Chapter Two #3
“The interesting thing,” my eyes roll at Hardan’s voice again, though I no longer want to vomit at the sound, too interested in his words, “is this unit won’t be assigned to a specific province afterward. They’ll be mobile, responding wherever they’re needed. Directly under Syndicate control.”
“That’s…unusual,” my father responds.
“It’s brilliant,” his boss counters. “No provincial loyalties, no local entanglements, or restrictions. Pure enforcement of Syndicate law, wherever required.” His boisterous laughter makes me cringe.
“Recruits are to meet at their respective Halls before dawn tomorrow, so hopefully they’ll figure this shit out soon and we can go back to normal. ”
I bite my tongue a little too hard when my mother speaks. “Wonderful news, Hardan, though I am curious why you are providing Pierce with the details?” I’m expecting him to lash out at her like he does his wife, but to my surprise he chuckles and answers her question.
“Well for Pierce’s son, of course.” I scoff, the sound melting into the damp surroundings. Of course he would refer to Lachlan as my father’s son, as if my mother didn’t make and birth him. “I figured the boy would appreciate something better for his career than being a mere messenger.”
Mom doesn’t respond, and my father quickly shifts the conversation to other topics—trade quotas, new library restrictions, the Founding Festival. It’s disgusting there’s a day to celebrate the Syndicate’s founding, but that train of thought disappears as I’m no longer listening to them.
My mind races, caught on this single piece of information.
A mobile Enforcer group. Unattached to any province or station. Free to travel across Dascenia.
Something stirs in my gut—a wild, impossible thought I immediately try to dismiss.
But it lingers.
What exists beyond the perimeter? I’ve been told it’s wasteland—barren expanses of land and water, devoid of resources and civilization.
Each province specializes in producing different necessities, trading with each other through official channels.
Pyrem provides administrative services and manufacturing, Ailridge specializes in mining and stonework, Ofin grows most of our food, and so on.
A perfect system of interdependence, carefully controlled by the Syndicate.
But if there are people living beyond the perimeter, thriving enough to form communities…
Sometimes, I watch Enforcers through our windows, during the night when all lights are off and ensure my parents are sleeping.
They all wear the same uniform, the same one Lachlan is made to wear when traveling between provinces.
Black tactical clothing with reinforced panels, heavy boots, and those masks—full-face coverings with only a narrow slit for the eyes.
I’ve never seen an Enforcer’s face; their identities remain hidden even from each other when on duty.
Not that I’d have much of a chance to, with the smallest opening in my curtain the only view I have of the outside.
But curiosity has always been my weakness, especially where Lachlan is involved. Seeing him in uniform for the first time sent me spiraling down a path of learning the Enforcer code, along with random texts dripping in military idealization.
Because of this, I know their masks are not just for intimidation.
They’re for anonymity.
A thought forms, so outrageous I almost laugh aloud.
What if a woman joined them?
Ridiculous. They’d know immediately…the physical differences alone would give them away within minutes.
But would they?
I think of my brother and me, mirror images with subtle distinctions. We have the same dark hair, the same angular features and observant eyes. His jaw is sharper, his shoulders broader—but not dramatically so. We’re both thin, on the smaller side for our age.
If I pulled my hair back in a tight bun like he wears his, if I bound my chest and pitched my voice lower…
Could I pass as Lachlan?
And I have powers. The Empath ability I’ve kept hidden; the same one I likely have because I shared a womb with my twin. I can sense emotions and influence them with concentration. Only men are supposed to have powers…my ability would be undeniable proof of my sex.
I breathe out a long bout of air, stirring little particles of dust in the muted light.
What am I thinking? This is pure insanity. I’ve spent twenty-six years hiding in this house, never once setting foot even in our garden. I know nothing of the outside world beyond what I’ve read in books and glimpsed through windows.
And yet…
What am I doing here? Hiding in a hole, testing failed ointments, reading about worlds and culture long lost. Protecting myself while women are captured and imprisoned, their bodies used as breeding stock, their children taken from them, their lives controlled in every aspect.
I have a unique opportunity. I am invisible to the Syndicate. Undocumented. Identical to my brother, possessed of powers that shouldn’t be mine. If I could slip into this Enforcer group, what might I discover? What information could I gather?
What small sabotages might I undertake?
