Guilt and disgust roll in my belly. “I was doing what I had to do to survive, not because I wanted you to become what you are.”
“And yet here I am. Oh, I don’t blame you, not really, but I won’t let you rationalize away who and what you are. You can take on whatever name you want, whatever persona you want, just like me, but you can’t erase your past or the parts you played in other people’s lives. Maybe that’s why I have a softer spot for you and haven’t killed you like I did all the others in that school.”
“What?” I frown, not understanding.
Her smile is cold, lethal. “You really didn’t think that I was going to let any of them go free after the things they did, did you? The boys were the worst. Oh, sure, you were spared from the worst of it just because of who your father was, and you went home with him every night, but the rest of us weren’t so lucky. Before I got smart, before I got fast, shit happened, and they paid for it.”
Horror fills me, realizing exactly what she’s insinuating.
“Then they deserved to die,” I tell her simply. “Did you make it as painful as possible?”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. She wouldn’t just deliver an execution to someone who wronged her. They would have died a bloody and terribly long death.
She gets to her feet, clearly done with the conversation. “We land in four hours at our secondary destination. I suggest you get some rest and be ready. I have no time to waste.”
As she walks back toward the bedroom, I can’t help but ask her, “Are you going to tell me what your actual name is?”
She glances at me over her shoulder, her expression cold and every bit as lethal. I have to force myself to stay still, to not show any reaction. The assassin is back and she’s not happy with my question. “Don’t push it, Aurora.” Then she’s gone, the faint sound of the lock clicking into place reaching me.
I let out a drawn-out exhale. Damn it. Well, we have time. Whatever she has planned, I need to be ready. If it’s my shotat freedom, even for a short time, then I’m going to take it and wring every last drop I can out of it.
I pick up the stone, getting back to work on sharpening the knives beside me. I try to block out her words, but they keep echoing over and over in my head.
You were the one who taught me the tricks of the trade that set the building blocks of who I’ve become.
The horrors of that time in my life are hard to keep at bay, and it feels like I’m going right back into them without a way to stop it.
It might be time for Aurora O’Brien to cease existing and for Rayea Antonova to surface if I want to get out of this alive.
3
RORI
Age: Eight
I fightback the bile trying to rise in my throat. Years of training and conditioning is the only thing keeping me from embarrassing myself and pissing off my father. Blood coats the room, me, and the other children at my side. We’re here to learn, to desensitize ourselves, to be just as cold, methodical. To be the boogeymen in the dark.
It’s worse for me. The others don’t go home at night just to hear more screams, to see more violence. To pay for any transgressions that our instructor felt were committed and it’s over until the next time.
I resent them all. Even though I know their lives can’t be much better, that doesn’t blunt the anger and even hatred burning in my gut.
Someone retches behind me, which doesn’t help my own reaction, but I clench my fist so tight that I’m sure I’m going to draw blood from the nails piercing my skin. The pain gives mesomething else to focus on, even as I hear shuffles from behind me of whoever is trying to step away, to hide their reactions.
It’s too late; they’ll pay for it. Perhaps with their life. After all, weakness is never allowed. Not even the slightest hints. They’re building us into what they want, and they won’t waste time or resources on any of us that don’t make the cut.
So I stay still, at the front of the group, only two others willing to be this close and in direct line of sight. The boy to my right is just as cold and unfeeling, face a mask of indifference, but I’ve figured out his tell now. He’s also horrified, disgusted, even though he hides it well. There is the slightest tick of his jaw, the slight bob of his throat as he swallows.
To my left is another girl, as tall as me, just as still, but unlike us. She looks almost lazy, like she’s bored or internally critiquing the show. Blood has splattered on the side of her face, but she’s never touched it, just letting it drip into thin lines and down to her clothes. And in her eyes is an anticipation that baffles me.
Is she actually enjoying this?
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Out of all of us, there have to be a few who will excel. The rest of us do it out of necessity, but she’ll be one of the few who will do it just for the sheer pleasure.
The final screams fill the space, before they’re abruptly cut off, a well-placed knife to the throat ending the sounds and their life.
I keep my breathing steady, as do those next to me, but I can hear the hiccuped sobs of a few, and the desperate drawing of breaths from others, all trying to calm themselves.
I want to turn to them, to scream at them to shut the hell up. Do they want to die? I don’t do any of it. I simply stare into the eyes of death itself, refusing to back down or look away.
