Then Ava’s tablet, resting on the desk in front of her, vibrated once. She glanced down. One message.
No subject. No sender. Just four words on the glowing screen.
Irnwolf, stand by. Her fingers froze above the display. Her heartbeat surged.
Across the aisle, Lila caught the brief flash of text. Her eyes widened, licks parting slightly as realization crawled over her expression. Irnwolf.
She didn’t know what it meant. Not exactly, but she knew one thing. Whatever this was, Ava Mercer wasn’t just another cadet.
And someone, somewhere, had just called her back. Hours later, long after lights out, Ava sat cross-legged on her bunk in silence. Her notebook lay open across her knees, pages filled with handwritten coordinates, timestamps, and patterns, the kind of details no one else seemed to notice.
She flipped to the newest entry, her pen hovering above the paper, tracing the words she’d just written. Irnwolf. Zero.
One. Authorization. Active.
She closed the notebook softly, slid it beneath her pillow, and leaned back against the wall. Outside, a cold wind pressed against the windows, rattling the blinds softly against the glass. Somewhere deep inside the facility, encrypted servers processed the override request, sending automated alerts to systems far above Fort Kincaid’s clearance level.
And miles away, in a classified operations center, a man in a sharply pressed uniform leaned over a glowing console as the alert lit his screen. Colonel Marcus Hale. He froze, jaw tightening, fingers curling slowly into a fist.
The words on his monitor pulsed once before fading into secure encryption. Irnwolf protocol reactivated. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, softly, almost to himself, he spoke the name like an oath carried on old memories. Irnwolf activated. And with that, he stood, grabbed his cap, and walked out of the room without hesitation.
Because when that call sign resurfaced, it meant only one thing. Someone at Fort Kincaid had no idea who they were mocking, but they were about to find out. The message had been sent.
The protocols had been triggered. And somewhere deep in the silence of night, wheels began turning that no one at Fort Kincaid even knew existed. By morning, the base felt different.
The air hung heavier. Conversations that once carried laughter now carried unease. Inside the training hall, cadets filed into their rows, their chatter low but restless.
The previous night’s incident, the strange system override, the mysterious notification, was all anyone whispered about. Lieutenant Chase Harlan, however, seemed unaffected. He leaned casually against the podium, flipping through his notes with the relaxed arrogance of someone who believed the world revolved around him.
Guess the medic’s secrets out, he said loudly enough for the rows nearby to hear, smirking. Probably hacked the system herself. Desperate move for attention.
A few cadets chuckled nervously, but no one laughed as easily as before. Something in the air felt unsettled, like they were standing on thin ice they couldn’t yet see cracking. Ava Mercer sat quietly near the back of the room, her tablet closed, her posture steady.
Her expression gave nothing away, but her chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths. Lala Reyes, sitting two rows ahead, glanced back at her and lowered her voice just enough to be heard. Ava, she whispered, what’s going on? Last night, that message.