Chapter 39
“There is give and take in everything.
All is measured, and all is accounted for.”
- The Old Book
Iawoke the next morning feeling lighter than I had been in a long time.
I padded over to my dresser and grabbed the hairbrush on top.
My hair was less brittle now, so I could finally use something other than my fingers to comb through it.
As the bristles moved gently through my waves, I paused at the sight of several starkly white strands.
They were white as snow, completely devoid of pigment.
I examined them closely, twisting one strand between my fingers to confirm it was real, anxiety blooming in my stomach.
It had to be stress—that was the logical explanation.
The journey here had been brutal, a ceaseless torrent of sleepless nights and constant vigilance.
I’d witnessed similar changes in Oak Hollow, grief turning hair ghostly pale.
That must have been what was happening to me.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was shifting beneath my skin. That something deep within me was fundamentally changing.
Finishing my hair, I quickly dressed. As I tugged my pants on, I noticed their tightness around my hips.
Turning to the mirror, I ran a hand down my side, tracing a newly formed curve that felt both foreign and familiar.
My figure had regained its fullness, the softness now underlain with subtle strength.
Even my arms, once thin and birdlike, now revealed faint lines of muscle.
Consistent meals and rigorous training were undeniably changing me. My reflection was healthier, stronger, yet strangely unrecognizable. My stomach wasn’t sunken anymore, and my collarbone no longer jutted out like a weapon. Somehow, amidst all the death and dread, my body had rebuilt itself.
I thought it odd that I once stood before myself in the mirror and regarded my body as foreign. It was just a body, a vessel of life. I hadn’t needed to be so cynical.
The wear and tear I had experienced since leaving Oak Hollow was evident in more than just my appearance. My aura had changed.
I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it all. Gratitude mixed uneasily with an unsettling sense of disorientation. I was thankful I was alive, but at what cost?
Some days, a reckless sensation of invincibility crept into my bones—a dangerous illusion I fought to dismiss.
Especially after what Rowan had spoken about occurring with some of the other culled.
I didn’t want what happened to Lily and the others to happen to me. I didn’t want to lose my mind, too.
Shaking my head to clear away the troubling thoughts, I moved swiftly toward the dining hall.
The room hummed with its typical tension: trays clattering, whispers filled with suspicion, exhaustion threading through every glance.
I scanned the crowd carefully, mentally marking each familiar face.
Our numbers had dwindled again. A fight the previous week had stolen three lives, and two more were executed.
The group, once sixty-strong, was now reduced to forty-two.
My gaze shifted, searching specifically for one face among the many.
But Rowan was nowhere to be found. Not lurking in his usual shadowed corner, not stationed near the entrance.
His absence sent a sharp pang through my chest that I couldn’t silence.
Was he avoiding me because of our kiss last night?
Doubt trickled into my mind. He had been rather quiet afterward, but then he had given me a kiss goodnight. I didn’t know what to think.
I grabbed a tray and settled alone at an empty table, picking at my food without appetite. Marcum took the podium, his expression a calculated mask of regret as he recited today’s death roll. I listened as he read out the names of those who had attempted to take my life yesterday.
“Lily Thorne. Brenn Hollow. Aeva Ridgefield. Serene Windgrove.”
Marcum’s voice turned cool and clipped. “A reminder to all participants: violence against others is expressly forbidden. The only exception is self-defense, under provable, recorded circumstances. If you cannot abide by this, you will be removed from the program. Permanently.”
I didn’t look up when Marcum stepped down, nor when the room resumed its quiet rituals of scraping trays and whispered speculation. My appetite was long gone. I just sat there motionless, pushing a lump of something unidentifiable around my plate.
Still no sign of Rowan.
Eventually, the weight of the silence became too much. I rose, abandoned my tray, and slipped out through the side corridor—half-hoping I might run into him, half-hoping I wouldn’t.
The hallway outside the dining hall was colder, quieter. I moved instinctively, following the path back toward the east wing, where the facility’s lights were more fluorescent. My footsteps slowed as voices echoed ahead—low, familiar, tense.
