“No, we can’t,” General Ronen snapped, silencing whatever Moira was about to say. Her expression darkened at his words. But the anger she was directing at us should’ve been directed at the general or the king. It wasn’t like we chose to be here.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Alexei said, smiling. “See you later, Nephilim.” He nodded at Oliver, then winked at me. “Lucy.”
My cheeks flushed again. Gah, I couldn’t control the annoying things. I gave him a flustered smile, then returned to our angry circle. That wasn’t an exaggeration either. Moira looked ready to stab me in the eyes. The general looked disgusted. Even Oliver looked annoyed.
But it finally made sense as he continued to gaze longingly after Alexei.
Oliver liked him—or at least found him attractive enough to want him.
I bumped his hip and leaned in to whisper, “I’d never stand in your way. He’s just… flirty.”
Oliver gave me a small smile, then pulled back when the general whistled at us.Freaking whistled.I shut my eyes and breathed deeply, calming the sudden itches breaking across my skin. I opened them when the pressure behind my eyes receded.
“Squad Leader Moira, these are your two recruits, Oliver and Lucille.” The general grimaced. “Play nicely. Recruits, you’ll listen to everything your leader says and do everything she demands. Don’t whine or come to me for help. The Tormentors Squadron is one of our four elite squadrons, and the king seems to think you’re both tough enough to be here.” He flicked his gaze over us. “I suppose we’ll see if that’s true.” He left with Rune, leaving us with Moira.
“Line up behind formation, recruits. We’ll start the Infernal Sixty with a ten-mile run.” She smirked, then headed to the front of the squadron.
“Did she just say ten miles?” Oliver surveyed the arena. “So Hell’s entire military will witness our wheezing disgrace as we run around this sand bowl?”
Shit, I hoped not.
“I’m definitely luscelering,” Oliver muttered as we lined up behind two females with long black hair.
We could cover ten miles in about ten minutes if we luscelered. It’d be easy. Yet, the mere thought of cutting corners filled me with anxiety. We wouldn’t become stronger by cheating.
“Oliver, we can’t?—”
One of the females in front of us turned around, and my stomach dropped at the sight of her face. Angry red burns marred her forehead down to her jawline. A milky white cloud covered one of her eyes, while the other gleamed a honey brown.
“Should you lusceler, Moira will punish you accordingly. You’ll only prove to everyone you don’t belong here,” she said with a slight accent.
But we didn’t.
“I’ve never felt the urge to prove myself to anyone, to be honest. What exactly is her punishment?” Oliver asked.
The second female turned around. She was the mirror image of her sister—the same honey-colored eyes, face shape, and hairstyle—but without any wounds. Or so I thought, until my gaze fell to her neck. I cringed, seeing the deep gash splitting her flesh, revealing glistening muscles beneath.
Why didn’t it bleed?
That must’ve been what Oliver had meant earlier—how people here didn’t exactly look… normal.
“It would be unwise to provoke Moira. Her punishments are severe,” she warned. “This is Ni”—she pointed at her twin with the giant neck gash—“and I’m Ichi.”
“Oliver”—he gestured to me—“and this is Lucy.”
Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he said, “So I keep seeing weird shit like that on people.” He pointed at Ni’s neck. “Do you just run on zero circulation, or does living in Hell give you some kind of immunity to having your neck sliced open?”
I internally cringed at his blunt humor, hoping they didn’t take offense. The last thing we needed was to make enemies within our squad when we already didn’t belong.
Ichi’s lips twitched. “They’re our soul wounds.” At our confused expressions, she clarified. “They’re our death injuries. Our souls take our wounds with us as we pass to Hell, and the closer to redemption we are, the more they fade. Or you can petition the king to have a Soul Mender heal them. We don’t have the Hellmarks for that, but we like watching our wounds fade—it gives us hope.” She nodded to her sister. “I used to be completely blind, but now I’m only partially. And soon, Ni will regain her tongue so she can speak again.”
“I’m so glad I didn’t have breakfast,” Oliver mumbled, and Ichi responded with another polite smile. Ni, on the other hand, shook her head, unamused.
“You’ve angered quite a few people by ending up in this squad,” Ichi said. “I strongly recommend you keep your heads down and attempt to survive.” She glanced at our shoes. “At least you’re starting well. We’ll be running through slush for the next hour.”
Oliver laughed and reached out to Ichi, patting her shoulder like she’d told a good joke. She stepped away, his hand flopping to his side.
“You’re not joking.” Oliver’s laughter dried up. “We’re running ten miles in the cold, and you think we can do it in an hour?”
