Chapter 4
TRUST IS IRRELEVANT
Man, our future looks bleak.
We’ve been sitting in a side hallway for well over an hour, counting the tiles and reciting the principles of etiquette back and forth. After twelve rounds, things got quiet…for all of three minutes. Brielle is incapable of sitting still, especially when she’s nervous.
She leans close, whispering even though we’re the only pod in the hall. “I heard tier two girls get their own rooms!”
“Oh good, I was reaching my breaking point with your snoring,” June quips, cracking a smile.
“I do not snore!”
“Yes, you do,” Ivy and I say at the same time.
June giggles and shakes her head, half-pinned curls bouncing with the motion. “Well, I heard there’s a garden.”
“Really?” I don’t bother hiding my amazement.
“Maybe. I heard it from one of Mister K’s girls last week, so I don’t know how reliable it is.”
Bri’s blue eyes brighten. “Fresh air would be so—”
“Quiet,” Avery hisses from the end of the bench, hands folded in her lap. “You’ll make Mister M look bad if anyone hears you.”
“They always hear us,” Ivy mutters. She’s slouching, dark hair falling over her face as she kicks at a seam in the tile. I don’t correct her, because she’s right. Especially here, where it feels like even the walls are listening.
The door at the end of the hall swings open hard enough to make my head spin. Our four pod enforcers file in, boots clicking in sync.
They always look the same. Black jackets cut close enough to keep them from snagging if things turned violent.
Dark pants, dark undershirts. Even the insignia stitched at their chests seems deliberately muted, as though their power didn’t need announcing.
On the surface, they are uniformity personified, faceless unless you stare too long.
And yet—a closer inspection would reveal so much more.
If you were really looking, you’d see Colt’s default slouch when he thinks no one’s watching.
The scuffed toes of Ryder’s boots. Tiny cracks in the sameness that proves they’re human.
Vance has no such crack, therefore his humanity remains a mystery.
Vance steps ahead of the group, beckoning to Avery. “Avery. Ivy. With us.”
Ralston nods along, holding out a hand to help Ivy up. She rolls her eyes at him, standing on her own. Avery glides beside her, a practiced smile plastered across her lips.
Ryder flicks his wristband, the tiny screen flashing blue. “Great. We get the noisy ones.”
“Lucky you,” June shoots back.
“Mhm.” Ryder stalks toward a second door. Colt gives me a reassuring nod as he grips the handle and ushers us forward.
The evaluation room within is practically empty.
A camera blinks red above the wall, comfort and warning warped into one.
Doctor Rook stands in the center. He’s an older man, maybe late forties.
Thinning hair and a permanent look of discontent, complete with a stiff white coat.
I’ve had the misfortune of meeting him a few times before, but today he carries extra menace.
“Compliance drills,” he snaps his fingers.
“Stand on your marks.” We shuffle to the colored plates that glow beneath our feet.
Our cuffs light in sync. On the wall, a graph blooms for each of us: pulse, breath rate, temperature, and something just labeled “compliance.” I’m not sure how they measure that, and I’m not dying to find out.
The doctor adjusts a slider on his tablet, and my cuff tightens until it’s almost painful.
I didn’t know that was something he could control remotely… or at all.
“Posture,” Rook orders, stopping in front of Bri. She flushes the deepest shade of scarlet, but her slouch remains.
“Sloppy,” he scribbles a note. “Try again.”
“Straighter,” Colt prompts under his breath, just loud enough for Bri to catch. She straightens, form trembling, but it holds.
June folds her arms across her chest. “This is ridiculous—”
“Slouching reads like defiance.” The doctor silences her with the flick of his wrist.
“Noted,” she groans, forcing her shoulders back.
My turn. I lift my chin, smooth my skirt, and fold my hands in front of me exactly like Avery would. I don’t bother copying the smug little look she has when she does it; she’s got plenty of that to go around. The doctor pauses, gaze intense as he looks me over. He jots something down anyway.
The drills continue, my cuff cinching tighter and tighter until heat explodes through my wrist. My feet are cramping, but I know if I shift my weight, the sensor will catch it. So, I stand straight, teeth gritted, swallowing every protest until silence floods my thoughts.
After an eternity of corrections, Doctor Rook nods at us once, turning toward the door. “Adequate,” he mutters on his way out.
Doctor Kade enters next, heels making satisfying clicks against the tile. She’s all soft hair and a smile sweet as tea with honey.
“Ladies,” she says. “You’re doing well so far, let’s keep it up.
” She takes her place in front of the marks.
“We’ll test your presentation next. Smile.
Don’t relax until I cue. Shoulders down, chins level.
” Her commands start out simple, repetitive even.
But when she asks us to apologize, June’s mouth moves before her brain does.
“For existing?”
“For the hair,” Doctor Kade’s voice drips with false pleasantry, gesturing with her pen as she speaks. “And for all you fail to be.”
That’s vague. When does she expect me to have the time to unpack what I fail to be when I barely know what I succeed at being?
She walks the line again, stopping in front of Brielle. “Each one of you has a deep-seated flaw.” I keep my eyes forward, but I can feel a pit forming in my stomach.
