“Yes, every morning from here on out. It’s our warmup,” she stated, glancing toward the Bowels Squadron across the arena, her lips twisting with pity. “Our leaders usually don’t tell recruits the specifics of the Infernal Sixty.”
We followed her gaze to the far corner. Half the Bowels Squadron wore thicker clothing and boots—the ones who’d been here longer. The other half wore various exercise gear in different degrees of coverage. Some looked prepared for the outdoor run. Others were about to regret it. One guy even sported shorts.
Oliver grimaced at the group. “Separating the wheat from the chaff.”
Survive or die.Wasn’t that what the general had said? Even Ichi mentioned survival. So why should I be surprised by the lack of information, or by Alexei’s misleading words ofwear exercise clothing?This was Hell. No one came here for the sparkling snow and evergreens. Most were forced here because of their sins.
If I was surprised by anything, it should be Alexei’s advice on our clothing. If he hadn’t said anything, we’d be part of the chaff, slogging through slush, barely surviving the cold.
I glanced over at the blond warrior. He stood by General Ronen, conversing with a few others. Why he took pity on us, I wasn’t sure. But from now on, we’d need to always expect the unexpected—and probably worse—when it came to this place.
Moira yelled over all the noise, getting her squad’s attention. “Tormentors! To start, we’ll run to the Upper City of Hoar Hollow and back. Then we’ll have weight training. Easy first day.”
“Easy my ass,” Oliver remarked.
Moira started to turn, then stopped. “Oh, and since we have two recruits who think they’re soelite, we’ll make things interesting.”
Heavenly Hell, I hated her smug tone.
“Last ones to the arena will be scrubbing the kitchens with Dorus for the next week.” She leveled me with a knowing look. “Happy running.”
I tilted my head, returning her saccharine smile while grinding my nails into my palms and shoving my Infernus’s whispers away.
“This just keeps getting better and better,” Oliver grumbled.
We all knew who’d be cleaning the kitchens with Dorus this week.
“Under no circumstances should you stop. Even if you have to walk,” Ichi advised.
I sighed and followed the Tormentors through the doors. Cold air blasted my face, instantly freezing the moisture in my nose. I tucked my hands into my coat sleeves, wishing I had gloves, and stood atop a large, snow-covered hill overlooking Hoar Hollow.
Below us, angular snow-capped roofs dotted the landscape, stretching wide and blending into the gloom of the gray, frigid day. From here, the city looked farther than a five-mile run. I just met Moira, but I wouldn’t put it past her to lie about the distance. I’d rather run around the arena.
Turning away from the slushy, endless path to Hoar Hollow, I stared longingly at the behemoth behind us.
The king’s castle didn’t compare to the stifling farmhouses and cabins I grew up in. Its gothic architecture jutted into the sky, stirring a sense of the unexpected. The black, iced-over walls shimmered witheerie reflections, and the floor-to-ceiling windows—like dark, glowing eyes—beckoned to the part of me that longed for something more. For adventure, danger,life.
And yet, beneath its grandeur, it was another cage—one that thrived ondeath.
“Lucy! Get your ass moving!” Oliver called out.
I slogged through the slush, feeling it splatter my thick pants and boots as I caught up with Oliver. He was surprisingly good at keeping his feet as we ran down the slick hill.
“Okay, we can do this.” Ichi and Ni were only a few yards ahead. So far, so good.
“Doesn’t take much skill to run down a gravel road, Lucy.”
A second later, Oliver hit a patch of compacted snow and slid, cursing. I grabbed his elbow before he could fall and raised an eyebrow at him.
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
The hill gradually leveled out, and at the bottom, someone called, “Faster.”
Everyone picked up speed at a set of gates.
“Fuck-a-duck.”
We increased our pace.
