She arrived just as Margot kicked open the door. Inside, there was no purple flag. Only a dozen Theta Tau seniors, armed with supersoakers filled with neon green slime. The Psi Deltas walked right into an ambush.
Then she turned and vanished into the fog.
“Flag captured by Psi Delta rookie,” one announced. “Game over.” Sorority Wars
“Why are you telling me this?” Chloe asked.
She grabbed it. A motion sensor beeped. The attic door locked behind her. She arrived just as Margot kicked open the door
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.
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 Psi Deltas walked right into an ambush
Margot, covered in green slime, stared. Lena, emerging from the boathouse with a towel, stopped mid-wipe. The referees—three exhausted RAs—raised their binoculars.
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.
“Not bad, yellowbird,” she said. “Next year, I’m recruiting you.”
“They’re moving the flag to the boathouse,” hissed a voice. It was Sarah, a sophomore who’d gone undercover as a “study buddy.” “Repeat: boathouse.”