Chapter Sixteen
CASSIA
The convoy rumbles down a dirt road, each jolt sending vibrations through the metal frame and into my bones.
Dust billows in our wake, a choking cloud that obscures the landscape behind us.
I sit rigid in the back seat, my hands clenched tightly in my lap, my knuckles ache beneath their gloves.
The air inside the vehicle is thick and stifling, heavy with hot metal.
My first mission. The words echo in my mind, a hollow reminder of what I’ve gotten myself into. Mere weeks of training, and now they’re sending us to hunt women in hiding.
Women like me.
The weight of the mission seizes my lungs, making each breath a conscious effort.
I distract myself with the barren landscape outside—scrubland giving way to the outskirts of Pyrem’s residential district.
Not far from where I grew up. Not far from the house where my parents are probably still wondering if I’m alive.
“Keep your eyes sharp,” Kellen instructs from the front compartment, his voice carrying the calm authority I appreciate. Especially when frenzied butterflies invade my stomach. “We don’t leave room for mistakes.”
I swallow hard, grateful the tremor in my jaw is hidden.
Six other recruits sit across from me, their identical masks hiding whatever thoughts might be passing through their minds.
Are they excited? Nervous? Do they feel anything at all about what we’re to do?
I could use my power to figure that out, but I’m too wound up.
I’ll probably lash my terror out on someone and give myself away.
The transport slows as we enter a neighborhood of modest homes. Nothing fancy—just simple structures where ordinary people live ordinary lives. Except there’s nothing ordinary about this place anymore. Not with us here, or what we’ve come to accomplish.
The vehicle lurches to a stop, and my stomach goes with it. The back doors swing open, flooding the dim interior with harsh sunlight. Arayik stands outside, his mask tilted toward us expectantly.
“Move,” he commands.
We file out in practiced order, our boots hitting the packed gravel in near-unison. The sound is obscene with how quiet it is.
My eyes scan our surroundings, absorbing details from the cluster of small houses. They remind me of my own home—the place I left behind. My throat tightens at the thought.
Kellen gestures to a gray-stone house at the end of the street. The structure is unremarkable—worn shutters, a small garden out front with withering vegetables. Nothing about it screams rebellion or harboring fugitives.
It’s just a home. Someone’s sanctuary.
Just like mine was.
“Intelligence confirms one female presence,” Arayik states, monotone as if discussing the weather rather than a human life. “Standard procedure. Secure the men, extract the woman.”
I’m going to vomit. How in the world did I think I could do this?
I blindly stumble alongside the others in formation as we spread around the house.
I’m paired with Calder, positioned at the side entrance.
My pulse hammers in my ears as we take position and my power releases.
I can already sense the emotions emanating from inside the house—fear, sharp and acrid like burning metal; determination, a steady undercurrent like a river flowing beneath ice in the dead of winter; and something deeper, something like resignation.
They know we’re here, and they know there’s nothing they can do about it.
Arayik signals and the front door crashes inward under Nash’s boot. Shouts erupt from inside—male voices, desperate and angry. I cringe as Kellen bark commands, biting my tongue when furniture topples.
“Go,” Calder whispers, nodding toward the door beside us.
I draw the standard-issue stun weapon from my belt. It feels wrong in my hand. The weight of it makes my covered palm sweat.
Calder places his hand against the lock, and the metal changes, glowing red-hot then white. It melts inward with a soft hiss, and he kicks the door open.
We enter a small kitchen. A cracked porcelain mug rests on the counter, the handle poorly glued back in place.
Pink and purple flowers outline the exterior, reminding me so much of the mug my mother uses for her tea every morning.
A throat clears, and I focus on anything else.
Dishes sit half-washed in a basin while a pot of something—stew, maybe—simmers on a heating element. It’s so…domestic.
This is their life. How can we do this to them?
A crash from the front room snaps me back to the present. Calder moves and I follow, our boots creaking against the worn floorboards. Everything is magnified, each step bringing me closer to something I can’t undo.
The emotions intensify as we approach the main room—fear becoming terror, determination hardening into desperation. I round the corner and freeze.
Three men kneel on the floor, hands behind their heads.
Enforcers stand over them, weapons trained on their skulls.
One of the men is older, gray streaking his temples.
