That sobered everyone up, quieting the whispers coming from the non-uniformed recruits. Some even looked a little pale.
General Ronen lifted a brow, scanning the faces of his military. “Did you think I was kidding yesterday? Half of you are here for penance. It’s demanded that you go through suffering. You make it or recycle. The other half of you are here because of the deals you’ve made. You make it or die.” He paused, letting his words sink in. Nervous shifting and tapping feet filled the heavy silence. “That being said, we still want you to succeed. We need more hardened warriors in our military, so I have an incentive for you.”
He stepped aside for Alexei, who pushed his shoulders back and shot out his hand. The hairs along my arms rose in the thick atmosphere, and in the next second, a flash of silver cracked throughthe air, striking something over our heads. We all jolted at the resounding crash and stumbled back when something fell—only to realize it was a large, rolled poster.
It unspooled to reveal the title of each squadron and four blank spaces beneath each. The two at the top were highlighted in red.
“Over the next two months, General Ronen, I, and a few other Dreads”—Alexei gestured to the four behind him—“will be watching you.”
I didn’t know if it was from his lightning trick or his playful personality, but I could almost hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.
“As we watch you train and pass drills and challenges, we’ll rank you. But there are only four slots per squad, and ranks will change. If you manage to hold a spot before the last week of the sixty days, you’ll earn a favor regarding challenge week—within reason. If you happen to place in the top two red slots, you gain our respect and a gift.”
“Not sure I’d want a gift from Hell’s military,” Oliver muttered.
“Souls—if you’re placed at the top, you can mend your wounds for free, and you’ll gain favor from the king when it comes time for your next judgment. Blood-banded, the king will expunge the foolish deal you made with him, allowing you to cut your time with our military in half and, when you’re able, leave Hell. And if that doesn’t pique your interest, General Ronen will grant you a favor—again, within reason.”
The energy inside me, already buzzing with the need to be stronger, surged. Oliver and I didn’t have arealdeal to expunge or soul wounds to heal, but we needed the general’s respect and favor.
And so far, we hadn’t made any progress in that area. But if ranking could earn us the help we needed to save Aspen and Oliver’s sister, then we needed to rank.
I panned around the room, taking in the leather uniforms hugging the seasoned military members, then glanced down at Oliver and me, clad in layers and thick clothing for our inevitable run. We were bulky while they were sleek and pristine. We were staring around like the rest of the clueless recruits in the Bowels Squadron, while others stood with chins raised and confident gleams in their eyes. They were honed warriors, ready to do whatever it took to gain the Dreads’ respect, the king’s favor, and their reward. Oliver and I had the motivation—but not the muscle or skill. We’d ended up in the healers’ wing after ourfirstrun. Ranking in two months felt daunting. Nearly impossible.
It would require nonstop training, late nights in the library, and—honestly—a new damned game plan. Because there was no way in this dimension, or the next, that the scraps of strength and skill we could scrape together in two months would be enough. Our squad already itched to tear us apart and stomp on our weak, little pieces. They could crush us, and they knew it. Hell, we knew it too. The only advantage Oliver and I had was our powers. But I needed more control. And technically, I couldn’t use mine unless I wanted to expose myself. Oliver… I gave him a quick once-over, biting my lip. Oliver would have to overcome his aversion to using his ability.
He side-eyed me, feeling my gaze. “I don’t like that expression on your face.”
“What expression?” I asked, my eyes wide and innocent.
Oliver scoffed. “Your bug-eyes can’t hide the smell of your stinky guilt. You’ve come up with some kind of scheme that somehow involves me, and you know I’m not going to like it.”
My fake smile turned sheepish.
“If you get us killed, I’m forcing the king to place us in the same circle so I can annoy you while they torture us—for the rest of time,” he said, running his hand through his moppy hair, his nerves blending the black and blond strands of his bangs.
I squeezed his free hand. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“That’s it for today. Find your leaders and follow their instructions,” General Ronen concluded, snapping my attention back to him and straight to his piercing golden gaze.
I held it for a second—one second—and that same magnetic feeling pulled at my chest, begging me to move closer. He wore no smile. Gave no pretense that he liked me. If anything, he only tolerated me, even after I opened up to him. So what was this damned attraction I didn’t want? And how did I stop it?
I needed his respect, which meant I’d have to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds eventually. More than that, I’d have to break through whatever resentment he held against me.
So his pretty little face didn’t matter.
“Lucy.” Oliver tugged on my arm, pointing toward our squad. “The pack of hyenas is congregating.”
“If they’re hyenas, what are we?” I asked.
“Roadkill.”
Accurate.
We dragged our feet toward the Tormentors—not alone in our reluctance. Many other recruits seemed unenthusiastic about startingtheir second day. Half the Bowels Squadron looked petrified. They must’ve witnessed a squadmate’s death or recycle. The smug expression twisting Moira’s perfect face made me want to turn and leave, but I held my ground.
“Oh, look. My favorite two recruits,” she purred, her voice sweet and mocking as we joined the others.
Everyone circled us. Some smiled. Okay—most smiled. Except Ichi and Ni, who stood silent, lips tight in disapproval.
