Instead, I watched her work, the image of yellow blossoms blooming across cracked wood reminding me that life could grow in strange places—even in this one.
Even here.
Even in me.
“I am.”
Chapter 39
“There is give and take in everything.
All is measured, and all is accounted for.”
- The Old Book
Iawoke the next morning feeling lighter than I had been in a long time. I padded over to my dresser and grabbed the hairbrush on top. My hair was less brittle now, so I could finally use something other than my fingers to comb through it. As the bristles moved gently through my waves, I paused at the sight of several starkly white strands.
They were white as snow, completely devoid of pigment.
I examined them closely, twisting one strand between my fingers to confirm it was real, anxiety blooming in my stomach. It had to be stress—that was the logical explanation. The journey here had been brutal, a ceaseless torrent of sleepless nights and constant vigilance. I’d witnessed similar changes in Oak Hollow, grief turning hair ghostly pale. That must have been what was happening to me.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was shifting beneath my skin. That something deep within me was fundamentally changing.
Finishing my hair, I quickly dressed. As I tugged my pants on, I noticed their tightness around my hips. Turning to the mirror, I ran a hand down my side, tracing a newly formed curve that felt both foreign and familiar. My figure had regained its fullness, the softness now underlain with subtle strength. Even my arms, once thin and birdlike, now revealed faint lines of muscle.
Consistent meals and rigorous training were undeniably changing me. My reflection was healthier, stronger, yet strangely unrecognizable. My stomach wasn’tsunken anymore, and my collarbone no longer jutted out like a weapon. Somehow, amidst all the death and dread, my body had rebuilt itself.
I thought it odd that I once stood before myself in the mirror and regarded my body as foreign. It was just a body, a vessel of life. I hadn’t needed to be so cynical.
The wear and tear I had experienced since leaving Oak Hollow was evident in more than just my appearance. My aura had changed.
I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it all. Gratitude mixed uneasily with an unsettling sense of disorientation. I was thankful I was alive, but at what cost?
Some days, a reckless sensation of invincibility crept into my bones—a dangerous illusion I fought to dismiss. Especially after what Rowan had spoken about occurring with some of the other culled. I didn’t want what happened to Lily and the others to happen to me. I didn’t want to lose my mind, too.
Shaking my head to clear away the troubling thoughts, I moved swiftly toward the dining hall. The room hummed with its typical tension: trays clattering, whispers filled with suspicion, exhaustion threading through every glance. I scanned the crowd carefully, mentally marking each familiar face. Our numbers had dwindled again. A fight the previous week had stolen three lives, and two more were executed. The group, once sixty-strong, was now reduced to forty-two.
My gaze shifted, searching specifically for one face among the many.
But Rowan was nowhere to be found. Not lurking in his usual shadowed corner, not stationed near the entrance. His absence sent a sharp pang through my chest that I couldn’t silence. Was he avoiding me because of our kiss last night? Doubt trickled into my mind. He had been rather quiet afterward, but then he had given me a kiss goodnight. I didn’t know what to think.
I grabbed a tray and settled alone at an empty table, picking at my food without appetite. Marcum took the podium, his expression a calculated mask of regret as he recited today’s death roll. I listened as he read out the names of those who had attempted to take my life yesterday.
“Lily Thorne. Brenn Hollow. Aeva Ridgefield. Serene Windgrove.”
Marcum’s voice turned cool and clipped. “A reminder to all participants: violence against others is expressly forbidden. The only exception is self-defense, under provable, recorded circumstances. If you cannot abide by this, you will be removed from the program. Permanently.”
I didn’t look up when Marcum stepped down, nor when the room resumed its quiet rituals of scraping trays and whispered speculation. My appetite was long gone. I just sat there motionless, pushing a lump of something unidentifiable around my plate.
Still no sign of Rowan.
Eventually, the weight of the silence became too much. I rose, abandoned my tray, and slipped out through the side corridor—half-hoping I might run into him, half-hoping I wouldn’t.
The hallway outside the dining hall was colder, quieter. I moved instinctively, following the path back toward the east wing, where the facility’s lights were more fluorescent. My footsteps slowed as voices echoed ahead—low, familiar, tense.
I stopped just short of the junction.
Rowan was there.
