Chapter 21
UNSHALLOW THREAT
It was the furthest thing from a shallow threat.
Reconditioning dragged on for days. Tedious drills, Doctor Carr’s clipped orders, countless needles.
The kind of punishments that aren’t loud but wear you down piece by piece.
Even Juniper’s jokes ran dry by day four.
By the time it was all over, the memory of soap V felt like the punchline of a joke none of us wanted to repeat. Ever.
In better news, there’s an investor event today.
We’re not privy to the details, but I’m not too pressed.
It just means Mister M has been gone all day and will hopefully be too tired to check on us once he’s finished.
Most of the mentors, enforcers, and instructors are absent, as are half the girls.
Which means instead of formal instruction and mock evaluations, we get bookwork and extra enrichment.
Not a bad trade, all things considered.
I reach for another pen. I’m not drawing anything particularly useful, just looping soft spirals into the corner of the page, trying to make them look like the trees in the garden. A challenge, considering I’ve only seen them once. They keep coming out too rigid to be natural.
Juniper’s chewing on the edge of her pen.
Brielle’s painting a pastel pink sky that she’s already wiped off twice.
Ivy has her head down on the table, curtain of black hair fanned over her face, snoring lightly.
Other groups are scattered around the room, all at various stages of the “creative process.” I don’t need to look to know that no one’s making anything frame-worthy today.
The instructor hasn’t looked up in ten minutes. He’s flipping through a beige bound book; feet kicked up on a rogue supply box.
“Okay,” Juniper says, loud enough to count as reckless. “Real talk. How old do we think Mister V is?”
I glance up. “Why?”
“Because he walks like he owns the floorboards. That’s not a thing you do unless you’re, like, thirty.”
“He’s not thirty,” Brielle says, frowning. “He still has that—I don’t know. That too-perfect skin thing.”
“True,” June agrees.
“Maybe he was born here,” I offer. “Grown in Carr’s lab.”
“Right, like a prototype.” Juniper nods, gesturing with her hands. “Beta version of the perfect mentor. It explains the gloves.”
“And the posture.”
“And the ability to appear out of nowhere.”
June gasps, delighted. “Plot twist. He’s actually a vampire.”
Brielle’s eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh, don’t even!”
“Not possible,” Ivy groans against the table. “That would make him interesting.”
June presses her palms to the table. “No, no, it totally tracks. Have you ever seen him sleep?”
“I’ve never seen his reflection, that’s all I’m saying!” I agree, sticking my tongue out at Bri.
Brielle grimaces. “You guys are going to get us all killed.”
“Please,” June says, sounding cocky. “What’s he gonna do? Materialize out of thin air?”
Worse.
He strides right through the door.
“Ladies,” Mister V says smoothly. The blood drains from my face.
We’re so dead.
He folds his arms, gaze sweeping over the four of us with surgical precision. I can’t tell if he’s amused or furious. “Glad to see the enrichment block is keeping your minds active,” he says. “Though I’m not sure creative slander counts as personal development.”
Juniper freezes. “It wasn’t slander,” she says. “It was…analysis.” He raises an eyebrow, then clears his throat like he’s about to speak.
“How old are you?” I blurt. Stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything, but now I need to know. Mister V pauses, just long enough to twist the moment into something uncomfortable.
“Nineteen,” he says, quiet and pointed. “Is that disappointing?” The silence answers for us. Brielle looks stricken. June’s mouth opens, then shuts again. I just sit there, trying to rewire everything I thought I knew.
He’s nineteen.
“How old were you when you got here?” Juniper asks.
“Fourteen.”
Brielle gasps. The breath gets sucked right out of my chest.
Fourteen?
He was a child. Probably a well-dressed child. But still.
Mister V’s eyes land on me. He looks tired. Maybe he’s always looked like that, and I never noticed. “Carr will be thrilled to know his advanced subjects are debating monster lore. Truly, this is what the program was built for.” He cracks something that could almost be mistaken for a smile.
It takes me too long to realize he’s joking. Joking. Like that’s something he knows how to do. He pauses like he’s waiting for a response, but I’m too stunned to force anything out.
“Well, don’t let me interrupt.” He nods goodbye, and strides out. We’re once again left sitting in silence in the too-bright light, surrounded by dried up markers and the acute feeling of dread.
“I thought he was, like…” Brielle trails off, wiping the smudgy clouds off her painting again.
“Older,” I finish, offering her a towel.
It’s not that I don’t believe him, it just feels wrong. It shouldn’t be possible. He said it like that was normal.
June exhales so hard her whole frame sags. “He’s kidding. He has to be kidding.”
“No.” My voice dips quiet. “He’s not.” And suddenly, none of it is funny anymore. I stare down at the page I was drawing on.
The trees don’t look like trees anymore.
They look like bars.