Claimed by the Wrong Alphas Chapter 4: The forged and the forgotten

Charis

A tall and regal woman with grey-streaked black hair pulled into a severe bun swept in.

Her eyes surveyed the hall as she continued to the podium. Beside her was a small, ferrety man in wire-rimd glasses, clutching a clipboard to his chest like a shield. He had a golden tag on his cardigan that read "Admission Specialist."

The hall fell into absolute silence.

When the woman and the admission specialist had settled in front of the hall, the woman ca closer and swept her gaze one last ti across the room.

"All newly admitted students, stand!" she barked.

Chairs scraped as everyone hurriedly rose to their feet. I stood slowly, the black jacket still lying beside . Rhett gave a wink before letting go and rising with a lazy stretch.

Wait! He was also a newly admitted student like ?

Kael remained standing, too, but I was sure he wasn’t a new student.

"Welco to Ravenshore," the woman started coldly. "You’re here because your parents believe you have what it takes to beco an Alpha and rise to the league of those who serve in the prestigious palace of the Alpha King. We are here to prove them wrong."

She paused, as if she wanted the words to sink into our skulls.

"For all the newly admitted students, your evaluation begins now. Those who prove worthy will join the ranks of Ravenshore’s elite after successfully passing the probation stage. Those who fail the first test today..." Her lips thinned. "Well, the train runs twice daily. Good luck!"

She stepped back, and the admission specialist ca forward.

But before he started speaking, the door of the hall opened again, and four burly n in black tactical gear strode into the hall. Their presence seed to heat the room.

"Sentinel guards," the girl in front of breathed. "They only bring the Sentinels when soone’s about to be expelled... or when they’ve caught an identity thief."

My mouth went dry. Around , students exchanged nervous glances. I began to sweat profusely.

The admission specialist ca forward and scanned the room with the sa energy used to examine a lineup of suspects.

"Before we begin the formal orientation," he announced, "we must complete one final step in the admission process. Verification."

My stomach flipped.

"Recently," the man continued, we’ve discovered an alarming trend of falsified admission letters. Beta sons pretending to be Alpha-born. A few Ogas, too – sneaking in through dead connections and forged seals."

Murmurs rippled through the hall as several students shifted uncomfortably, but I remained perfectly still, afraid the slightest movent from might give away.

Rhett leaned towards , "Bet, they’re shaking in their boots."

I didn’t respond. My heart was pounding so wildly that I was afraid it might jump out of my throat. The words forgery and falsehood rang in my ears like a curse.

The Admission Specialist adjusted his glasses and opened the clipboard. "After carefully reviewing the submission list, I will now announce the nas that have passed our initial vetting process. I will call out nas and the corresponding pack. These students will proceed to the next phase of admission."

My palms had grown slick with sweat. Of course, I was one of the students who forged her docunts, down to my birth certificate; there was no doubt my na was there. What would happen to now?

"Rhett Thatcher, Ravenspire Pack."

Beside , Rhett smirked and raised his hand, murmuring. "As if there was any doubt."

Nikolai Davis, ShadowMoon Pack."

Another boy in front of raised his hand. One by one, the Admission Specialist called out the nas until he ca to the end.

"These students," the specialist announced, "have all passed the first stage of vetting. Now, I will call out the nas of those who attempted to apply with forged docunts."

My nails dug into my palms.

This was it. I was done. Caught and dragged back to my father in chains, forced to marry Darian Blackmoor. It was over.

"Brayden Mirth, falsely claiming Alpha status."

A burly boy near the front row paled, taking an involuntary step back.

"Devon Martinez, no pack affiliation–fraudulent bloodline."

One by one, the specialist called out the nas of the students who had forged their docunts. Each ti he called their nas, a sentinel would move among the crowd and fish out the students.

The list continued, but my na wasn’t on it. I didn’t know whether to scream or cry. I was floating. My breath hitched in my chest, refusing to move freely. Why hadn’t he called my na yet? Why wasn’t my na on that list?

When the specialist finally looked up, my heart slamd against my chest. He peered over his glasses once more.

"If you did not hear your na called on either list," he said, "raise your hand now. If you don’t, rest assured – we will still fish you out."

I just stood there, contemplating. Should I raise my hand? Draw attention to myself? Or remain silent and hope for a miracle?

Before I could decide, the doors at the back of the hall opened again.

A middle-aged man dressed in the colours of the Academy rushed in, his face flushed from running. He hurried onto the stage toward the Admission specialist and leaned in, whispering sothing into the Admission specialist’s ear before thrusting a crumpled paper into his hand.

The specialist’s eyes widened slightly before he turned to whisper to the headmistress. She frowned, then gave a nod of approval.

Unfolding the paper carefully, the specialist cleared his throat once more. "It seems we have one final na," he announced. "Who is Eamon Riggs? Co to the stage now."

For a mont, I just stared, without hearing anything.

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. My entire body had gone numb with shock.

"Hey," Rhett touched my elbow, his hazel eyes showing genuine concern. "Isn’t that the na on your tag? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

But that wasn’t what had frozen in place. It was the figure now walking onto the stage from the side door of the hall’s podium towards the admission specialist – a face I never thought I’d see again.

Slater. Slater Riggs.

The sa strong jaw. The sa broad shoulders. The sa confident stride that had once made my heart race for entirely different reasons. He looked older, harder sohow, but unmistakably him.

The father of my dead child. My ex-mate. The man I’d been told was dead.

And now, sohow, he was here – at the Academy I’d fled to for sanctuary, bearing the surna and pack affiliation of the boy I was impersonating.

"Eamon Riggs?" the admission specialist thundered again. "Co forward now!"

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

"I am Riggs from Duskveil Pack – Slater Riggs," he announced when he reached the admission specialist, and I think soone is trying to impersonate ."

As Slater spoke, his green eyes scanned the crowd slowly, as though they were searching for sothing or soone.

For a terrible, heart-stopping mont, his gaze seed to land directly on . A flicker of...sothing...crossed his features. Recognition? Confusion? Anger?

Then his eyes moved on, continuing their sweep of the hall.

"Don’t make ask again," the specialist warned, his knuckles whitening around his clipboard. "Eamon Riggs, step forward imdiately or face expulsion before you’ve even begun!"

Rhett nudged gently. "Hey, new kid. That’s you. Better go up there."

"Interesting," followed a cold voice beside . I turned to find pale blue eyes studying with raised brows. It was Kael. "Two students. Sa surna. Sa Pack. What are the odds?"

Before I could respond, he raised his hand. "Excuse ," he called out, "But there seems to be so confusion. We have another Riggs down here."

Every head in the hall turned toward , including Slater’s.

I swallowed hard, my legs felt like lead as I forced myself to move, just before one of the Sentinels started coming towards .

Each step toward the stage felt like walking through quicksand – toward the man I’d once loved, the man who should have been dead, the man who now stood between and my freedom.

As I approached, Slater was staring at with the usual blankness in his eyes. Did he recognise beneath my disguise? Or was he simply curious about the boy who shared his surna? And who he thinks might be impersonating him?

When I reached the admissions specialist, he looked between us; a frown on his face. "Well? Which of you is the real Riggs?"

The past I’d fled had found , and it was waiting for my answer.