The woman didn't attack us.
That alone should've warned me.
She listened. Watched. Took in our weapons, the lizard eyes, the way we stood—not like raiders, not like desperate scavengers.
"Students?" she asked finally. "Or freelancers?"
Neither answer felt safe.
"Students," Kazim said smoothly. "Looking to trade."
Her gaze lingered on the blue stones again. Then she nodded once.
"Follow me," she said. "You're lucky. Not everyone gets invited inside."
The gates of Academy 3 opened without ceremony.
No alarms. No speeches. Just heavy metal sliding aside to reveal a place that didn't feel like a school at all.
It felt like an industry.
Inside, the air was hot and sharp with the smell of oil and burning metal. Rows of forges lined one side of the complex, sparks flying as blacksmiths worked without pause. On the other side—open pits, containment circles, strange markings carved deep into stone.
Creatures.
Or what was left of them.
"This academy specializes in equipment," the woman explained casually as she walked. "Weapons that last. Weapons that matter."
I didn't like how normal she sounded.
Kazim leaned closer to me. "Everyone here's either a blacksmith," he whispered, "or—"
"A summoner," I finished, already seeing them.
They stood apart. Thin. Exhausted. Eyes dull. Some wore restraints even while working. Others bore marks on their skin—burns, scars, symbols etched too deep to be accidental.
"They summon," the woman said, as if answering my thoughts. "We hunt. We harvest."
"Harvest?" Aira asked quietly.
"Creatures," she replied. "Sometimes more."
That was the first crack.
We were told to wait while the lizard eyes were processed. "High-quality material," one of the smiths said approvingly. "Good kill."
Good.
The word made my stomach turn.
While they worked, we were allowed to tour the inner grounds. Controlled paths. Watched. But moving.
That's when we saw the trucks.
Large. Reinforced. Parked near the far edge of the academy. Summoners were being loaded into them—hands bound, heads lowered. No resistance.
"Where are they taking them?" Ren asked a guard nearby.
"VIP request," the man replied without hesitation. "Private residence. Big family."
"For work?" I asked.
The guard snorted. "Depends how you define work."
The second crack widened.
I stopped walking.
"What happens to summoners who don't come back?" I asked.
The guard looked at me like I was slow. "They all come back."
"How?" Aira pressed.
"As equipment."
The words hit harder than any creature ever had.
I felt cold.
I forced myself to keep moving. Forced myself to ask the question I'd been avoiding since the gates opened.
"Do you know," I said carefully, "a summoner named Monisha Takahashi?"
The effect was immediate.
The guard stiffened. The woman stopped walking.
Around us, conversations dipped. Eyes turned away.
"That name," the woman said slowly, "isn't used casually here."
My heart started pounding.
"She's known as the Queen," another voice said from behind us. An older smith, hands blackened with soot, expression unreadable. "Powerful. Rare."
"Too rare," he added. "That's why she's not staying."
Aira swallowed. "Where is she?"
The smith hesitated.
Then spoke.
"She's been reserved."
"Reserved?" Kazim echoed.
"For a family," the smith said. "Collectors. They believe summoners make the finest weapons."
My ears rang.
"She's being sold," the woman confirmed quietly. "They're coming for her soon."
I couldn't move.
My sister wasn't missing.
She wasn't lost.
She was inventory.
The academy walls didn't protect people.
They processed them.
And for the first time since we arrived, I understood the real danger.
We weren't infiltrating Academy 3.
We were already inside the machine.
And Monisha was at the center of it.