“What’s your name?” I asked the girl. She sat with her legs crossed on her bed, twiddling her fingers on the end of one of her tight, brassy braids.
The girl hesitated before speaking barely above a whisper. “Talia.”
“How old are you, Talia?”
“Thirteen.”
My throat constricted. I knew she was young. It was evident from her innocent appearance. But hearing it still made my chest squeeze. She was too young to be here.
“Well, Talia, I’m Mavis. It’s nice to meet you.”
She tilted her head, examining me. “You’re the one they call a traitor.”
“Well, don’t believe everything you hear,” I said, sitting up a little straighter.
“I don’t,” she said firmly but sweetly.
Talia gave me a tentative smile before standing and heading for the door.
My stomach rumbled. “Is it time for breakfast?”
Something I couldn’t name quickly flashed in her eyes. I waited for her to explain, to say what she was thinking, but she only nodded and walked away.
The interaction had been slightly awkward, but at least she didn’t seem to harbor any resentment toward me like the other culled. That was promising.
Rowan had told me to “make it to breakfast,” whatever that meant.
While he was still a Veiler, meaning I implicitly couldn’t trust him, I could begrudgingly admit that he cared to some extent about what happened to me. I wasn’t sure what his motives were, but it didn’t entirely matter. If he was interested in keeping me alive, that was enough for now.
I made my way to the dining hall, got my breakfast, and seated myself toward the back of the room. I ate in silence, impatiently waiting for the man from the night before to reappear and explain exactly what was going on.
I tapped my foot so fast that the table slightly shook from the force of it, earning me a few side glances from the culled around me. Dread was slowly eating at me as I tried to piece together Rowan’s warning.
Something was going to happen. I just didn’t know what.
Marcum Marwood finally made his appearance half an hour later, a wide grin plastered on his face. It was a facade.
Marcum took the stage and tapped what I heard others refer to as amicrophone.
“Good morning, participants. I hope you all slept well. It is with a heavy heart that I announce the death of two program participants: Mina Summers and Dorian McFinney. They attempted to flee in the night, and as previously stated, the doors to the outside are not locked. Their frozen bodies were recovered this morning and returned to the Ground as Anam demands it.” There was a long moment of silence before Marcum continued. “Anyway, I have a few notes from our head chef here concerning dietary needs…”
His voice trailed off, the room lurched, and it felt as though the walls were closing in on me. I could no longer hear anything other than the alarm ringing inmy ears. Just two people who had tried to escape, two lives lost, now reduced to nothing more than a cautionary tale.
Realization dawned on me, and my breath hitched.Thatwas what Rowan meant by needing to “make it to breakfast.” He wanted me to hear the death roll.
He wanted me to understand just how much danger I was in.
I searched the crowd of Veiled Ones for Rowan’s face. They had all stopped wearing masks, probably figuring that their identities were now safe. If we tried to run, we were as dead as Mina and Dorian.
Eventually, I spotted Rowan. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on me. When he tilted his head toward the dais, I understood. Look at Marcum.
“I would like to speak briefly about the creation of The Ascension Program…”
Here it came.
“One hundred fifteen years ago, the Ravarie King, Acaelar Bloodborne, had a prophetic dream the night before his coronation…”
I felt the beginnings of a headache blooming behind my eyes.
