Sorority - Wars

The first rule of Psi Delta’s annual “War Games” was simple: Never trust a Theta . The second rule, printed in embossed gold on the back of each pledge’s recruitment pamphlet, was: Especially if she smiles first.

And for the first time that morning, Chloe laughed. She’d come to Blackwood for a degree. But she’d found something better: a war she never knew she wanted to win, and an enemy who made it worth fighting.

Lena shrugged. “Because you looked nervous at the pancake breakfast last week. You’re not a soldier. You’re a student who just wanted friends. I respect that.” She paused. “Also, I hate a boring victory.”

Chloe Vance learned both rules in the same breath, ten minutes before the game began. She stood on the dewy lawn of Blackwood University’s Greek Row, shivering in a bright yellow jersey marked ROOKIE , while her new sorority sisters of Psi Delta stretched in perfect, terrifying synchronicity. Sorority Wars

Silence. Then chaos. Psi Deltas tackled Chloe in a muddy, slimy hug. Thetas threw their supersoakers to the ground in disbelief.

Chloe’s stomach dropped. She could already hear, in the distance, a triumphant whoop from the Psi Deltas—racing toward the boathouse. A trap.

Chloe nodded, her mouth dry. She’d rushed Psi Delta for the alumni connections, not for guerrilla capture-the-flag across seven acres of manicured lawns, frat basements, and one very suspicious hedge maze. But the “Sorority Wars” was tradition—a brutal, semi-legal obstacle course where the only real prize was bragging rights. And the flag: a silk banner of deep purple, embroidered with the Theta Tau owl. The first rule of Psi Delta’s annual “War

Then she turned and vanished into the fog.

Chloe looked out the tiny attic window. The ground was a three-story drop. Below, the war raged on—sisters screaming, slime flying, dignity evaporating.

The bushes broke her fall. Branches scraped her arms. But she rolled out onto the main lawn, flag streaming behind her, just as the campus clock struck nine—the official end of the game. She’d come to Blackwood for a degree

Lena stepped closer. “No, you don’t. Because Sarah is my little cousin. And she’s been feeding your team fake intel for the last hour. The flag never left our attic.”

Chloe had thirty seconds to decide: warn her sisters and admit she’d been fooled, or trust the enemy president? She ran toward the boathouse.

At Margot’s signal, the two dozen Psi Deltas scattered into the pre-dawn fog. Chloe was assigned to “Observation,” which turned out to be crouching behind a recycling bin near the Theta house, radio pressed to her ear.