Chapter Nine
CASSIA
The drop to my bunk is like sinking in thick tar—not that I would know what that’s like—every muscle crying out in protest. My body feels like a patchwork of bruises sewn together with threads of unending exhaustion.
I’m a marionette with frayed strings, a vessel filled with elastic pain that snaps with each tiny movement.
Stars above, I never knew a person could hurt this much and still be conscious. Or alive.
Sleep beckons me, promising sweet oblivion from this agony, regardless that the mattress might as well be made from rocks for all the comfort it provides my battered muscles. I want nothing more than to surrender to it.
Unfortunately, I must shower first.
The thought alone requires more effort than I can muster. Showering means standing upright. Standing upright means engaging muscles that are currently staging a full rebellion against their owner.
Not to mention the risk of encountering other recruits. Men. Naked. The thought sends a fresh wave of anxiety through my already overtaxed system.
I can only delay so long. The now-dried grime on my skin is like a second layer of clothing, one that’s gradually bonding to my actual flesh. My best chance at privacy will be to wait until the others have retired for the night, so that’s what I’ll do.
At least they gave us soap—simple, unscented bars that do the job. Enforcer efficiency extends even to personal hygiene.
Shifting to more appropriate activities, I scan the food I’ve hauled back.
It’s a veritable feast by my standards—double portions of the protein stew they were serving, three bread rolls dense enough to be used as weapons, and a small mountain of steamed vegetables that smell a bit medicinal. Plus extra water.
With a groan that sounds more animal than human, I force myself vertical. The room spins a moment before stabilizing, and I drink half the water in desperate gulps. As I eat, I admire the items I managed to sneak out of the dining hall.
The best thing about having no companions means others are rarely looking for or at me.
I’d noticed a small container of ice wrapped in cloth near where the meals are prepared.
I pilfered a handful of mint leaves, two small spoonfuls of salt, and a single slice of aloe from a potted plant in the corner.
The staff would have noticed if I’d taken more, but these items are exactly what I need to prepare a simple salve.
My fingers, clumsy with fatigue, work to prepare what my mother taught me years ago.
“Mint contains menthol,” I murmur to myself, grinding the leaves between the back of a stolen fork at the bottom of my water cup.
“Menthol activates cold-sensitive TRPM8 receptors in skin cells, producing a cooling sensation that blocks pain signals.” The mint releases oils, encasing my small room with a sharp, clean scent that calms my nerves.
I melt just enough ice to create a paste with the mint.
“Salt draws out inflammation,” I continue, adding a precise amount to my mixture.
“It creates an osmotic gradient that pulls excess fluid from swollen tissues.”
The aloe enters last. “Aloe contains ecemannan, a complex carbohydrate with anti-inflammatory properties, plus enzymes that reduce swelling and stimulate blood flow to damaged tissues.” I really need to stop talking to myself.
After stirring the mixture, it thickens—not the ideal salve, but it will serve.
The process drags up unwanted thoughts of home. It’s not that I don’t wish to think about my family, it’s that it hurts.
What has their reality been like since I left?
They must be worried sick while keeping Lachlan hidden, afraid he’ll be seen and reveal there are two of him.
What story would they have concocted to explain his absence to neighbors or his employer?
I didn’t specify where I was leaving to, only that I was…
And my mother. Stars, I’d be surprised if she was sleeping at all. I imagine her lying awake at night envisioning all the terrible fates that might befall her daughter.
I press the heels of my palms against my eyes, stuffing away the pressure that’s built behind them. I knew leaving would be hard for me. I didn’t fully accept how it would devastate them, and the horror of that realization settles over me, causing a tear to slip free. Followed by another.
I swipe at them angrily. This is pointless.
I’m tired and overwhelmed, my emotions bubbling too close to the surface after suppressing them so hard.
When I’m stressed or overstimulated, these feelings rise like flooding water, threatening to drown me.
I’ve always been this way, though I don’t have the time for this right now.
I suppose it’s better to let it out here, instead of risking a breakdown in front of the others. I allow myself a few more silent tears, vexed at my weakness while acknowledging its necessity.
My head whips around to a sharp knock at my door.
I freeze, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. For an endless moment, I can’t move, can’t breathe or think.
The knock comes again, louder this time.
