I suppose they are.
My stomach twists as I catch sight of Arayik’s hands, weaved under each arm from their crossing. My fingers still hurt where his grip held me, and I’d bet my position here there are bruises marring my skin. An Anchor’s strength lies in his ability to control his own destiny—to make himself immovable or unnaturally heavy and resolute. I’ve read about them of course, but experiencing one firsthand was terrifying.
The fifteen remaining recruits form a line, shoulders squared, heads forward. I find my place, mimickingtheir stance.
Blend in. Become invisible.
Arayik holds a small electronic notepad, studying it as his tongue clicks. I should add my observations about men’s behavior to my notebook later. Their pack mentality in the dining hall and their deference to hierarchy despite their bluster. The obsession with displays of strength. It’s all interesting, if not useful.
“Step forward when your name is called,” the Third announces, his voice sharp and precise. Each syllable carries a weight, demanding immediate compliance.
The saliva in my mouth withers to nothing as they begin listing names. Though nothing about the process seems punitive, my body reacts as if I’m being sentenced. Each recruit that steps forward is assigned to a training schedule split between the three leaders. Some receive schedules heavy with Elias’ sessions, others with Kellen’s. My stomach knots tighter with each name that isn’t mine. What if they’ve discovered me already? Are they just taunting me, and this organization is just a formality before they drag me to a facility?
No. You’re just being paranoid.
“Ashford.”
I jolt at my family name, creaks sounding from my stiff joints. Willing my legs to move, I step forward with hopeful grace. My boots stick to the floor with each step.
“Mornings with Elias and Kellen,” Arayik says with a flat look. “Afternoons with me.”
Of course. Just my luck. Hours every day with the man who already despises me. I expected this, knowing my physical strength, stamina, and skill are lacking horribly, but I still don’t want to accept it. Suppressing a sigh, I nod once and step back into line. At least he didn’t single me out for further harassment. Small mercies.
As the remaining assignments are distributed, I mentallycount each one. Four others will join me in Elias’ first morning group. Five will train with Kellen while I’m with Elias, the rest with Arayik, then we’ll switch. And in the afternoons, just three others will share my personal hell with our sunshine of a Commander.
Brenner is among them—a hulking man with a permanent sneer visible even through his mask. He’s a Charger, capable of generating electric currents with his touch. I’d witnessed him demonstrating yesterday, sending arcs of blue light between his fingertips. The others are Finnick, an Adapter who can withstand extreme environmental conditions, and Calder, a Thermic.
Powerful, physical abilities. Unlike my empathic talents, which Arayik clearly regards with disdain.
And yet I made him laugh without so much as a thought.
Kellen steps forward once the assignments are complete, detailing our daily schedule. Breakfast at six, training at seven, group transitions at nine. Lunch at eleven, followed by an hour of blessed downtime before afternoon sessions from one until five. Can’t wait.
“If you’re late, you’re out. If you’re absent without prior authorization, you’re out,” he states, taking time to examine each of us. “We are encouraged to remove anyone from the team at any time, for any reason.”
Arayik fixes his gaze directly on me. “So you’d all do well to listen and shut the fuck up unless told otherwise.”
A few recruits snicker, and my ears burn. They must have witnessed our confrontation earlier. Wonderful—now I’m marked as a troublemaker by my teammates.
After explanations of where to meet, more rules follow, blending together in a stream of restrictions and expectations. We can’t leave the grounds without permission; fighting among recruits is forbidden; any disputes we can’t resolve ourselves goto the leaders, but bringing up such complaints means automatic dismissal.
“Any questions?” The Commander’s tone suggests he’s ready to dismiss anyone who opens their mouth.
My mind floods with them instantly, regardless. Why are underground levels restricted? How many women are kept in each facility? Do the Enforcers ever remove their masks when executing missions? Why do they uphold the Syndicate’s laws at the expense of half the population? How many people have escaped beyond the perimeter?
But my lips remain firmly shut. One confrontation per day is enough.
“Dismissed. You have ten minutes until training begins.”
The recruits disperse, following their designated leaders. I fall in line with Vito, Malcolm, Brenner, and Pax behind Elias, my heart finally slowing now that our great leader isn’t glaring at me. The Second guides us through a series of halls I hadn’t seen yesterday, eventually reaching an elevator that requires his handprint to activate.
“This is a restricted access route,” he explains as the doors slide closed. “Only leadership and authorized personnel can use these elevators.” Good to know.
The same restriction doesn’t apply to the stairwell.
The descent to a lower level is smooth, though my stomach’s rolling would disagree. Three floors, then four, then five. I hadn’t realized the facility extended so deep below the surface. I’m curious what lies in these hidden spaces…more training rooms? Weapons? Prisoners?
I all but leap from the elevator when the doors open at the sixth underground level, and follow Elias through another hall. The lighting here is different—colder, with a bluish tint that makes the metal walls appear almost liquid. Our footsteps varytoo, suggesting thicker walls or ones made from contrasting materials compared to the main floor.
