I swallowed.
She may have been helping me train on behalf of Rowan, but she was right; she was not my friend. I still didn’t trust her. Telling her I felt weaker than usual today was already a mistake.
She certainly didn’t need to know what I had read in the library.
I shook my head, though the world swayed. “Nothing,” I muttered, voice hoarse.
She stood upright, letting her gaze drift around the gym, as if she were satisfied I’d failed. Steam hissed from the pipes, wrapping us in a wet, heavy fog. Thesound of the boiler was almost deafening now, drowning out everything except the pounding in my chest.
“You can do better than this,” she said finally, crouching back into her stance. “Or I’ll think you really are broken.”
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to rise, to center. My legs wobbled, but I stood, adjusting my guard. Every movement felt sluggish, like wading through water. And yet, the edge of my fear sharpened me.
Renata smiled then, almost approvingly. “There. That’s better. Now, fight like someone who wants to survive.”
I nodded once, tight-lipped, and lunged—not because I thought I could win, but because I refused to go down without meeting her blow head-on. Pain radiated with every strike, sweat dripped into my eyes, and the air in the gym felt thick enough to choke on, but I kept moving.
Finally, I collapsed from exhaustion. My eyes were sticking together from the sweat, and I struggled to pry them open.
“We’re done for the day,” Renata said sternly. “Go rest. You need it.”
She left, and I stayed there, heaving, heat pressing down like a weight I couldn’t lift.
Chapter 42
“The weight of life is far too heavy a burden to bear alone.
It will crush you.”
- The Old Book
The Facility - Month 3
Istood in front of my bedroom mirror, counting the white strands in my hair that had been multiplying like frost creeping across glass. I wasn’t as confident that it was purely stress anymore, considering every other culled one’s hair was growing just as white. But at least I was doing better than most—like Talia.
Talia sat cross-legged on her bed, absorbed in her own world as she carefully maneuvered splintered bits of wood across the thin mattress. She had pried them off her dresser days ago. Each shard of wood seemed like a tiny actor in a play only she understood. Her eyes, dull and distant, hardly ever acknowledged my presence anymore.
“Talia,” I spoke gently, my voice scarcely above a whisper. “You need to eat something.”
Her shoulders tensed slightly, but she didn’t lift her gaze. The wooden splinters continued their silent dance.
“You can’t keep avoiding meals,” I tried again softly. “Come with me. Even just for a little while.”
Each day, I watched her fade, a sense of helplessness gnawing at me, as if I was witnessing a slow, painful death I was powerless to prevent. I had watched an already slender Talia wither away during the past few weeks. I often had to prompt her to come to meals, and even then, she seldom came.
She paused, the smallest sliver of hesitation showing through her mask of indifference. I waited patiently, refusing to pressure her, giving space for the silence to coax her decision.
Talia’s hand stilled, her eyes flickering briefly toward me. Without a word, she slid off her bed, leaving the splintered pieces carefully lined in formation.
As we entered the dining hall, the usual tension pressed in from all sides. We found seats near the end of a long table, and Talia hunched protectively over her tray, picking listlessly at the food. I observed her, worry fraying at the edges of my composure. She was cracking before my very eyes.
I shivered and rubbed my arms for extra warmth. The dining hall had always felt cold, but now it was frigid, and it was all because of one person’s absence—Rowan.
He had been gone for three weeks without a note or whispered word of goodbye. He just vanished. A part of me feared something bad had happened to him, but surely I would have learned that from Renata. Every time I showed up for training, it was Renata on the mat. She was a skilled fighter, but she wasn’t Rowan.
Suddenly, a violent cough echoed sharply across the hall, yanking me from my own thoughts and drawing the attention of the room. A boy, thin and pale, lurched forward as blood spilled from his mouth. Gasps and murmurs erupted around us as the poor boy continued to spew crimson. Talia flinched, her eyes wide in fear. I instinctively reached out, gently placing my hand atop hers, anchoring her back to reality.
Healers rushed forward, swiftly lifting the boy onto a stretcher and whisking him away. An uneasy quiet settled once more, whispers rising in its wake.
