All Chapters of THE HIDDEN RIVAL: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

RIVAL’S POVThe thing about liars?They always get cocky.Thomas thought I was asleep. Curled up like a dead man, eyes shut, arms folded, breathing even. He even waited that extra minute, like he was being slick.But I knew the rhythm of his movements by now — the way his bunk creaked when he shifted his weight, the little grunt he made when he slipped into his boots. He thought he was a ghost.He wasn’t.I heard the soft click of our door unlocking, and the faintest shuffle of boots disappearing down the corridor.Gotcha.I sat up slowly, keeping my breath tight. My heartbeat was calm — too calm for how fucking pissed I was. That kind of calm only ever came right before I snapped.And I was close.Too damn close.I followed him, silent as a shadow.He moved like a rat — cautious, stopping at corners, checking his six like someone had trained him. And he wasn’t just out for a piss break either. No, Thomas was on a mission.We crossed two corridors I’d never seen him go near before. Pl

RIVAL’S POVThe hallway stank of canned meat and boiled bullshit — classic post-lunch air in Base Two.I didn’t speak to anyone on my way back to the barracks. I rarely did. The chatter in the mess hall was all static anyway. Mouths moved, but none of it mattered. I just wanted quiet. A break. A second to reset.But the second I turned the corner to my wing, something in me snapped on.The door to my room was cracked open.Not fully, not obvious — but just enough to trigger every alarm in my body.My pace slowed. I dropped my footsteps low and light, my breath quiet.I reached the door, peered inside.And there he was.Thomas.Again.But this time, he wasn’t rifling through drawers or flipping my boots.No — the little bastard was crouched by my bed, both arms under it, lifting the entire frame like he expected gold bars taped to the bottom.Bold.I didn’t move. Just stood in the doorway for a beat, watching him like a lion watches prey who hasn’t seen the teeth yet.Then I slid insid

RIVAL’S POVI didn’t sleep.Didn’t even sit down.The note stayed clenched in my fist for over an hour before I finally peeled it open again and re-read every word. Not because I didn’t believe it, but because I did.North stairwell. Midnight. Come alone.That wasn’t a threat. That was a trigger. Whoever left it didn’t know they’d just pulled the pin.So I started prepping. Not loudly. Not obviously. Just the quiet, practiced ritual of someone who'd done this before.Knife.Needle wire.A single pressure dart laced with immobilizer.And a trigger capsule tucked under my tongue in case it went sideways.Shadow taught me to always have a last move.I pulled my hoodie low, left the lights off, and waited until the hallway camera blinked into its deadzone at exactly 23:56. Base Two didn’t know I knew about that glitch. But I did.I moved fast. Quiet. Ghost steps. No noise.By 23:59 I was tucked in the corner outside the north stairwell. The door was cracked open, just a sliver, letting ou

RIVAL’S POVEveryone acts like nothing happened.The halls buzz the same. Mess lines, same rotations. Blades sharpened. Boots polished. Screams echo from training halls, like rhythm. Like background music.But I’m listening for static.The broken note between the beats.Because someone sent a ghost into my bunk, and now I can’t blink without thinking they’re watching.So I don’t blink.I watch.Every shadow. Every eye. Every corner.And I smile when they think I’m calm.The next morning, I sat with the others in the south mess. Elbows on steel. Boots scuffed from the terrain march. And I chewed bland protein bread like I wasn’t thinking about dissolving a body hours ago.Thomas sat two benches away, one leg bouncing like he had too much caffeine. He hadn’t spoken to me since he got back from his ten-hour trial. Not even a nod.Maybe he knew.Maybe he didn’t.Either way, I kept my face empty and my eyes low. I couldn’t slip. Not yet.I wasn’t scared.I was calculating.That day, I set

RIVAL’S POVThe trick to faking sickness isn’t in the slump of your shoulders or the stagger of your steps.It’s in the eyes.Glaze them. Make them look like the world’s turned down its volume. That way, people stop looking for what you’re really carrying.By morning, I had the act down.I limped into the infirmary wing at 0940 hours, hood low, skin pale from the night I’d spent with my head under cold water. Fever was easy to fake when you were already running on adrenaline and four hours of sleep.Miss Ruth’s domain was quiet. Too quiet. The air smelled of antiseptic and metal — and something faintly sweet, like flowers left too long in stagnant water.The beds were lined up in military order. Curtains drawn halfway. Every drawer labelled. Everything perfect.Which meant it was also a trap.“Sit,” a voice ordered.She didn’t look up from the chart she was reading. Miss Ruth’s hair was pulled into a knot so tight it looked like it might be wired there. Her uniform wasn’t like the oth