Chapter Fourteen
CASSIA
Afrown seizes my face as the purple-black bruises marring my ribs throb with each step I take toward the training room.
These past few days have been grueling, and while I’m getting better, I’m not improving fast enough for the Commander’s standards, regardless that I wake early each morning, sacrificing precious sleep to go over combat maneuvers.
The corridors are nearly empty this early, populated only by a few lone Enforcers on patrol who never acknowledge me.
The low hum of electricity grates my ears, not only because of how annoying I find it, but it’s become a sound I associate with being watched.
The entire facility is under constant surveillance.
And the facility isn’t the only thing monitoring me.
They are watching too. Elias, Kellen, Arayik.
They aren’t watching me because I’m special…
they’re watching because something about me isn’t right.
Some instinct tells them I don’t belong, even if they can’t identify why.
It’s why the Commander asked me that stupid question, to confirm I’m a fraud.
It’s why I’ve felt his eyes lingering on me during training, seen Kellen studying my movements when he thinks I’m focused elsewhere, noticed how Elias seems to appear wherever I go.
My fists clench as I exhale slowly, forcing the tension from my shoulders. Paranoia will only make me more conspicuous—I must keep behaving as normal.
Well, normal for me. Which means being an idiot who’s bad at just about everything.
The moment I step inside the training room, the smell of sweat, leather, and metal overwhelms me.
The vast space grumbles with grunts, slapping of flesh against mats, and clattering of practice weapons.
At the far end, several recruits are already in motion—practicing hand-to-hand techniques, running through drills, or speaking in hushed voices as they prepare for another day of punishment.
Arayik hovers near the center of the room, arms crossed, feet planted wide in a stance that declares ownership of the space. He watches as Calder is slammed onto the mat by Finnick with enough force that I swear I feel the impact from across the room. Ouch.
“Again,” the Commander orders, his voice impatient.
Calder groans, rolling onto his hands and knees before pushing himself up. Compliance is always mandatory.
I take my place with the other recruits, hands resting at my sides, trying not to appear as tense as I feel. During these non-mandatory morning trainings, I usually spend the time working alone in my room, but today I felt compelled to join the group.
The moment I’m within view, Arayik’s dark gaze snaps toward me, and I cringe. Stars, why does he have to be so scary looking? Perhaps I should ignore my impulses from now on.
His second and third stand near the training equipment, watching as Arayik addresses us. The three of them form a triangle of authority—Arayik the blunt force, Kellen the calculating mind, Elias the perceptive observer. Between them, nothing escapes notice.
It’s nauseating.
“You’re all fucking hopeless.” Great way to begin the day. “You hesitate. You think too much. You rely on orders instead of instinct.” His mask turns slowly, surveying each of us. “That gets you killed.”
I almost choke when his dark eyes land on me a second time. The air thickens and I know I’m about to become an example.
“Get up here, Ashford.”
My heart skips and cries for help I cannot offer.
I join the Commander, careful to keep my movements measured and confident despite the tremor threatening to work its way through my legs. I stop a few feet from him, keeping enough distance that he wouldn’t be able to reach out and hit me like I’m sure he aches to.
He collects a wooden staff leaning against the wall and tosses it at my feet. It clatters against the floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet of the room. Everyone’s watching—even the Enforcers not on our team.
“Pick it up,” he commands.
I hesitate only for a fraction of a second before scrambling to grab the staff. I may spend unnecessary time readjusting my grip as I recall everything from our previous session with these. Traitorous words of begging almost slip through my mouth—I do not want to do this. I’m so tired.
Unfortunately, there’s really nothing helpful in those memories. Just embarrassment.
He says nothing, leaving me barely a moment before he lunges.
The attack comes without warning—a powerful, diagonal strike aimed at my shoulder. I lift the staff just in time to block, the impact jolting through my arms and into my chest. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep this up with how bad everything hurts.
But that means nothing to the Great Arayik. No, my unstoppable groans only spur him on, as if it personally offends him that not everyone is as mighty as he is.
