The nurse held my blood sample up to the light, studying it with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.
"Interesting," she said, almost to herself.
"What?"
She glanced at me, then around the room as if checking who might overhear. "Your blood is different."
My heart stuttered. "Different how?"
"Just different. Rare markers." She labeled the tube quickly. "You might be hearing from us sooner than most."
"Is that good or bad?" I asked, suddenly afraid.
She just smiled enigmatically. "Depends who you ask. Next, please."
I walked out of the medical station in a daze, my mind spinning with possibilities. Different blood. Rare markers. What did that mean?
Back in my tiny one-room dwelling, barely more than a shack near the colony's edge, I tried to distract myself with chores. I mended a hole in my fishing net, organized my meager belongings, and tried to ignore the gnawing in my stomach from my reduced ration.
The knock on my door came just after sunset three days later.
A colony messenger stood outside, looking uncomfortable. "Aya Fletcher?"
"Yes?"
"Administrator Voss requests your immediate presence at the central office."
My mouth went dry. "Why?"
"I'm just the messenger." He handed me a sealed note. "Bring this with you."
With trembling fingers, I opened the paper after he left.
Blood match confirmed. Prepare for transport.
The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. This couldn't be happening. Not so fast. Testing had only been hours ago.
I grabbed my worn bag, stuffing in what few possessions mattered, a faded photo of parents I didn't remember, a tattered book of ocean myths, a shell necklace I'd made years ago. What did one pack when being sent away forever?
The central office was brightly lit, a stark contrast to the dimming evening outside. Voss sat behind his desk, looking smug.
"Ah, Fletcher. Prompt. Good."
"What's happening?" My voice sounded small, even to my own ears.
"You've been matched," he said, sliding a document across his desk. "Quite an unusual match, actually. High priority. Transport has already been arranged."
"Transport? Now? But?—"
"This is quite fortunate for you," he interrupted. "Your match is from the Navi Mountains region. Very prestigious. The compensation to the colony is substantial."
My hands shook as I tried to read the document. Most of it was in terminology I didn't understand, but one line stood out:
Match: Sacrarium of Navi. Classification: Elite Predator.
"Predator?" I whispered, fear coiling in my stomach.
"A term of respect in their culture," Voss said dismissively. "The transport arrives in one hour. A preparation team is waiting to get you ready."
