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Chapter 14- The Cartel Has A Face

Author: Britney Mason
last update Last Updated: 2025-05-21 15:21:07

Everyone at Daxton plays a role.

But only the Cartel decides the script.

Sonia stared at the message on her desk like it was a match poised over a gas leak.

“The Cartel meets again.

Bring the photo.

Don’t be late.

North Clock Tower. Midnight.”

No signature. No name.

Just that ominous symbol again:

Half a crown. Half a dagger. Now with a falcon in chains.

She touched the image carefully, tracing the sharp lines like they might cut her fingers.

This was no longer about who sent her the staff blazer or who voted against her in House Morvain.

This was bigger.

It was Cartel-big.

And someone had just invited her into the lion’s den.

10:12 PM — The Dorms

Sonia paced her room like she was wearing grooves into the carpet.

Her mind was running circles.

Was this a trap?

A test?

Or had she crossed a line she didn’t even see?

The photo of her and Silas was tucked safely behind her binder. It burned against her like a brand. The evidence that he might still be alive—or someone wanted her to believe he was.

She dressed in black. Hoodie up. Combat boots laced tight. She braided her hair back tight under a cap and slid on Silas’s glasses—the ones with the scratched lenses he never replaced.

They didn’t help her see.

They helped her hide.

---

11:52 PM — North Clock Tower

The tower loomed over the far corner of campus like a silent warden. Very few students came out this way unless they were being punished—or planning something worth hiding.

The door beneath the bell was already open.

She slipped inside.

Dim lighting. Stone walls. The sound of gears and age-old metal ticking just above her head.

She expected to find a meeting room.

She did not expect a spiral staircase that wound downward, toward the belly of the earth.

With every step she took, the sounds of the tower faded until all she could hear was her own breathing—and the ticking of a single wall-mounted clock counting backward.

12:00:00

11:59:59

11:59:58...

A countdown.

She stepped into the chamber at the bottom—and froze.

Twelve figures stood in a circle, all masked. Not the sleek Morvain ones. These were bone-white, bird-shaped, beaked and anonymous. One held a candle. Another held a blade.

The twelfth mask turned toward her.

“Silas Vale,” the voice said. Neutral. Echoing.

“You were not invited before.

But you’ve been watching. Digging. Trespassing.”

Sonia straightened. “So you left the note?”

“No.

But someone among us did.”

She glanced around. Every mask stared back. Still. Silent.

“Why now?” she asked.

The masked figure stepped forward, lifting a hand.

“Because the game has changed.

And you brought proof.”

They knew about the photo.

She hesitated.

“Let me see if you’re worth the proof first.”

The masked figure motioned to the candle holder.

That one stepped forward and handed Sonia a folded sheet.

She opened it.

A list.

Sonia Vale

Mavina Cross

Eric Blackbourne

Claire Lexton

Rhys Vale

Five names.

Her name was at the top.

“What is this?”

“Everyone the Cartel has voted to investigate.

Some for betrayal.

Some for infiltration.

Some… for things worse than either.”

“And if I say no?”

The flame-bearer stepped aside.

Revealing a wall behind them.

A wall of faces.

Live footage.

Surveillance stills.

Classroom clips.

Dorm room angles.

Private files.

Even Eric fencing shirtless in the west wing gym.

Sonia’s stomach dropped.

They didn’t just watch Daxton.

They owned it.

Then the lead mask said:

“We believe someone is impersonating a student.

A lie built to expose us.

Tell us, Silas Vale… who are you really?”

Sonia kept her voice flat.

“The person who wants to find the truth.”

A pause.

Then the masked figure stepped forward.

Reached out.

And handed her something she never expected.

A second photograph.

This one showed a shadowy room.

Silas. Alive.

But not alone.

Across from him was someone wearing a Daxton faculty blazer.

Face blurred.

But the initials on the lapel were sharp.

CL.

Claire Lexton.

The voice whispered:

“You still think this is about you, Sonia Vale?

It’s not.

It’s about legacy.

And who dies to protect it.”

Then all the candles went out at once.

And Sonia was alone in the dark.

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