His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 170

**TITLE: Betrayal Births**

**by Joseph King**

**Chapter 170**

**Claire’s POV**

The announcement sliced through the air like a knife, piercing the soft hum of the classroom filled with students who were only half-listening, their pens scratching against paper in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic.

“All students are to report to the main auditorium immediately.”

The teacher remained glued to her desk, her eyes fixed on her notes, as if they held the answers to questions we weren’t allowed to ask. There was no attempt to soften the blow with a smile or a reassuring word. Instead, her expression tightened, a clear indication of her discomfort with whatever was unfolding. It was the kind of look that adults wore when faced with matters they were either unprepared for or simply forbidden to discuss.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted, a wave of unease rippling through us. Chairs scraped against the floor, conversations dwindled into hushed whispers, and confusion settled over us like a heavy fog. Panic didn’t grip us; instead, it was a quiet, shared apprehension that hung in the air.

My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, its instincts kicking in even before my mind had fully processed the situation. In a place like this, any unscheduled disruption was never a coincidence. It was a deliberate action, a signal that something was amiss.

As we navigated our way into the corridor, Elijah fell into step beside me. His presence was a steady anchor, reassuring yet unobtrusive.

“This wasn’t on the schedule,” I whispered, my voice barely rising above the murmur of students around us.

“No,” he replied, his gaze already scanning the hallway ahead with a sharpness that suggested he was on high alert. “This has happened too many times before. I think someone is testing how we react when the structure we rely on suddenly vanishes.”

His words resonated with me. Nothing here ever happened by chance.

By the time we reached the auditorium, the doors stood wide open, revealing a scene that felt both familiar and foreboding. Teachers lined the walls, strategically spaced apart, their eyes not guiding us but rather observing, like hawks watching over their prey. The mere sight of them was enough to set my instincts on edge.

Inside, students filled the rows in a haphazard manner, some whispering anxiously, others sitting in tense silence, as if bracing for something they couldn’t quite name. I instinctively scanned the room, taking note of familiar faces and the subtle cues of body language. Mara sat several rows down, her posture impeccably composed, chin raised as if she had been expecting this very moment. Felix lingered farther back, his demeanor calm, already observing rather than engaging. Jessica caught my eye and waved me over, her curiosity evident in the way her expression sharpened.

Elijah paused at the aisle, a silent sentinel.

“I’ll stay here,” he said quietly, positioning himself where he could observe the room without drawing attention to himself.

I nodded in acknowledgment and slid into the seat beside Jessica.

“You feel it too, right?” she whispered urgently, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “This isn’t normal.”

“No,” I agreed, my heart racing. “And it’s definitely not about discipline.”

Before she could probe further, the principal made her entrance onto the stage, her presence commanding yet devoid of warmth.

“Good morning,” she announced, her hands folded neatly in front of her, an air of authority emanating from her. “This assembly was not scheduled for your convenience.”

With that simple statement, the last remnants of casual chatter evaporated, replaced by a palpable tension that filled the air.

“This institution values excellence, structure, and leadership,” she continued, her gaze sweeping the room with deliberate slowness. “However, recent observations suggest a recurring issue. Many of you perform well individually, yet struggle when placed under collective pressure.”

Her words hung in the air, stretching out the silence just long enough to make everyone squirm uncomfortably.

“That changes today.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the auditorium. My wolf leaned forward, alert and curious, sensing the tension that crackled in the air.

“You will participate in a selective evaluation,” the principal stated, her voice unwavering. “It begins now.”

Jessica inhaled sharply beside me, the gravity of the situation settling in.

“This is not a punishment,” the principal added, as if anticipating the wave of anxiety that would wash over us. “Nor is it a reward. It is an observation. Those who adapt will advance. Those who do not… will be noted.”

Teachers sprang into action, distributing folders row by row. When one landed in my hands, I opened it without hesitation, my heart pounding with anticipation.

Inside was a scenario brief.

**Simulated Crisis Response Group Evaluation**

No instructions. No assigned roles. Just a single line at the bottom:

**Leadership will not be assigned.**

Jessica leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s intentional,” I replied, a sense of clarity washing over me. “They want friction.”

Names began to flash on the screen behind the principal, rearranging familiar dynamics in mere seconds. When my group appeared, I felt a tightening in my chest.

Mara.

Felix.

Two others I barely knew.

Mara sprang to her feet before anyone else could react, claiming the space with an air of authority.

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