The campus pizza place existed in that perfect sweet spot between "actually edible" and "won’t bankrupt a student." Tony’s Slice had sticky floors, grease-stained tables, and the kind of atmosphere that screamed "we don’t care what you look like as long as you pay." Perfect for two guys who’d just survived federal crime attempts and needed to decompress with carbs.

Jordan slumped across from me in our corner booth, looking like someone had run him through a blender set to "existential crisis." His usually perfect hair stuck up at weird angles, his uniform wrinkled beyond recognition. The guy had been stress-eating breadsticks for ten minutes straight.

"I’m done with women," he announced, waving a piece of pepperoni pizza for emphasis. "Completely. Finished. Over it."

I raised an eyebrow while taking a bite of my own slice. The cheese stretched in that satisfying way that meant Tony actually gave a damn about quality. "This because Belle almost got us expelled last night?"

"Belle, Naomi, that insane Aurora chick you’re apparently dating now, Blair and her psychotic power games." Jordan counted on his fingers. "Hell, even Misato terrifies me and she’s supposed to be on our side. How do you deal with all of them without losing your mind?"

The question caught me off guard. How did I deal with them? By treating each relationship like a puzzle to solve, I guess. Belle was chaos that needed direction. Naomi was vulnerability that needed protection. Aurora was fire that needed careful handling. Misato was professionalism that demanded respect. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

But explaining that would make me sound like either a sociopath or someone reading from a pickup artist manual. Neither appealed.

"You get used to the drama."

"That’s not an answer." Jordan stabbed his pizza with unnecessary violence. "I want something simple. Normal girl, normal relationship, normal life. Get married at twenty-two, kids by twenty-four, retire from hunting by twenty-five with enough saved to buy a house somewhere quiet. Maybe start a small business. Teach at a local academy if I get bored."

He painted the picture with the kind of wistful longing usually reserved for describing mythical creatures. A peaceful existence where the biggest worry involved mortgage payments instead of whether a giant centipede would dissolve your face with acid mucus.

"Sounds boring as hell."

"Boring sounds amazing right now." Jordan’s laugh held zero humor. "Yesterday I was calculating whether twenty thousand credits justified federal prison time. That’s not normal teenage behavior."

Fair point. Most eighteen-year-olds worried about tests and dating. We worried about survival and whether our next gate run would involve creatures that could kill us in increasingly creative ways. The Divine Milking System had given me power, but it came with complications that made Jordan’s simple dreams seem impossibly attractive.

Or they would have, if I was the kind of person who actually wanted simple.

"What about you?" Jordan leaned forward, genuinely curious. "What’s the endgame here? You’ve gone from lottery loser to academy rising star in three weeks. You’re dating multiple girls who could probably bench press cars. Vale wants to train you personally. Where does Jace Monroe want to be in five years?"

The question hit deeper than expected. Where did I want to be? The System kept me focused on day-to-day survival. Points, abilities, essence extraction, staying alive long enough to see tomorrow. But what was the actual goal? What was I building toward?

In my previous life, I’d been drifting. Working dead-end jobs, playing games, existing without purpose. The divine benefactor had given me a second chance in a world where strength mattered more than credentials or connections. Where someone could climb from nothing to everything through sheer force of will and the right opportunities.

I took another bite of pizza, considering. The melted cheese and tangy sauce grounded me in the moment while my mind raced through possibilities. Power was intoxicating, but power for its own sake was pointless. The System made me stronger, but strength without direction just made me a more dangerous version of nothing.

"The world, Jordan." I met his eyes across the sticky table. "Everything it has to offer."

Jordan stared at me for several seconds, his pizza halfway to his mouth. Then he started laughing, pointing his slice in my direction like a weapon.

"Really? The whole world?"

"Yeah, I mean—"

My phone buzzed against the table. Misato’s name flashed on the screen with a message that made my stomach drop.

Can you meet me at your room? Please. I need you right now.

The casual tone of our conversation evaporated instantly. Misato didn’t ask for help. Ever. She gave orders, provided guidance, solved problems for other people. The fact that she needed anything from me meant something had gone seriously wrong.

Jordan noticed my expression change. "Everything okay?"

I showed him the message. His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline.

"Misato needs help? That’s like... gravity asking for assistance with falling."

"I need to go." I stood, grabbing my jacket from the booth. "Something’s wrong."

"Want backup?"

The offer surprised me. Jordan wasn’t exactly combat-ready on his best day, and today definitely wasn’t his best day. But the gesture mattered. Squad loyalty transcended individual capability.

"Nah. Probably just needs to vent about our collective stupidity from last night."

"Fair enough." Jordan raised his pizza in a mock toast. "Go save our terrifying squad captain from whatever’s eating at her."

I left him with the rest of the pizza and jogged across campus toward the residential buildings. The evening air carried hints of ocean salt and the distant sounds of students heading to dinner. Normal academy life continuing around us while we dealt with increasingly abnormal complications.

The elevator ride to my floor felt longer than usual. Misato’s message kept cycling through my head. The phrasing was wrong for her usual communication style. Too personal. Too vulnerable. Misato maintained professional distance even when threatening to murder us for federal crimes.

I found her sitting on the floor outside my door, back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest. She’d changed out of her uniform into civilian clothes. Dark jeans, plain black t-shirt, no makeup. Without the structured authority of her academy appearance, she looked young. Fragile in ways that made my chest tight.

"Hey." I kept my voice soft. "What’s going on?"