Storik, are you seriously telling me two full-grown instructors can't keep an eye on one first-year?" Iveson snapped, temper finally slipping. "That's enough. You—" he jabbed a finger into Andrew's chest, "—take Vauser and flush the possessed out. No arguments."
"…Yes, Instructor," Andrew said, his voice tight.
For the first time, I saw him like that.
Quiet.
Holding himself back.
Matthew and Andrew grabbed the radar and disappeared into the gambling house.
I stayed behind with two already irritated instructors as we slipped into a dark alley, searching for a spot where we could stay hidden—but still move fast if something went wrong.
"Holivan. Roof. Better view," Iveson said curtly.
I didn't argue.
A strand of combat energy shot out—I latched onto the edge, pulled myself up, and settled above the entrance.
—
I didn't want to leave Alan behind.
Stupid.
Two experienced instructors were with him. He'd gotten stronger. He wasn't helpless.
And still—
something didn't sit right.
"How are we supposed to tell which one's possessed?" Vauser's flat voice cut through my thoughts.
I glanced at the radar.
Then at the roulette table.
Too many people.
"From the outside? You can't," I said. "But if you're actually looking—there's a way."
"And what do we do?"
"Check with energy," I muttered.
"How?"
"You've been part of an exorcism before, right?"
"…No. First time."
Of course it is.
Perfect.
Should've taken Alan. At least he knows what he's doing.
"Fine. In theory—you know how to check for the presence of a soul?"
"Yes… wait. You're saying we check everyone at that table?" Matthew's eyes widened.
"You got a better idea?" I shot back.
Why the hell was he getting under my skin?
Get a grip, Andrew.
You've got a whole academy full of students.
You don't get to fixate on one.
Alan's fine.
He has to be.
Handle this—and get back out there.
"And how do we do that without drawing attention?" Matthew asked.
"Improvise."
I stepped in just as the roulette wheel slowed.
"Gentlemen, mind if I join?" I said, sliding up beside a man with greasy hair plastered to his skull and eyes burning with the kind of desperation that meant he'd already lost everything.
He didn't even look at me.
Good.
I rested my hand lightly on the back of his head.
Not him.
Moved on.
He didn't notice a thing.
Next—a woman. Not a regular. Too stiff. Too alert.
"What the hell are you doing?" she snapped the moment my hand touched her neck.
"Sorry," I said smoothly. "Thought you were someone else. You look just like my mother in this lighting. My mistake."
She frowned—but let it go.
I kept moving.
Behind me, Matthew hovered uselessly, shifting from foot to foot like he didn't know where to put himself.
I shot him a look.
He stiffened.
Then forced himself closer.
Still didn't move.
"Hey, handsome. First time here?" a girl purred, sliding up to him. Pretty. Too practiced. Definitely worked the floor—pushing people into bigger bets.
"Uh… yeah," he muttered.
Then he caught my glare.
Finally.
His hand twitched once.
Twice.
Too slow.
The girl was already about to snap when he finally lifted his hand and pressed it to the back of her head.
She froze.
Vauser took too long.
Way too long.
Just as she was about to lose it, he pulled away and gave a small shake of his head.
"Sorry," he said. "It's… a luck ritual."
"…Right," she said slowly, clearly unsure what to make of him.
We checked everyone.
Nothing.
I slipped the radar out, keeping it low—
—and felt my stomach drop.
Another red dot.
Moving fast.
Straight toward us.
Shit.
The instructors—
Alan—
they had no idea.
I turned, already heading for the exit—
"I think… that leaves just one," Matthew said, nodding toward the dealer.
"Yeah," I said, jaw tightening. "You're right."
"What do we do?"
"Look."
I angled the radar so he could see.
Two more red dots blinked into existence.
All closing in.
All heading for the gambling house.
"Instructor Storik…" There was real tension in Matthew's voice now.
"Yeah. We're out of time." My jaw clenched harder. "Finish this. Then call it in. Go—warn the others. Tell Grek to pull in backup. Now. I've got a bad feeling about this."
I shoved the radar into his hands.
Matthew didn't argue.
He ran.
Good.
I stepped up to the table.
No hesitation.
No time for subtlety.
I grabbed the dealer by the head and slammed his face into the table.
Hard.
Too hard for a normal person.
The room didn't even have time to react.
I yanked the body toward me.
Limp.
Empty.
No soul.
A sharp, ugly kind of relief hit me.
Too late to save.
Good.
The moment it dropped the mask—
I drove my combat energy straight through its chest.
The body jerked.
Blood spilled.
I dragged it closer.
Security was already rushing in.
Voices.
Shouting.
Panic breaking loose.
I looked toward the exit.
Blocked.
Too many people.
Too much attention.
And I couldn't leave the body behind.
It had to burn.
Now.
"Fuck—no time. Alan—" I muttered under my breath.
I turned for the windows.
Heavy curtains. Thick. Dusty. Ugly as hell.
I couldn't use power on civilians.
So I fought them off bare-handed.
One—
Two—
Three down—
Then—
a gunshot.
I dropped, rolling behind the curtain.
Yeah.
Not exactly cover.
I grabbed it and yanked.
The entire rotten mess came crashing down over me—and the corpse.
Another shot.
Glass shattered.
No choice.
I set the edge of the curtain on fire.
Flames caught fast.
Too fast.
I moved.
Drove my elbow into the broken frame—once, twice, again—shattering the remaining glass—
—and threw myself through.
Heat at my back.
Fire spreading.
No time to think.
I hit the ground hard, rolled, pushed up—
—and ran.
Around the building.
Straight for Alan.