The other two seem younger—brothers, perhaps, with similar features.
Their faces are etched with defiance even as their bodies tremble.
“Where is she?” Arayik demands, his voice slicing through the room.
None of the men answer. The oldest one spits at Arayik’s feet, earning himself a vicious backhand that sends him sprawling.
“Search the house,” Arayik orders. “Find her.”
Pieces of my team disperse, tearing through rooms, upending furniture, ripping apart anything that might conceal a hiding place.
I stand rooted to the spot, my mind racing.
I should be helping. Playing my part. But all I can think is: These men are going to die.
They’re going to die, and I’m going to watch it happen.
A shout from the left tilts the very axis of my world. “Found her! Hidden compartment in the floor!”
The blood drains from my body.
Heavy footsteps thunder around a bend, and two recruits appear, dragging a woman between them.
Her wrists are bound with thick restraints, her long, bright hair tangled around their gloved fists as they force her forward.
Dirt streaks her face, mixing with tears that create clean tracks down her cheeks.
But her eyes—her eyes blaze with a fury that makes my heart stutter.
She appears nothing like the broken, submissive women I’ve glimpsed in the propaganda images the Syndicate displays. This woman is rage incarnate, fighting every step despite the futility.
“No!” The youngest man lunges forward, only to be slammed back to the floor by an Enforcer’s boot.
“Quiet,” Arayik commands, his attention on the woman. “Your identification number.” She only glares, and his neck cracks from the tension. “Your identification number. And the names of any others who escaped with you.”
Still, she says nothing. One of the Enforcers holding her yanks her hair, forcing her head back at a painful angle. She huffs, yet doesn’t make a sound.
“We can do this the easy way,” Arayik continues, his voice almost conversational now, “or we can do this while these men bleed out on the floor. Your choice.”
The woman’s eyes flick to her kneeling companions, and her resolve wavers. Fear for them bleeds through her anger.
“Don’t tell them anything, Mira!” the older man shouts. “They’ll kill us anyway—” An Enforcer’s fist connects with his jaw, silencing him mid-sentence. Blood sprays across the wooden floor.
Mira flinches, but her jaw remains set. Her emotions churn—fear, rage, and beneath it all, a core of iron determination.
It’s all I can do to dampen the trembling of my limbs.
Pax steps forward and raises a hand to her forehead. “Commander, permission to extract information?”
Oh, fuck. His power would allow him to manipulate things in her body; he’ll make her talk, but he’ll break something in her first.
“No.” The word escapes my lips before I can stop it.
The room goes utterly silent. Every mask snaps in my direction, and the weight of their stares is like sludge dripping onto my uniform.
“What did you say?” Arayik’s voice is stone.
I’m so stupid. My mind races—I’ve just made a terrible mistake, but I can’t backtrack now. I need to make this sound tactical, not like I’ve lost my fucking mind in a fit of compassion.
“She’s terrified,” I remark, shrugging. “She won’t give us accurate information like this. Give her space.” I pause, then add, “Let me try.”
He stares at me, blinking once. “You presume to give orders now, Ashford?”
“No, Commander. I’m offering a more efficient approach. My abilities can help us get what we need without resistance or harm, as you insisted yesterday.”
Elias leans in, murmuring something to Arayik I cannot hear. The Commander’s shoulders tense, but after a moment, he steps back with a muttered curse.
“Try, then. But if you fail, I’ll let Pax have his turn.” His turn.
Heart hammering, I approach the woman. The Enforcers holding her tighten their grip, but I motion for them to give her a little slack. Surprisingly, they comply.
I kneel before her, bringing myself to her eye level. Up close, exhaustion blankets her face, and her body trembles with the effort of remaining upright. But those eyes—they burn with a fire that agrees with the ache in my soul.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I murmur, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear. “Just tell us what we need to know, and this can end.”
Her emotions swirl around me—and beneath them all, a tiny flicker of hope. That hope startles me. It’s so fragile, so easily crushed, yet it persists despite everything.
Without another thought, I reach for the hope with my power, amplifying it just enough to keep her calm.
I want her to believe there’s a way out of this, that cooperation might spare her some pain.
It’s a lie, of course. I’ve realized nothing I do here will save her from what’s coming. But if I can make this moment easier…