The nightmare doesn’t care.
Sleeping me recognizes this place. I’m at my father’s house. Our sprawling estate is backed by ancient woods and a lake, wide and still. The water is black as tar, reflecting the night sky and the crescent moon overhead, curved like a grin or a grimace, depending on whichway you look at it. Younger me shivers, as a cold breeze rises off the lake. It’s sharp as a knife, cutting through the fabric of my clothing and sinking into my bones.
Adult me knows this night. I’ve lived it before. This is our senior year of high school. We’re seventeen, almost eighteen, a couple of months from graduating. College is waiting, only an hour away in Ashfordville. All of the brothers and sisters I’ve grown up with are excited. Desperate, even, for freedom. For the High Council’s trials to end. For the tests we face to look more like multiple-choice scantrons and study guides, not survival drills and bloodsport.
We just need to make it through tonight. Our last test, a final exam of sorts.
That’s why I’m crouched low in the forest, shifting from tree to tree, moving sideways and shuffling my feet to minimize my tracks.
I can’t see the others, but I know they’re close. I can feel them. Hear the soft rustle of movement in the underbrush, the snap of a twig a few feet away. Someone’s breathing way too loud. They’ll fail if they don’t get it under control.
A bell rings in the distance. One note, low and echoing, like something from a monastery.
It signals the start of the hunt.
Not the kind with prizes.
The kind with rules. With consequences.
The High Council had summoned us earlier tonight. All of us, boys and girls, had met with them in my father’s grand ballroom, where he hosts parties for America’s elite. The room glittered with crystal chandeliers, mirrored walls, priceless statutes and paintings that had been accumulated by my ancestors. Passed down from generation to generation.
The twenty members of the High Council had stood in their robes and hoods with their faces in shadow. They explained we were going to play a game.
Immediately, dread dropped my stomach low. Their idea of a game and mine differed dramatically. Mine involved dice and fake money. Theirs involved weapons and bloodshed.
Sure enough. Turns out I was right. The game was called Secret Assassins.
“Someday,” intoned my father, with his deep voice echoing off the marble floor, “The Order may call upon you to eliminate a threat. When that time comes, you are to do so without question or hesitation.” He paused and let the weight of hiswords settle over us. “Tonight is your chance to practice. To put to use all the skills we’ve instilled in you over these many years.”
I tilted my head, listening closely. Whatever they were about to throw at us, I knew it had to be big. The High Council never did anything by halves, and this was their last shot at control, one final power play before we left the nest.
“The rules are simple,” Father explained. “You have each been assigned a single target, a brother or sister, to take out with a paint gun. There are no alliances. No negotiations. You hunt alone.”
His eyes swept the room. I remember the way they landed on me, sharp, appraising. Like he was daring me to fail.
“You will be released into the woods. If you accidentally shoot someone who isn’t your target, you’ll be removed from the game. If you eliminate your mark, you will get a reward…” He smiled, letting the tension build. “The winners will receive the first choice of rooms when you begin at Ashford University this fall. Ashford House and Rosewood Hall,” he added, his eyes sweeping the room, “our legacy fraternity and sorority. The heart of your future Order training.”
A ripple of noise moved through the crowd, murmurs, shifting feet, the rustle of clothing, as we all reacted. Some of us with barely contained excitement, others quietly calculating because we all knew what that meant. First choice didn’t just mean better views or bigger closets.
It meant power. Control.
Who you were near. Who you could keep an eye on. Which secrets you’d overhear.
We all wanted that prize.
His tone shifted. It turned colder. Harsher. “Understand this isn’t just about skill. Or speed. Or strategy.” His eyes landed on each of us in turn, and each of us wilted under that burning gaze. Except for me. I was used to seeing the challenge, the disdain in his expression.
“This is a test of loyalty. Of obedience. To The Order above all else.” His gaze darkened. “If there’s one lesson you take with you from tonight, let it be this.” His eyes turned my way as he said, “Trust no one.”
As if I needed that lesson.
Trust no one.
The fourth rule my father taught me.
He told me that when I was small and reinforced the lesson with every bone-cracking punch, every lick of his belt. I knew that rule better than anyone in the room. After all, I couldn’t trust my own parent.
His attention turned back to the rest of the crowd. “Now, you will all go into the forest. A bell will sound, signaling the beginning of the game. Go and may the best man or woman win.”
