The stairs to the strategy room are narrow and steep, spiraling up inside the oldest part of Silverpaw’s main hall. After the spar with Archer, my thighs ache with every step. We pass through a low arch, then into a chamber I have become very familiar with in my short time at the academy: Mr. Thorne's Alpha Instincts classroom.
We walk to the center of the room, to the table with the map of the Marches and all its borderlands carved into it. At each quadrant, a little carved wolf head marks a “seat” for a competitor. The rest of the room is bare, except for a stone hearth and the long shadow of Headmaster Archer standing to the right of the table, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the terrain. Even the seats have been removed, save four stools for the four of us.
“Take your pl
