I sneak from the hall and make it to the sleeping quarterswithout further incident. Though I desperately want to shower, I decide it’s too risky tonight. I’m too exhausted to maintain proper vigilance in a communal space. Instead, I just use the bathroom quickly before locking myself in my room.
Alone at last. Trembling hands lift to remove my mask before I collapse onto the narrow bed. The cool, stale air feels like heaven against the grime on my face after hours of confined breathing.
Silent tears track down my cheeks as the full truth of what I’ve done finally sinks in.
I’m overwhelmed. Terrified. Uncertain whether I’m being brave or suicidally foolish. My body aches in places I didn’t know could feel pain, and I’m mentally drained from the constant attention required to maintain my disguise.
How am I going to do this every day? How did I ever think I could pull this off? I’ve willingly walked into the lion’s den and painted a target on my back.
But as the pressure behind my eyes pulls me toward sleep, one thought rings clear amid the chaos: I made it through the first day.
I made it through the first day.
One day at a time is okay if that’s all I can manage.
CHAPTER SIX
CASSIA
The training room is dim as I creep into its walls well before dawn. The air still clings to the chill of night, and there’s a peace I wouldn’t expect to find anywhere on these grounds. My footsteps thud against concrete floors, the hollow sounds bouncing back to me like unwanted company. Though welcomed, the vast emptiness in the room is eerie. As if it’s holding its breath, keeping from blurting out the threat I know surrounds me.
At least I’m alone.
I need this solitude. My muscles scream from yesterday’s training, each movement a groan-worthy reminder of how unprepared my body is for this charade. It’s embarrassing and unacceptable.
But it’s my mind that truly refuses rest. Behind my locked door last night, I’d stared at the ceiling until the darkness became a canvas for my fears—abstract images of all the ways I could fail or die.
All the ways they could kill my family.
Things I’d only ever seen in the hatch. I’m so selfish for doing this.
The floor is cool beneath my legs as I slide downthe wall and stretch them out before me. The uniform is heavier today, tugging what little energy I possess to the ground I rest on. My lips curl from the rigid material pressing against them—I truly hate the way the mask traps my breath and creates such uncomfortable humidity. But I’d never risk removing it, not here. That’s a luxury reserved for my bed.
The trouble is Lachlan’s been accused of being a woman before by people who didn’t know better. If that happened to him—with his deeper voice—what chance do I have if anyone glimpses my face? Would Lachlan’s record and my power be enough to convince them?
I could probably talk my way out of mild suspicion. I am an Empath, after all.
Sighing, my head drops back to the wall. I have a backstory that checks out, but one thorough inspection would end everything. I have this creeping fear they’d make me remove my shirt to prove I’m male. Or my pants. That is not something I could hide no matter how powerful I am.
My empathy trickles to the surface like the lightest sprinkling of rain. I’ve held it back to preserve my sanity—trying to process my own emotions while filtering through everyone else’s is overwhelming. But alone in this empty room, I can finally let the tightly wound coil of my power loosen. I sigh as my head drops back against the wall.
The release is exquisite.
My awareness extends cautiously, brushing against emotional residue in the space—anxiety, pride, frustration—remnants of those who trained here recently. It’s strange, because these impressions shouldn’t linger; Empaths usually need physical contact to sense emotions, and even then, only present ones. After decades of nothing to do but experiment with my abilities, I still discover nuances that contradict the officialunderstanding.
For a woman, at least, because of course every piece of literature on the subject refers to the male body.
Then there’s the other limitation I’ve stretched: touching only one subject at a time. Yesterday, I influenced all three leaders simultaneously. The threat in Arayik’s eyes when I made him laugh will haunt my nightmares for years. I’d caught a glimpse of something dangerous…like I’d dragged a private part of him into the light against his will, and now he wants to punish me for it.
Perhaps I’ll try such experiments more often on him, if he’s going to hurt me anyway. Discover how he enjoys having his body taken from him and used for the enjoyment of someone else.
My lip curls. Less than a day around new people and I’ve already shrunk to such drama-infested pettiness.
Stars, the same burning question flicks through my mind for the hundredth time this morning: what am I doing? I have no concrete plan. Learn about the internal workings of the Syndicate, discover how exactly they maintain the breeding facilities. I know why women are kept there, but understanding the logistics might reveal weaknesses.
This was an impulsive, foolish decision.
Something snaps in my mind—I’m getting ahead of myself again. I won’t be able to do any of that unless I survive this training, learn their ways, and remain inconspicuous enough to gather such information. Then,maybe, I can finally do something good with my life.
