Prologue
Prologue — THE WAGER LEAGUE
The first whistle of the season cut across the school grounds, sharp as a blade through fog.
Aldenbury College was waking up again—
the banners were hung, the grass trimmed to military precision,
and every House stood ready to carve its name into the new year’s scoreboard.
Iris Hale should’ve been taking photos of the opening ceremony.
Instead, she was staring at a scrap of paper someone had slipped under the Chronicle office door at dawn.
PROOM PARTNER — 45 TOKENS
WINNER OF SATURDAY SCRIMMAGE CLAIMS RIGHTS
No signature.
No explanation.
Just an illegal-looking promise written in neat blue ink.
She folded it, shoved it in her blazer pocket, and marched across the field.
If someone really was trading students using the Merit Token System,
she was going to find out who.
And; lucky her,
the most suspicious person on campus was already waiting at the center circle, juggling a ball like he owned the place.
Elliot Ward.
Captain.
Golden boy.
The kind of player who made teachers beam and rival Houses grit their teeth.
Iris strode straight toward him.
Elliot noticed her halfway and muttered something under his breath.
Probably a prayer.
Probably not a polite one.
“Ward,” she called out, holding up the paper.
He stopped juggling.
The ball rolled to his foot and stayed there, obedient.
“Where did you get that?” His voice was low, controlled. Too controlled.
“Funny,” she said. “I was about to ask you the same.”
Players nearby slowed their warm-ups, a few pretending not to eavesdrop.
The air tightened.
Elliot stepped closer, close enough that Iris could smell the cut grass on his kit.
“This isn’t something you print,” he said.
“And it’s definitely not something you wave around in public.”
“Well,” she answered, lifting her chin,
“it becomes public when someone auctions off a person like she’s an event ticket.”
His jaw flexed.
Just a twitch.
A tiny fracture in the golden-boy mask.
“Who’s being auctioned?” he asked.
Iris looked him dead in the eye.
“…Me.”
Silence.
A long, dangerous kind.
Then Elliot reached out; not touching her, but close, and plucked the paper from her hand.
“You need to let this go, Hale.”
“And you need to explain,” she fired back.
He crumpled the paper into his fist.
“Not here.”
The whistle blew again.
The start of practice, the start of the season,
and, apparently, the start of a war between the captain of Aldenbury College
and the girl determined to expose whatever game he was trying to hide.
Iris narrowed her eyes.
Elliot exhaled.
And somewhere in the shadows of the school,
the Wager League began to stir.
