His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 171

**Chapter 171**

**Claire’s POV**

Felix’s words lingered in my mind far longer than they ought to have. It wasn’t that they caught me off guard; rather, they solidified an unsettling truth that had been creeping into the very fabric of the school.

People were picking sides.

As the last of the students trickled away, the once-bustling hallway began to thin out, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. But this quiet wasn’t neutral; it was charged, thick with unspoken tension.

Conversations resumed in hushed tones, fragments of dialogue floating through the air—low, measured, and cautious. They weren’t discussing the event itself but rather dissecting who had spoken up, who had been corrected, and who had been scrutinized closely enough to matter in this new landscape of alliances.

Jessica walked alongside me, her silence a palpable weight between us. Every few steps, her shoulder brushed against mine, as if seeking solace in that small connection. Finally, breaking the quiet, she spoke, her voice strained and low, barely above a whisper.

“You didn’t just shift the room,” she remarked, her eyes wide with a mix of admiration and apprehension. “That was maddd. You have serious potential.”

I adjusted my grip on my bag, maintaining a steady pace as I considered her words. “It was already divided,” I replied, my tone flat. “They just hadn’t realized it yet.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” she muttered, her brow furrowing.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” I shot back, a hint of impatience creeping into my voice.

We reached the classroom just as the bell rang, its sharp chime slicing through the thick tension that had enveloped us. Inside, the desks were rearranged into clusters, a clear indication that today’s lesson had been meticulously planned long before the assembly disruption.

Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the timing of it all was deliberate, as if someone were orchestrating a symphony of pressure to see which notes would crack first under the strain.

The teacher wasted no time on pleasantries. With a sharp clap, she commanded our attention and began assigning groups with the kind of brisk efficiency that suggested she had a specific outcome in mind.

When my name appeared on the board next to Felix’s, followed by two others, I felt an involuntary tightening in my chest.

Recognition.

Felix met my gaze from across the room, his expression calm yet alert. Without hesitation, he moved toward the designated table, and I followed suit, sliding into my seat and opening my notebook as if this were any ordinary day, any typical class.

But it wasn’t.

One of the other group members—a boy whose face I recognized but whose name escaped me—shifted uncomfortably in his chair before clearing his throat. “So… who’s in charge here?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications.

I didn’t respond immediately. I finished writing the date at the top of my page, closed my notebook, and then finally raised my eyes to meet his. “We’re not doing that,” I stated firmly.

His brows knitted together in confusion. “Not doing what?”

“Assigning a leader,” Felix interjected smoothly, stepping in without undermining my authority. “We’ll divide tasks. Authority will rotate.”

“That sounds pretty inefficient,” the boy countered, glancing between us as if trying to gauge the situation.

“It’s not,” I replied, my voice steady. “It prevents one person from becoming a bottleneck.”

The final member of our group—a girl with keen eyes and a posture that exuded confidence—studied us both for a long moment before nodding once. “Fine. But if something goes wrong, we’re not pretending we didn’t see it coming.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I replied, my tone resolute.

The assignment itself was designed to provoke disagreement. Conflicting priorities, limited resources, and time pressure disguised as collaboration. I could almost feel the invisible hand guiding us toward friction, eager to see whether we would implode or adapt.

When opinions clashed, we didn’t gloss over them. We dissected them. When someone hesitated, we didn’t rush to fill the silence; we allowed it to breathe, to do its work. It wasn’t perfect, but it was functional, and in a room that typically rewarded dominance, functionality stood out like a beacon.

Halfway through the exercise, I sensed a presence at the periphery of my awareness before consciously recognizing it.

Elijah stood nearby, casually assessing his group’s progress, but his attention was unmistakably fixed on our table. His posture was relaxed, casual enough to evade scrutiny, yet his eyes were sharp, tracking every movement and tone with a precision that seemed effortless.

“Everything settled here?” he asked, his voice even and calm.

“For now,” Felix replied, not missing a beat. “Ask again later.”

Elijah’s gaze flickered to me for a brief moment, an unspoken understanding passing between us. “Don’t overextend,” he cautioned quietly.

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