I stopped just short of the junction.
Rowan was there.
But he wasn’t alone.
Marcum stood with him, back half-turned toward me, posture easy but eyes sharp. Rowan slouched against the wall, but there was a stiffness in his jaw that told me this wasn’t just small talk.
I stayed just far enough away so I could still listen. Whatever this was—it wasn’t meant for my ears.
“What do you want, Marcum?” Rowan asked, his voice edged with barely concealed irritation.
“Now, now,” Marcum replied smoothly, “is that any way to speak to me?”
“Just tell me what this is about.”
A soft chuckle. “Maybe you aren’t the screw-up everyone thinks you are.” Then his tone sharpened like a knife. “There’s some business I need you to attend to.”
“Ask someone else,” Rowan clipped.
A pause. The tension snapped tight.
“Watch your tone,” Marcum warned. “I only allow so much, Rowan, before I get angry. You remember what I’m like when I’m angry.”
Rowan’s hands clenched at his sides. I could see the whites of his knuckles from where I stood.
“Yes, sir. I do.”
Marcum stepped closer. “Maybe,” he said, voice low and cutting, “if you behave, I’ll tell your mother and father what a good soldier you’ve been.”
I lingered long after they left, Marcum’s words echoing in my ears. By evening, the unease had settled into my bones.
Dinner came and went, and Rowan had all but disappeared. Anxiety twisted in my gut, an emotion I couldn’t dismiss as easily this time. I waited afterward, pacing the corridor outside the dining hall, restlessness coiling tighter within me.
I had overheard his tense conversation with Marcum, and I itched to know more.
I decided I needed answers. Quickening my pace, I headed toward the gym.
It was time for our weekly sparring session.
As I neared the doorway, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe he was already there, waiting for me with his typical stoicism.
Instead, Renata stood alone at the center of the training mat, arms crossed, gaze sharp and measuring.
“Where’s Rowan?” I asked, hoping that maybe she would impart more information.
“He requested I take over today’s session.” Her response was crisp, devoid of warmth.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why?” I demanded, unable to disguise my irritation.
“He’s a commanding officer. He has responsibilities beyond babysitting you.”
I scowled but said nothing.
She gestured to the mat. “Well? Are you coming, or are you just here to whine?”
I stepped forward. “Let’s go.”
Renata didn’t hold back, and I didn’t ask her to. I welcomed the way my muscles burned, the way the sweat dripped down my back. It was better than overthinking.
Better than feeling.
“You and that woman from Summit’s Ridge know each other well.” I tossed out between jabs.
Renata arched her brow. “Her name is Naia, and you and I aren’t friends.”
“I was just curious. I saw you two kiss—”
“My personal affairs aren’t relevant to your training,” she interrupted sharply, throwing a punch I barely evaded. “So I’ll ask again, did you come here to train or not?”
I rolled aside, catching my breath. “Why are you helping me?”
She straightened and stepped back. “This is professional courtesy. Rowan asked me—that’s it.”
The strain between us hung heavy with unspoken questions. Against better judgment, I ventured, “So… is he seeing someone?”
Renata froze, her gaze turning brittle as ice.
She stepped back, posture stiff and formal. “Rowan’s private life isn’t mine to share, and even if it were, I wouldn’t.”
I stood motionless, embarrassment heating my face.
Renata’s tone hardened. “I don’t care what you think you feel—whatever you think is going on between you two—abandon it. Now.”
My mouth opened. “It’s not like—”
“It’s pointless and a waste of air to lie to me,” she snapped. “I read people for a living. Your entire body betrays you every time he’s nearby.”
I held her gaze. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s dangerous,” she corrected. “Rowan is so far out of your reach, you don’t even realize the distance. And even if—if he felt something for you, it wouldn’t matter.”
“Why not?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
Renata leaned in slightly, her smile cutting.
“Because if you knew him—truly knew him—you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him.” Renata brushed past me. “Come back when you’re ready to train.”
I didn’t know what frightened me more—her words, or the part of me that wondered if she was right.