I’ve lived within these walls for fifteen years.First as a recruit myself, then as an active field Enforcer, eventually ascending to leadership. I know every corridor, every room, every surveillance blind spot. The place has a rhythm to it—the shift changes, meal schedules, training rotations—that pulses through the day like a formidable heartbeat.
Inside, the familiar scent of industrial cleaner and sweat greet me. Boots stomp on polished concrete and muted conversations bounce off walls. Men move with purpose here. There’s no place for aimlessness in an Enforcer’s life.
In the dining hall, I nod at those who acknowledge me with the proper deference, ignoring the rest. Most Enforcers wear their masks during duty hours but remove them in designated areas. The hall is one such place, though I never take advantage of the exemption.
Mystery creates intimidation.
Kellen and Elias sit at our usual table near the door—positioned to watch the entire room while keeping our backs to a wall. It’s not paranoia if the precaution has saved your life multiple times.
Kellen has already removed his mask, setting it on the table beside his tray. His features are sharp, eyes a penetrating stormy gray that miss nothing—that’s fine when it’s not directed at me. Dark hair cropped short frames a face that most would call handsome if they didn’t know the coldness behind his calculating gaze. He’s halfway through a plate of protein, with another waiting next to it.
It smells divine. My stomach tightens in response, but I ignore it. Food can always wait.
I never quite understood their comfort with removing their masks around others. To me, the mask has always been more than uniform—it’s protection. It keeps others from reading my expressions and connecting the man to the Enforcer. Itmaintains distance. Any form of personal connection is a potential weakness, and I will not be weak.
Through fear comes compliance. Through compliance comes order. Through order comes stability.
“Training go well?” my second asks as I lower to my usual seat, his tone neutral but his eyes searching my posture for signs of my mood. He’s always been perceptive, even without using his power.
Before I can answer, movement catches my attention. Ashford enters the dining hall, his uniform still showing evidence of today’s training in smudges of dirt across the knees. He collects a tray, fills it with more food than his frame suggests he could possibly consume, and spins to leave.
My eyes follow him across the room, noting how he walks. There’s something in his gait—a carefulness that doesn’t match his supposed background. Messengers develop a looser stride from constant travel. His is stiff and deliberate.
“Why do you hate the guy so much?”
I consider deflecting, but what’s the point? These two know me too well to be fooled by evasion.
My response is flat. “He’s scrawny, plus physically and mentally frail. He claims some medical condition to secure private quarters, but we all know that’s bullshit. I’d put him in the center bottom bunk with the rest of the recruits if I could, but he’s too skilled at manipulating regulations.”
Leaning back, I stretch out the tension in my neck. “He takes the easy way out of everything. When we’re actually beyond the perimeter, his power will be useful enough to justify his presence, but until then, he’s nothing but deadweight.”
Kellen and Elias exchange looks—one of those silent communications they’ve perfected over the years that always leaves me excluded.
“You remember what it was like, Ry,” Elias says in a careful manner. “Being thrown into training while having no choice in the matter. You never showed it, but you were scared. Lachlan is too. Out of the three of us, I’d think you could empathize with him the most.”Lachlan. Didn’t realize they were on a first name basis.
“Empathize.” The word tastes bitter on my tongue. “Fuck off. You asked why I didn’t like the guy, and I told you. He’s about as fucking useful as a woman. Probably be a better fuck than an opponent on the mat.”
Kellen’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think he’d be into you like that, but I’d be interested to see you ask him.” Of course he would.
Elias snickers, adjusting in his seat while I glare at my third.
“What, is he your new project?” I demand. “Did I miss the directive that we’re supposed to coddle recruits now?”
The man sighs. “No one’s coddling anyone.” His voice takes on a reasonable tone that makes me want to pummel him. “But if you’re going to keep him on the squad for his powers, maybe try not looking like you want to gut him every time he enters a room. It’s counterproductive.”
“And what about you, Elias? You’ve been up Ashford’s ass since you both arrived. Anything you care to share?”
A moment of silence before he answers with a creased brow. “Honestly, the guy reminds me of myself. When we first joined the force, I was scared—rightfully so.” Bright eyes meet mine. “I remember what it was like to feel so overwhelmed by the training and constant chattering of everyone around us. I wish Trent had given us a little grace, so apologies if I do with a couple of the recruits who are struggling. These are our charges, Ry…we’re meant to look after them and lead them, not tell them how worthless they are every chance we get. Vitriol doesn’t build a good soldier—it creates a resentful one.”
My mouth opens to continue the argument before I stop myself. This is pointless. We’re wasting time bickering when we should be discussing strategy.
“Fine,” I concede, something I will only do with these two, before leaning forward on my elbows. I glance around the dining hall, noting many of the recruits have already left. The noise level has dropped enough that private conversation is possible, though I still keep my voice low. “How are they progressing in your sessions?”
Elias shrugs, swallowing before speaking. “Better than expected, for the most part. The simulation training is revealing some interesting approaches. Forven’s Clinger power gives him excellent mobility advantages, he’s trained it well. And Benson can blend into shadows—very useful for recon. Rhyne is able to suppress pain, which means he’ll keep functioning even when injured.”
“Pax Eston’s telepathic range extends farther than our initial assessments indicated,” Kellen adds. “And Till’s skills are developing nicely—not as refined as yours, Elias, but solid enough for field work.”
“What about the two problem children?”
