His reaction flickers between shock and renewed rage. Corin tries to say something, perhaps sensing the dangerous turn in Brenner’s demeanor, but the larger man brushes him off with a harsh gesture.
“Or I could just kill you and be done with it.” The casual way he delivers the threat somehow makes it more terrifying. My heart hammers against each rib as my opponent barks an order to Corin. “Watch the door.”
Panic wells in my chest, but with it comes a clarity I haven’t felt before. Elias’ words from earlier echo in my mind:I’d like you to use your ability to help defuse situations when tempers flare.
This certainly qualifies.
Withoutfurther hesitation, I reach out with my empathy, not bothering with subtlety as I push into both their minds. I visualize calm waters, peaceful meadows, gentle breezes—shoving these sensations into their consciousness with every ounce of concentration I can muster.
The effort to overtake Brenner’s resolve makes my vision swim and knees weaken, but I don’t relent. His shoulders slacken first, the tension visibly draining from his massive frame. His hand drops away from me as if too heavy to hold up. Corin, already more susceptible to emotional influence, sways on his feet.
Encouraged, I push deeper, adding layers of exhaustion to the calm.Sleep, I tell their bodies.Rest. Bed. Now.
They turn away in a daze, shuffling toward the exit without another word. The victory floods me with relief, but I maintain the connection, unwilling to let go until they’re safely gone.
Just as they reach the door, Brenner pauses, swiveling with visible effort. His eyes, heavy-lidded but still dangerous, find mine. “I know you’re an Empath, Ashford,” he slurs, fighting my influence. “Commander will be hearing about this.”
I shrug and wave him along, feigning a confidence I don’t feel. I follow at a safe distance, watching as they stumble down the hallway toward their quarters. Only when the click of their door signals closing do I release my hold on their minds.
The backlash is immediate. Cold sweat breaks out across my body, and my hands shake so badly I have to press them against the wall for support. I’ve never exerted my power like that before, never sustained influence over multiple live targets for so long. The fact I succeeded is both thrilling and terrifying.
Back in my room, I lock the door on unsteady legs. My wet uniform clings uncomfortably, but at least it’s clean now. I remove it and hang each piece on the back of the room’s single chair, positioning it near the vent where warm air circulates.The salve I prepared earlier has set to the perfect consistency—thicker than lotion but not so solid it won’t spread. I scoop a generous amount onto my fingertips and begin applying it to my shoulders, working it into the knotted muscles with firm pressure.
By the time I finish, my eyelids are drooping, the combined effects of physical exhaustion, power exertion, and the day’s emotional rollercoaster conspiring to pull me toward unconsciousness. I barely manage to wipe the excess salve from my hands before collapsing onto the narrow bed.
Honestly, I should be more concerned about Brenner’s threat. About what tomorrow will bring when he reports me to Arayik. About whether I can survive another day of this brutal charade.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CASSIA
Three others stand in formation with me, the biting afternoon air slicing through my lungs with each breath. My muscles scream from yesterday’s drills, a persistent agony that makes even standing still torture. The training yard stretches before us, hard-packed dirt swept clean of debris, surrounded by metal hurdles and wooden training dummies that boggle my mind. Why would I fight a piece of wood? That seems quite illogical.
Training with Kellen earlier was manageable—Brenner refused to look at me, which suited me perfectly. His averted gaze meant he wouldn’t notice the strain beneath my mask, wouldn’t notice how I favored my right side where Arayik’s combat drills had left a constellation of bruises.
But now, facing my last session with him today, cold dread pools in my stomach.
He stands at the opposite end of our semicircle, predatory energy radiating from his hulking frame. His mask points directly at me, and through the narrow slit, those baleful eyes bore into my soul. His stance is rigid. I know what he wants—to tell everyone how the freak Ashford manipulated his mind lastnight, how I used my power outside regulation to make him stumble away like a drunkard.
I catch his attention and give one shake of my head. The meaning is clear: keep quiet about what happened, or everyone learns what you and Corin do after dark. I’m not proud of this blackmail, but I won’t apologize for it.
Brenner’s mask tilts upward sharply before he turns away with a jerk, his massive shoulders bunching beneath his uniform. The air between us practically crackles with his hatred.
Every bone in my body is brittle, hollowed out by unprecedented exhaustion. I haven’t slept properly since arriving, and last night’s power exertion left me far more drained than I could fathom. Every step I’ve taken today has required conscious effort, my body moving through invisible sludge. But I can’t show weakness—not with Brenner looking for any vulnerability, and not with Arayik’s scrutiny falling on my every move.
“Attention,” his voice cuts across the yard, and all four of us straighten. Calder and Finnick adjust their stances, feet planted wider, chins lifting.
“Commander.” The other three respond in unison. I hesitate a beat too long before joining in, earning a not-so-subtle glare from Arayik which somehow conveys his disapproval despite the mask.
“Today we assess combat capability,” he says, pacing before us. His movements are fluid, economical—a predator conserving energy. “You’ve demonstrated individual skills. Now I want to see how you function against an opponent. The field demands adaptation, quick thinking, and the ability to exploit weakness.”
His movements stop, mask pointing directly at me, and a chill traces my spine.
“You will pair up. First pair takes the mats.” He gestures to the center of the yard where black mats form a rough square. “Before you disperse, one of you tell me what the scan sequence is when traveling through a provincial checkpoint.” My heart skips—that’s the question he asked me last time.
“Sir,” Finnick begins, “The sequence begins with swiping one’s badge for identification. Then—”There’s more?“—confirming the manifest code given with travel orders.”
Oh. Oh, fuck me…Lachlan never mentioned that.