“Open up, recruit,” a voice demands. Elias?
My mind races through possibilities, each worse than the last. Room inspection? I’ve been too careless and someone saw me take the supplies for my salve, so he’s here to drag me away. Shit.
My hands scramble to hide the evidence of my identity—shoving my notebook and the salve under my blanket, wiping my face dry, and gathering my hair into bun.
The mask goes on last, and I yell, “One moment,” the sound strained.
Everything’s in order. Nothing feminine visible. Just a recruit’s sparse quarters, messy like any other male’s would be.
Oh stars, they know I’m not Lachlan. I’m never going to hug my family again; I’ll be tagged and forced to breed, my body used until it breaks.
But there’s nowhere to escape…the only exit is the door I desperately do not want to open.
My hand trembles as I unlock it and yank the handle before I can change my mind. Best to just get it over with quickly before the leaders’ rough hands break the door down.
Except there’s only Elias standing in the corridor, arms at his sides in a non-threatening posture. He’s not flanked by guards or holding restraints. He’s just…waiting.
The relief nearly buckles my knees.
His eyes survey me bottom to top, glimpsing over my shoulder before meeting mine. I’m not large enough to block his view without looking like a lunatic.
“I wanted to check on you,” he remarks, his voice carrying a light note of concern. “You seemed frantic back in the dining hall.”
Did I? I thought I’d maintained my composure reasonably well, given I was surrounded by hundreds of unmasked men and terrified of discovery.
“I’m not fond of crowds.” I shrug, hoping the gesture reads as masculine nonchalance rather than a nervous tick.
He hums, head tilting as he studies me once more. His arms cross over his broad chest, the material of his uniform pulling taught across his shoulders. I sense he’s debating whether to ask something.
“How are you finding your accommodations?” he finally asks.
What an odd question. Is this some kind of test?
My answer is brief and direct. “Fine.”
Elias’ brow rises behind the mask. “Do you ever take your mask off?”
The question scratches at my sternum. So he does know…He’s been baiting me, waiting for me to make a mistake, and now he’s caught me.
My hesitation stretches a heartbeat too long as panic bubbles in my throat.
But the leader nods toward my room before surprising me. “You are permitted to remove it in your quarters.”
Oh. Oh.
“Yes,” I blurt, sounding far too eager. I moderate my tone. “I had it off before you knocked.”
He hums again, allowing more silence to stretch between us. I’m not sure whether to think I’m done for or just accept that I’m projecting my fears onto his neutral observation.
“Take a walk with me, Ashford.”
It’s not a request. But is it an invitation or a trap? Something tells me Elias doesn’t play with his kills, and if he hasn’t apprehended me yet, I don’t believe that’s what he’s here for.
Stop being so fucking delusional.
With a nod, my feet carry me forward as I pull the door closed behind me. The room locks automatically with my thumbprint—a small mercy, as it means no one can search my quarters while I’m gone. Unless they have some way to override the lock, which they probably do. These are Enforcers, after all.
The illusion of privacy is just that.
Elias whirls the opposite direction from the training areas, forcing me to stumble before following.
Trailing behind one of my leaders to an unknown destination is more intimidating than being surrounded by hundreds of men in the dining hall.
As much as I hate the crowd, it’s easy to be anonymous there.
Here, I’m alone with a man who has the power to destroy everything in my life with a single word.
“How are you adapting to training?” He glances at me, his pace unhurried.
What’s with all the questions?
He needs an answer, though I’m careful not to elaborate too much. “It’s challenging.”
“Most find it so,” he agrees with a nod. “Especially those without prior military or combat experience.” A pointed remark about my performance, I’m sure. “The Commander has high expectations, and he doesn’t lower them for anyone.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Elias chuckles, the sound warm and unexpectedly genuine. “Arayik’s methods are harsh, but effective. Those who survive his training emerge stronger.”
If they survive. I allow the implication to hang between us unspoken.
We enter a corridor I haven’t yet seen, this one less traveled by the lack of scuff marks. I’m led to a stairwell, one more narrow than the one we used for the simulation this morning.
“These stairs are reserved for leadership,” he explains as we begin descending. “Don’t mention them to anyone.”
My mouth speaks before my brain can stop it. “I don’t talk to anyone.”