Could I make a difference, even a small one?
The Provincial Hall in Pyrem is not too far from my house, and the Enforcer Training Center is located in this province near the perimeter, if I remember correctly.
Hardan said anyone interested in joining this new unit is to report to the Hall before dawn, and I assume they will transport them to the Center.
It would be a relatively quick journey for me, though I imagine the recruits from other provinces left days ago.
But they’d surely check backgrounds? Perhaps identification, proof of citizenship, or documentation of previous employment.
I pause. What would they care for physical identification if masks are not permitted to be removed?
My brother’s uniform is exactly as I’ve seen on other Enforcers, so if I appeared already wearing it, looking the part, and display a little of my power, they would have to let me through.
I shake my head as if I could physically dislodge these dangerous thoughts. It’s madness. Inevitable suicide. I’d be caught within days, if not hours. And then what would happen to my family? They’d be executed for harboring me and deceiving the Syndicate.
But if I succeeded—if I could blend in, collect information, perhaps even help just one person…
The voices above grow louder, more animated. Dinner must be finished and they’ve shifted to the more social portion of the evening. Hardan’s laugh blares through the floorboards, making me flinch.
I return to my book out of habit, but it all swims before my eyes, a puzzle of my own making. My mind is caught in a loop, sifting through possibilities and probabilities, weighing risks against potential rewards.
Twenty-six years of safety versus one chance to finally do something of importance.
Twenty-six years of watching from windows versus stepping into the world for the first time.
Twenty-six years of being no one versus becoming someone who matters.
The next hour passes in this tormented contemplation. Eventually, the front door clicks and I stretch my neck as heavy footsteps retreat down the porch. The hatch opens a few minutes later, flooding the space with warm light. My father’s face appears, concern etched around his eyes.
“All clear, dove,” he says, extending a hand. “You okay? You look a little pale.”
“Just cold.” I spin to gather my blanket and book to hide the lie written across my face. I’ve never been very good at hiding my physical emotions. “And a little stiff.”
He pulls me up easily, his grip firm and reassuring. When I’m standing beside him, he tugs me into a quick hug and my tense muscles relax.
“I’m sorry about tonight—all of this.”
“It’s not your fault.” The words come automatically, my usual response to his traditional apology after these visits.
He rewards me with a warm smile, one I try to reciprocate, but inside, something has shifted. A decision forming—not yet fully acknowledged but taking shape nonetheless.
After cleaning with my mother and bidding my parents goodnight, I find myself in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the small mirror above the sink.
I study my face with new intensity, cataloging the features I share with my twin and those that differ.
My jaw is softer, lips a smidge fuller. But our eyes are identical—the same deep violet.
My hair falls past my waist , neverending it seems, though Lachlan’s is cut a bit shorter and usually tied back.
Could I truly pass as my brother? As a man?
The differences seem suddenly surmountable.
A slimmer face could be explained away as recent illness.
A softer voice as a throat condition. The only real challenge would be my eyes—not their appearance, but what they might reveal.
They would need to project confidence. Authority and familiarity when I’ve never known either.
But Lachlan wouldn’t know their world either…not really.
Shit, I’m actually considering this. Stepping outside after decades of hiding to infiltrate the very organization that would have me raped and milked if they discovered my true identity.
It’s madness. Complete, blatant madness.
My shoulders jolt at a sudden knock on the door. “Cass?” Lachlan’s voice, heavy with sleep. “You’ve been in there a while. Everything okay?”
I clear my throat, staring at my eyes as I answer. “Fine, just thinking.”
“Well, think in bed. Some of us need to use the bathroom before morning.” He doesn’t sound annoyed, and I smile despite myself.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll be out.”
“One single minute,” he warns, but the warmth in his tone belies any real irritation.
I splash water on my face as the pressure in my head continues to rise. I wouldn’t last a day as a man.
But as I open the door and pass my yawning brother, I can’t shake the feeling that something fundamental has changed tonight. A possibility has presented itself, and now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it.
My eyes are immediately drawn to Lachlan’s uniform hanging in the open closet of our bedroom. The darkness behind the slit in the mask calls to a part of me I’ve wanted to let loose for so long.
My decision is made before I fully realize it.
I’m going to do this. I’m going to become an Enforcer.
And then I’m going to destroy them from within.