“212 is overly eager, and yet under pressure, she crumbles completely.” I spot Brielle out of the corner of my eye, biting her lip. “219 masks discomfort with impolite humor.” June grins like she believes that’s a compliment. Doctor Kade crosses to me in three clicks of her heels.
“And 214—” She studies me for two seconds too long. “Is a prime example of controlled divergence.”
“Controlled divergence?” Ryder parrots from where he’s lounging by the door. “Is that like lying?”
“It’s a skill,” Doctor Kade says without looking at him.
She steps closer, tilting my chin upward with a fingertip I can’t flinch away from.
“You’re very good at pretending. People will mistake it for composure.
Tread carefully. The board loves a disguise, until they don’t.
” She releases me, pivoting on her heel and gliding to the door with the same grace she entered with.
“Beautiful work today, ladies. I’m sure you’ll make us proud.”
We’re split after that. Bri and June are led to one room; I’m left waiting outside a door at the end of the hall.
The bench is cold even through my skirt.
I fight back a shiver, focusing on the wall ahead.
The cuff at my wrist pulses with my heartbeat, something it only does when the rate grows too unsteady.
I coax my breathing into something that resembles calm before anyone can notice.
A high-pitched scream rings out from somewhere down the corridor, reverberating against the thick walls. I jerk my head in the direction, but the hallway’s empty save for a handful of enforcers and med techs, none of which acknowledge the horrific sound.
Footsteps hit, fast and pounding. The double doors at the end of the hall burst open, rattling against their hinges.
A young man barrels past, suit jacket half shrugged on, a tablet clutched in one hand. His stride is long, icy eyes set forward like he’s racing something no one else can see. At the threshold, he slows his pace just enough to snap. “Clear this hall!”
The med tech beside me nods, clutching her clipboard tight to her chest. With the swipe of his badge, he’s gone, vanishing down the corridor.
Unease grips my chest. There’s something about the way he moved, desperate and determined all at once, that sets me more on edge than I already was. A feat I didn’t think was possible.
The med tech clears her throat. “214?”
I stand quickly. “Yes, ma’am?”
She pushes the door open, and I follow before I have any more time to unpack what just happened.
The room beyond is small. Pale walls, no windows. A single table lined with crinkled white paper waits for me.
“Sit,” the doctor commands. He’s younger than the last, eyes tired and hooded, white coat sagging like a burden. The nametag at his chest reads Doctor Noxen—Sedation Specialist in half-faded print. I hop up, feet dangling over the edge.
His stethoscope is ice against my back. I shiver as he murmurs, “Deep breaths.”
Mister M leans against the far wall, arms crossed, watching on with bored contempt. His presence fills the space like a shadow. Why he would choose to be in my room over anyone else’s is beyond me.
The doctor sets his tools aside and wheels a tray closer, flashing me a mild grin that stops just short of his eyes. “Let’s chat, shall we?” He pats my knee, and I force myself not to flinch. “How are you feeling, 214? Excited for today?”
“Yes, sir,” I say instantly, praying it’s the right answer.
He jots something down. “If you’re anything like Avery, I’m sure you’ll make us proud.” Of course she’s already been through here. That or Mister M has been raving about her all day. Likely both.
I force myself to sound certain as I recite one of the many lines I’ve been drilled on. “Thank you, sir. I strive to reflect the advancement program’s excellence.”
His smile falters for half a second as he turns away, fiddling with a covered tray.
Behind him, Mister M lets out a quiet laugh. “Was that sincerity or strategy, 214? Hard to tell with you sometimes.”
Heat crawls up my neck, but I bow my head enough to look like a concession. The doctor doesn’t intervene. Instead, he steps closer, lifting the lid off the tray in his hands.
A single glass sits in the center, filled with liquid so black it swallows the light. My stomach twists. I’ve been through six months of training, but nothing could’ve prepared me for this.
“Do you trust the organization?” he asks, voice sickeningly smooth. My throat constricts. My head spirals into a flurry of wrong answers.
Trust is irrelevant when you don’t have a choice.
The thought cracks the surface, then drowns beneath 183 days of training.
“Yes, sir,” I whisper. “I do.”
“Prove it.” He offers the glass; the liquid inside sloshes, thick and threatening.
I stare at it too long, hands shaking as I reach for it. My heart pounds in my ears, a loud, unyielding drumline.
I don’t know why. Of course I trust the organization. I’m lucky to have been saved. It’s just…I don’t know. I guess it’s just that it’s never been my choice before.
“Hurry up,” Mister M says lazily, eyes sharpening on mine. “Unless you’d rather tell the doctor you don’t trust us.”
No. That’s actually the last thing I’d like to tell the doctor right now.
I raise the cup to my lips with trembling hands. The liquid smells metallic, yet disturbingly sweet. A voice in my head begs me to stop, but I squeeze my eyes shut, choking it down in one gulp.
It’s just as awful as I imagined. Worse, actually.
It coats my tongue like tar, sliding heavy down my throat.
Heat spreads fast, filling my lungs, sagging my limbs.
My vision tilts. The room blurs at the edges, reduced to the doctor’s fixed smile, Mister M’s mocking hazel eyes, and the pulsing cuff at my wrist.
My spine stays straight, my chin high, even as everything slips away.