I don’t remember exiting the office, nor returning to my quarters, but when cognizance returns to me, that’s where I find myself, sitting on the edge of my bed, shell-shocked and silent.
I’m going to be sold next quarter.
For years, I’d been immune to becoming some nation’s pawn in a war, cozy and safe at the academy. In that time, I’ve watched thousands of Cursed be trained and sold off, always with a sense of relief.
“At least it isn’t me.”
I knew that everyone hated me. The Cursed for my security, the GBE soldiers, because I’m Cursed.
No one hated me more than Colton Walker.
The feeling was mutual, although for entirely different reasons.
Colt hated me for my complacency, and I hated Colt for being my replacement.
He didn’t even know it, despite his ability to hear others’ thoughts. That very curse of his was why he was deemed more valuable than me, someone who could only feel emotions and nudge a few light objects around a room with my mind. Not exactly valuable power.
Weak enough to keep under their thumb.
But I’d heard members of the GBE discussing Colton, trying to figure out how to stop his panic episodes, get him to control his abilities.
Despite this knowledge and his hatred of me, I tried to help him however I could. I didn’t really know why until he challenged me, telling me to pick a side.
I had chosen my side; I just hadn’t realized it yet.
There is a rebellion out there. A group of Cursed living outside the confines of the GBE, out from under its boot.
One thing about being quiet and never making waves is that eventually, you blend into the background, forgotten, and the enemy grows careless, speaking freely around you. That’s how I found out that the rebellion was real. That’s also how I found out that the GBE had no idea what to do about them.
Fear can be paralyzing.
Before that paralysis sets in on me, I force myself to leave my room and venture downstairs, seeking whatever comfort I may be able to find.
The academy has never had so many soldiers in it, not in the twenty-one years I’ve been here, as a student and part of the faculty. They’re everywhere, lining walls, patrolling corridors, rifles at their backs and collar controls on their hips. It’s a sea of black uniforms with emblazoned red patches.
Some of the soldiers have familiar faces, most of them don’t.
The alarm had wailed nearly all night, likely drowning out the sound of the incoming air traffic that unloaded these new additions.
I don’t need to use my curse to know that everyone is on edge. The students’ expressions are fearful, their movements jerky anddefensive. The soldiers are either hyper-fixated on every collared individual who passes by, or clutch their weapons a bit tighter when more than a few gather near at once.
When I reach the third-floor cafeteria, it’s eerily silent, save for the occasional clinking of glasses or cutlery. Not a murmur of conversation floats through the air, and it’s utterly unsettling.
My eyes zero in on Nyx. Her blood red hair is piled high atop the back of her head, those big chocolate eyes flitting about the room until they land on me. She’s seated at a table with her friend Arlowe, her pin-straight brown hair in its usual asymmetrical pixie cut, deep purple eyes tinged red around their whites. And Erich, whose back is to me, sits on Nyx’s other side, his black hair a bit more disheveled than normal, his inky flame tattoos crawling out from under the neck of his black tee-shirt, licking his hairline.
I walk as calmly as possible, my focus steady on Nyx. When Arlowe notices my approach, she switches to the unoccupied seat, giving me free rein to sit beside my Omega.
My Omega.
Never in my life had I thought I would ever utter those words, even in my thoughts. But things change.
And how they have changed since last night.
I nod at Arlowe when I reach the pulled-out chair she’d vacated, and her head tilts in response. When I sit, I flatten my lips between my teeth, looking from Nyx to Erich and back. Touching either of them to express my innermost thoughts and fears would not be a good plan, surrounded by so many soldiers whose thoughts are filled with violence. So I look down at the table a moment in silence.
“What happened?”
Nyx’s voice is more air than whisper, and my eyes slide to her. I try to keep my response as quiet as her question.
