<h4>Chapter 157: ckmail and revtions</h4>


    <strong>Kael POV</strong>


    I sat across from Mrs. Henderson, watching as she flipped through what I assumed was my academic file, her expression growing increasingly grim with each page she turned. The fluorescent light above us flickered intermittently, casting harsh shadows across her face.


    After what felt like an eternity, she sighed deeply, removed her wire-rimmed sses, and looked up at me with the kind of expression usually reserved for terminal patients.


    "I’m going to be straightforward with you, Mr. Winters," she began, her voice carrying the weight of someone who’d had this conversation too many times before. "Your academic record is bad."


    I kept my expression neutral, though internally I wasn’t surprised. Bncing undercover work with maintaining a student facade had never been easy, and my grades had suffered ordingly.


    "Your GPA is currently sitting at 1.7," she continued, consulting her notes.


    "I’ve been dealing with some personal issues," I offered, though we both knew it was a weak excuse.


    "Personal issues don’t exin three years of repeatedly failing to improve on your school work, Mr. Winters. Frankly, you should have been required to repeat your second year, but your teachers decided to pass you anyway," She leaned forward, her grey eyes sharp with concern. "That benevolence has its limits."


    I shifted in my chair. "What are you saying?"


    "I’m saying that without dramatic improvement this semester, you’ll be dismissed." She paused to let that sink in. "Your family’s reputation can only protect you so far, and we’ve reached that limit."


    Here I was, supposedly part of the prestigious Silvermere pack, when in reality I was an outsider ying a role that was bing increasingly difficult to maintain.


    "How do you n to improve your academic standing?" Mrs. Henderson asked.


    I stared at her for a moment, considering my options. The truth was, I didn’t have any ns beyondpleting my current mission and getting out of this ce. Academic sess had never been part of my objectives.


    "I don’t have any ns," I admitted.


    Her eyebrows shot up toward her greying hairline. "Excuse me?"


    "I don’t have ns to improve. I’m dealing with more important things right now."


    "Kael, I don’t think you fully grasp the gravity of your situation. You’re twenty-one years old with no viable path to graduation, no backup n, and apparently no motivation to change either of those facts."


    "Maybe graduation isn’t as important as some people think," I said, immediately regretting the words when I saw her face darken.


    "Perhaps not to you, but it is to this institution and to the students who depend on our programs." She pulled out a card from her desk drawer. "This academic session, the academy is introducing mandatory peer tutoring. It’spulsory for students with GPAs below 2.0."


    She handed me the card, which bore my name and a room number.


    "You’ll meet with your assigned tutor three times per week, for a minimum of two hours per session. Failure to attend will result in immediate suspension."


    I took the card, noting the neat handwriting that spelt out my academic death sentence. "Who’s the tutor?"


    "That information is on the card. I suggest you find them immediately and begin making arrangements. This program is yourst chance, Kael. I strongly advise you not to waste it."


    I nodded, pocketed the card, and stood to leave. "Thank you for your help."


    I left the office feeling more unsettled than I’d expected.


    It was bing difficult to maintain my cover while executing increasinglyplex missions, which was beginning to take its toll in ways I hadn’t anticipated.


    As I walked down the corridor toward wherever this mandatory tutoring session was supposed to take ce, I found myself actually considering what Mrs. Henderson had said.


    What would happen to Kael Winters if this mission ended? Would I disappear, leaving behind another failed academic record and a family that had never really been mine? The questions were ufortable ones, made more so by the fact that I didn’t have ready answers.


    I was so lost in thought that I overlooked Peter until he’d already nked me.


    "Kael! Perfect timing. I need to talk to you about something important."


    I suppressed a groan.


    Peter was everything I despised in a person. He was sly, maniptive, always angling for information or advantage. Among all the students at the academy, he was the one I went out of my way to avoid. His persistent curiosity and talent for asking probing questions made me avoid him like the gue.


    "I’m busy," I said curtly, not slowing my pace.


    "This will only take a minute. Please, it’s really important."


    "Whatever it is, the answer is no."


    Peter stepped in front of me, forcing me to stop. His usually smug expression was reced by something that looked almost like desperation.


    "Please, Kael. Just give me five minutes. I promise it will be worth your time."


    There was something in his voice that made me pause. Peter was many things, but desperate wasn’t usually one of them. Against my better judgment, I allowed him to pull me aside into an empty ssroom.


    "What do you want?" I asked, crossing my arms and positioning myself near the door in case I needed to leave quickly.


    Peter reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a stack of photographs, old ones from the look of them, with the slightly faded quality of pictures that had been stored for years.


    "I want to know if you recognise any of these people," he said, handing me the first photograph.


    I studied the pictures, trying to determine what this was about. It showed a middle-aged man with greying hair and kind eyes, standing beside what appeared to be a small farmhouse. The man looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t ce him.


    <i>Why is Peter showing me random photographs of strangers? Is this some kind of test? Does he suspect something about my real identity? I need to be careful here—one wrong response couldpromise everything.</i>


    "I don’t know him," I said, handing the photograph back.


    Peter showed me another one, this time a woman with dark hair holding a small child. Again, the faces meant nothing to me.


    "How about this one?"


    "No."


    The process continued for several more photographs.


    "I don’t recognise any of them," I said finally, growing impatient with the game.


    "They’re all Winters," Peter said quietly. "The entire family tree of the Winters family goes back three generations."


    My blood went cold. "What are you talking about?"


    "Richard Winters. Your supposed older brother who went missing." Peter pulled out one more photograph, this one showing a young man who bore a striking resemnce to the identity I’d been assigned. "How could you not recognise your own missing family member?"


    <i>This is bad. This is very, very bad. Peter has somehow figured out that I’m not who I im to be. But how much does he really know? Is he fishing for information, or does he have proof?</i>


    I decided to stop talking. Every word I said now could be used against me, and Peter was clearly building toward something that wouldn’t end well for me.


    "You’re not Alpha Winters’s son, are you?" Peter continued, "In fact, I don’t think you’re rted to the Silvermere pack at all."


    I kept my expression nk, but internally I was trying to see where this was leading.


    "I’ve done some research on your background, Kael. Very interesting what you can find when you know where to look. You work for a man who’s built quite a reputation in certain circles. Arms dealing, human trafficking, assassination contracts—A full criminal enterprise."


    The usations rang through my head, making me grit my teeth. Arms dealing? Human trafficking? That couldn’t be right. My master ran a legitimate organisation dedicated to helping people in crisis, to protecting the innocent. We were the good guys.


    Weren’t we?


    <i>Peter has to be lying, trying to manipte me into admitting something. My master saved me from the streets, gave me purpose, and taught me skills that help protect people. He wouldn’t be involved in anything like what Peter’s describing. But what if... what if there are aspects of the organisation I don’t know about? What if my missions are just one small part of somethingrger and darker?</i>


    "I can see you’re processing this information," Peter continued, clearly enjoying my difort. "It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure. Learning that everything you thought you knew about your life might be built on lies."


    "What do you want?" I asked quietly, abandoning any pretence that his usations werepletely off-base.


    "Now we’re getting somewhere." Peter’s smile was sharp and calcting. "Here’s the situation: I n to go straight to the school authorities with what I’ve discovered. Your fake identity, your criminal associations, the fact that you’ve been conducting surveince on fellow students—all of it."


    My stomach dropped. If Peter exposed me, it wouldn’t just end my mission. It wouldpromise my master, potentially destroy the entire organisation, and leave me with nowhere to go and no identity to fall back on.


    "Unless," Peter continued, "you can give me money."


    "Money?"


    "Five hundred thousand dors. Cash. Within seventy-two hours."