Ghosts on a Map

"In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable."

— Dwight D. Eisenhower

———

Room 247 felt suffocating with the specter of death hanging over it. The team assignment list sprawled across my desk like a battlefield map—which in many ways it was. Red ink marked the locations where students would die according to the original timeline. Blue lines traced the intricate passageways of the goblin warren, committed to memory from Chapter 847's exhaustive descriptions. Black X's indicated potential intervention points where I might alter fate.

Team 7's section blazed with crimson annotations. Collapsed Mine - Eastern Tunnel. Ward failure at 14:30. Cave-in triggered by sabotaged support beam. Four casualties: Rhys Blackwood, Petra Goldhand, Finn Redbrook, Jorik Ironwill.

My finger followed their doomed path, tracing the route that would lead them straight into the Morgenthorne family's elaborate trap. The elegance of their scheme lay in its simplicity—a structural failure would appear accidental, eliminating Rhys while providing Leo with the personal tragedy needed to fuel his heroic development arc. Clean, efficient, and utterly invisible to anyone who didn't know the story's predetermined script.

Except I do know. And that changes everything.

A soft knock at the door interrupted my calculations. Lyra entered without waiting for permission, her raven hair pulled back in the practical style she'd adopted for her intelligence work. She carried a tea service that provided perfect cover for her actual purpose—delivering the intelligence reports that kept me one step ahead of the academy's shifting political landscape.

"Your evening tea, Young Master," she murmured in the deferential tone expected of a servant. But her crimson eyes held the keen focus of a predator returning from a successful hunt.

I motioned toward the chair beside my desk. "What did you discover?"

Lyra poured tea with movements that appeared routine but actually served to check for listening devices and magical surveillance. Once satisfied we were truly alone, she set down the pot and extracted a small notebook from her apron pocket.

"Vance Thorne's reputation suffered an unexpected blow," she began, her voice carrying the satisfaction of someone who'd witnessed an enemy's downfall. "He's been boasting about his 'easy victory,' but the story circulating through the servant's quarters paints quite a different picture."

I leaned back in my chair, ignoring the complaint from my still-healing ribs. "Continue."

"The kitchen staff are calling it 'the day Vance Thorne needed ten minutes to defeat a scarecrow.' The stable boys have started a betting pool on how long it would take him to beat an actual training dummy. Even some Argent students were overheard questioning why their 'champion' struggled so much against someone who could barely hold a sword."

Perfect. Humiliation cuts deeper than any blade, especially for someone whose entire identity is built on perceived strength.

Lyra turned a page in her notebook. "Rhys Blackwood's situation has worsened considerably. The other scholarship students now avoid him entirely—they see him as contaminated by noble gold. Thomas Hartwell from House Onyx actually crossed to the opposite side of the corridor when he saw Rhys approaching."

The news struck harder than I'd anticipated. Rhys was already isolated, and my intervention had only deepened his social exile. The boy was drowning in a toxic mixture of debt, desperation, and now complete ostracism.

Good. Desperate people make the best allies. The more isolated he becomes, the more valuable my lifeline will appear.

"What about the faculty?"

Lyra's expression darkened. "Professor De Clare has been asking pointed questions about your family background. Specifically, she inquired about any military connections or combat training you might have received. She also formally requested access to the Leone family's private records."

My teacup halted halfway to my lips. Isolde was far more perceptive than I'd given her credit for.

"And Professor Delacroix?"

"Worse. She's officially requested your original entrance examination scores from the archives. Not just the final results—the comprehensive breakdowns, including theoretical knowledge assessments and magical aptitude measurements."

The cup found its way back to the saucer without my conscious direction. Laurana's mathematical mind was working overtime, attempting to reconcile the impossible equations of my existence. If she obtained those records and compared them to my recent performance...

The original Kaelen barely scraped by. My advanced knowledge would stand out like a beacon in darkness.

"How long before she receives them?"

"Three days, according to the archive clerk I spoke with. The request must pass through the Headmaster's office for approval."

Three days. The goblin assessment was in seven. The timeline was compressing faster than I'd anticipated.

I rose from my seat and moved to the window overlooking the academy grounds. Students hurried across the courtyards below, their movements betraying nervous energy and mounting pressure. Team formations were already beginning to crystallize as stronger students gravitated toward each other while weaker ones were left adrift.

"The original plan assumed I'd have more time to work indirectly," I said, watching Rhys's solitary figure crossing the eastern courtyard alone. "The professors' scrutiny changes the equation. My intervention for Rhys needs to be more direct."

Lyra stood from her chair and joined me at the window. "How direct?"

I returned to the desk, studying the warren map with fresh perspective. The Collapsed Mine section sat like a spider at the center of a web, its tunnels connecting to three other areas. If I positioned myself correctly...

"The story wants Rhys to die in the Collapsed Mine section," I explained, tracing the fatal route with my finger. "The Morgenthorne sabotage will trigger a cave-in that blocks the main exit. Team 7 will be trapped with injured members and dwindling air."

Lyra's gaze followed my movements across the map. "You're planning to be there when it happens."

"Not just there. I'm going to save them." The words carried more emotional weight than I'd intended, and I caught myself before the sentiment could fully surface. "It's a tactical necessity. Rhys alive and indebted to me is far more valuable than Rhys dead and martyred for Leo's character development."

Keep telling yourself that. Keep pretending this is just another calculation.

But even as I rationalized it, I could see Rhys's face from the assembly hall - that hollow expression of someone staring at their own death sentence. Seventeen years old, fighting to save a sister he'd never see again.

Stop. He's a character. A plot device. Nothing more.

Lyra was studying me with those unsettling crimson eyes, reading emotions I thought I'd hidden. "You care about him."

"I care about the strategic value he represents."

"Of course, Master."