MY TEAM WILL NEVER BETRAY ME AGAIN

Chapter 14: The Silt & Iron Guild

"Yet," Ethan echoed, his expression grim as he fell into step beside James. "Which means we have about twenty-four hours before they try to pull us apart on some other technicality."

"They won't get twenty-four hours," Mia muttered, her boots clicking sharply against the polished marble floor of the administrative wing. She glanced sideways at James, slowing her pace to match his. "You look like someone hit you with a brick. Did Vance say something else?"

"Vance didn't say anything worth listening to," James replied, keeping his voice low as they rounded the corner toward the exit. The sharp, persistent spike of pain behind his left eye made the fluorescent hallway lights feel like needles driving into his skull. He pressed a hand to his temple, trying to mentally wall off the sensory hangover echoing through the Bond Link.

Noah caught the slight sway in James’s step and immediately moved to his other side, offering a steady shoulder without a word. "Lean on me," Noah whispered, his voice pitched just under the acoustic range of the passing guards. "I've got your balance."

"I'm fine," James lied, though he didn't pull away.

"You're bleeding internally from sheer stupidity, that's what you are," Lena said, appearing from the doorway of the lockers with their duffel bags slung over her shoulder. Her face was set in a hard, uncompromising line. "We cleared the lobby. But there are people waiting outside. And they aren't Academy scouts."

James stopped walking, his boots grinding to a halt on the linoleum. "What kind of people?"

"The kind who don't wear pressed uniforms or carry silver-plated datapads," Lena answered, tossing James his pack. "Heavy boots, grease-stained jackets, and badges that don't belong to the municipal security force. They’re asking for you by name."

A cold knot formed in James's stomach. "Did Vance invite them?"

"Doubtful," Ethan muttered, his hand drifting instinctively toward his hip where a utility harness usually sat. "Vance prefers his corruption clean and corporate. These guys look like they crawled out of the industrial trenches."

"Let's go see what they want," James said, straightening his shoulders and forcing the migraine back behind a wall of sheer stubborn willpower.

When the heavy glass doors of the Academy lobby slid open, the contrast hit them instantly. The central courtyard was usually a pristine landscape of manicured hedges and quiet students holding expensive tablets. Today, it felt smaller, crowded by three figures leaning against a battered, matte-black transport vehicle that looked like it had survived a dozen detonations.

The man standing front and center had a face carved from old granite and bad decisions. A thick silver scar ran from his right ear down into the collar of a heavy canvas jacket bearing a stamped metal emblem: a rusted anvil crossed with a hydraulic piston.

"You Carter?" the man asked, his voice gravel-rough and carrying across the courtyard like a dropped wrench.

James stepped forward, placing himself squarely between his team and the stranger. "I am. And you are?"

"Garrick," the man said, spitting a small piece of toothpick onto the immaculate Academy walkway. He didn't offer a hand. Instead, his dark eyes swept over James and his team, lingering for a fraction of a second on Noah’s nervous posture and Mia’s defensive stance. "Head recruiter for the Silt & Iron Guild. Out in the southern Rust Belt. We saw the footage of your little simulation sweep against the elite squad."

Priya, who had just stepped out of the administrative wing behind them, froze on the steps. Her eyes widened as she heard the name. Silt & Iron?

Garrick didn't look back at her. His gaze stayed locked on James. "The Academy calls you a statistical anomaly. Vance thinks you're running bootleg code. But down in Sector Four, we recognize what real field coordination looks like when we see it."

"We aren't looking for a corporate internship," James said evenly, his tone giving nothing away.

A slow, humorless grin split Garrick’s scarred face. "Internship? Kid, who said anything about suits and coffee? The Silt & Iron Guild doesn't do corporate. We do heavy extraction, structural reinforcement in collapsing mines, and keeping local manufacturing hubs from getting swallowed by rogue anomalies. We need operatives who know how to survive when the tech fails and the walls come down."

Ethan’s eyebrows lifted. "You're offering us real contracts?"

"Regional Selection Trials," Garrick corrected, pulling a thick, physical dossier from his jacket and tossing it through the air. James caught it instinctively, the heavy paper cold in his hands. "The regional preliminaries start in three days down in Oakhaven. I’ve got five slots open for a team that doesn't rely on flashy light-shows to get the job done. You want to prove you're more than just a schoolyard experiment? Bring your squad."

Behind them, the glass doors chimed again as Marcus stepped out, his face pale, his uniform dusty from where he'd knelt in the simulation dirt. He heard Garrick's last words and stepped forward, his voice cracking with desperate indignation. "Wait. You're offering them trial slots? My squad has held the top rank in this academy for two consecutive seasons! We have the highest offensive output metrics in the district!"

Garrick finally turned his head, casting a cold, dismissive glance over Marcus like he was inspecting a rusted bolt destined for the scrap heap. "Your squad relies on individual power spikes and expensive gear, kid. When the telemetry dropped in that arena, you fell apart in four minutes."

"That was a fluke—" Marcus started, stepping closer, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

"That was a lesson," Garrick interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with undeniable authority. "And you failed it."

Marcus’s face flushed a furious, mottled red. He pointed a shaking finger at James. "They're cheating! Ask Vance! Ask anyone! They don't even have proper combat abilities, they're just—"

"They're a team," Garrick barked, cutting Marcus off completely. He turned his back on the elite student, dismissing him with the finality of a slammed door. He looked back at James, his expression softening just a fraction into something resembling grim respect. "Well, Carter? Do you and your strays have the stomach for real work, or are you going to stay here and let these silver-spoon bureaucrats waste your potential?"

James looked down at the heavy dossier in his hands, then back at his team. Mia gave him a sharp, knowing nod. Noah swallowed his nerves and squared his shoulders. Lena and Ethan stood firm, their trust absolute.

James looked back up at the guild recruiter. "We'll be in Oakhaven."

Garrick grunted, turning back toward his battered transport. "Good. Bring comfortable boots. You're going to need them."

As the heavy transport roared to life, kicking up a cloud of gray exhaust against the pristine Academy facade, James felt the residual threads of the Bond Link hum with a sudden, warm surge of collective resolve. They weren't Academy rejects anymore. They were heading out into the real world.

And across the courtyard, watching from the shadow of the marble pillars, Marcus stared after them, his expression twisting from humiliation into pure, unadulterated venom.