“I am a man,” he says quietly. “And I am fae. And neither were meant to tear each other apart for scraps.”
“Wrong again.” Voss turns to a handler nearby. “Demonstrate the consequence of refusal.”
It happens in a heartbeat. Tomas is wrenched to his knees, theblade flashes, and the world splits open in a spray of red. One moment he is defying them, the next he is gone—spilled out on the dirt like he never mattered at all.
Ellis makes a strangled sound, and I seize his arm, fingers digging in. My own body lurches forward, desperate to stop it, to undo it, but my legs won’t move. My throat won’t even form a scream. I can only watch as blood pools dark and fast, and his eyes, still fixed open, lose their light.
Something inside me twists, buckles, and won’t right itself again. All I can feel is the hollow where his voice was a moment ago.
“Now eat,” Voss commands the stunned crowd. “While it's still warm.”
Chapter 6
No one moves. The silence stretches, broken only by the drip of blood on stone.
Then Voss is there, in my face, his breath hot and reeking of meat. “You,” he growls, eyes narrowing as they lock with mine. “You're the one who helped the boy. Compassion?” He spits the word. “That better die here today.”
I hold his gaze, fighting the urge to step backward.How did he become this monster?Around us, the other recruits watch with deathly stillness, waiting to see if there will be another corpse on the training room floor.
“I helped myself,” I manage to respond. “H-He was useful.”
Voss studies me, his ruined face unreadable. Then he barks a laugh that holds no humor. “Survival instinct. Good.” He turns away, addressing the room again. “Finish your meal. Training begins in ten minutes.”
The tension breaks. Recruits return to their hard-won food, though many eat mechanically now, eyes darting to Tomas's body. No one approaches it. No one speaks of him. Already, he's becoming a lesson rather than a person.
Ellis shakes beside me, his eyes fixed on the spreading pool of blood. I force a piece of bread into the boy’s hand.
“Eat,” I whisper fiercely. “Or you're next.”
“He just—they just—” Ellis stammers.
“Yes. And they'll do it again without hesitation.” I grip his shoulder, forcing him to look at me instead of the corpse. “Eat. Stay alive. That's all that matters now.” I feel like I’m telling myself this as much as him.
He nods shakily and takes a bite of bread, chewing without seeming to taste it. Lira joins us, her knuckles split and a bruise forming along her jaw, but clutching several pieces of fruit.
“Smart move with Milor,” she murmurs, passing me an apple. “Though he'll remember it.”
I take a bite, the sweetness almost painful after days of near-starvation. “Let him,” I rasp.
My eyes scan the room, trying to catalog threats, allies, and the uncertain space between. Krall watches me from across the yard, evaluating. Nessa and Sariah have formed a defensive position in another corner, sharing food between them. The Laverte twins move in near perfect synchronization, one guarding while the other eats.
And high above, on a viewing platform I hadn't noticed before, stands Handler Selen. Unlike the other handlers who watch the proceedings with bored cruelty or sadistic amusement, her expression is analytical, assessing. When our eyes meet, she doesn't look away. Instead, she makes another note in her book.
“That one watches you,” Lira observes, following my gaze.
“Everyone's watching everyone,” I reply, though I know it's different. It's some kind of assessment, not simple observation.
Voss's whistle cuts through the air, and handlers begin clearing away the food carts, kicking aside those who try to grab final morsels. Two guards drag Tomas's body toward the exit, leaving a dark smear on the stone. No ceremony. No acknowledgment. Just disposal.
“Form lines!” Voss bellows. “Four ranks! Move!”
We scramble to obey, organizing ourselves with the desperate efficiency of the terrified. I position myself between Ellis and Lira,hoping to shield the boy from the worst of what's to come. My muscles ache from the food fight—a minor skirmish compared to what awaits us, I'm sure.
“Training begins now,” Voss announces, pacing before us. His misshapen face twists into what might be a smile on a normal man. “First lesson: pain.”
More carts are wheeled in, but these hold no food. Instead, they're laden with crude wooden weapons—staffs, clubs, and practice swords. Handlers distribute them randomly, ensuring some recruits receive nothing at all.
“Pair up,” Voss commands. “Those with weapons, those without. Begin.”