He doesn’t hesitate or pull back as he charges with another attack, a low sweep meant to surprise me. I barely manage to step back, adjusting my grip on the staff before swinging toward his exposed side.
An effortless dodge, almost lazy. As if my best performance is barely worth acknowledging.
I try again, aiming for his knee this time, putting more force behind the swing. The second attempt isn’t much better than the first. He shifts his weight, and my staff connects with nothing but air.
Then he moves—a blur of violence promising endless pain.
Something strikes my legs and I slam into the ground, the impact forcing me to cough-wheeze, if that’s even possible. Pain explodes through my back, the training mat doing little to cushion the fall. Is that blood I taste?
It doesn’t matter, Arayik continues.
He looms above me, pressing the tip of his weapon against my sternum with just enough pressure to communicate the message: if this were real, I’d be dead. “Again.”
I grit my teeth, rolling onto my side and shoving myself to stand despite the protest of every muscle.
I will not let him break me. I’ve spent decades restricted to a single house, surviving the suffocating weight of confinement and fear.
This man—this Enforcer of the system that imprisoned me—will not be the one to make me yield.
Fuck him for hating me this much when I’ve done nothing but try.
I raise the staff and charge.
This time, I’m faster. This time, I anticipate his block and shift at the last second, changing the angle of my attack from his torso to his legs. My staff cracks against his shin with a satisfying thud.
It’s not enough to take him down—I fear I’ll never be strong enough for such a feat—but it’s enough to cause him pause. A small victory…the first real one I’ve had against him.
His expression remains emotionless, but something in his stance changes. His weight shifts minutely as his grip on the staff adjusts. He’s watching me now, not just waiting to take me down. I’ve become something worth paying attention to.
That’s both encouraging and terrifying.
He ambushes from an unexpected angle; not direct, but a feint that draws my defense to the left before the real strike comes from the right. I’m too slow to adjust, and the staff blows into my side. My body is airborne for a sickening moment before plunging against the mat once more.
When I land, I know I’m not getting up so fast. The pain is immediate and consuming, radiating from my ribs outward in waves that make my vision swim.
Something might be cracked. I don’t believe it’s broken as I can still breathe without the sharp agony that would indicate a fracture, but it’s certainly damaged enough to slow me.
The Commander exhales sharply through his nose, the sound distorted by his mask. “Pathetic.” His favorite word.
I force myself onto my elbows, chest heaving as I try to regain control of my breathing, but I don’t respond. What could I possibly say? He’s right yet again.
A shadow falls over me, the scrape of calloused skin grating my mask. My blood freezes. He’s going to rip it off right here, giving everyone a front row seat to my impending execution.
Fingers twitch against the seam, testing almost. Is he waiting for me to react and this is just a test?
It doesn’t matter…My breath spikes, the world shrinking to that single pressure on the strap. If he pulls, it’s over—
Elias interjects from where he’s been watching, head tilted. “You’ve improved,” he notes, his tone neutral but not unkind.
The Commander’s hand stills, hovering at the chin of my mask before falling away. He snorts, a dismissive response. “Not enough.”
Kellen finally speaks, his posture more relaxed than the other two but his attention no less focused. “Then make him better.”
Have the stars fallen, or am I hallucinating?
Two of my leaders are standing up for me against theirs. I…don’t know what to think about that.
The words hang in the air between them—a challenge from subordinate to superior, but delivered in a way that doesn’t directly contest Arayik’s authority.
The subtle politics between the three fascinates me—how they navigate each other’s territories without open conflict.
It’s clear they’re friends outside official capacity, but they never question one another out in the open like this.
Arayik’s neck flexes as he faces me; my eyes flicking up to maintain contact with his. The darkness behind his irises slithers inside my nerves.
“Your week is almost up, Ashford.” Each word is a brick in my resolve. “And impress me, you have not.” He allows that to sink in before addressing the entire group once more. “Dismissed.”
The other recruits disperse quickly, eager to escape his scrutiny and prepare for their day of training. I remain on the mat for a moment longer, gathering my strength before stomping away with an obvious hunch. I need a shower and a massage to even touch an atom of this pain.