I slide down the wall and sit on the mat, legs splayed out in front of me, and I stare at the staff lying on the floor. At the practice dummy with fresh marks on it. At my reflection in the mirror, hair stuck to my face with sweat, eyes brighter than they were an hour ago.
I make myself a promise right there on that mat.
I'm not leaving this place. I'm not dying for them. I'm going to make them regret choosing me.
Starting tomorrow night, I'll come back here. I'll train. I'll make myself dangerous. I'll make myself sharp. I'll learn to usethe staff properly. Then the knives. Then whatever else I can get my hands on.
The Dominion wanted to know what I am. So do I. And I'm done letting them define it for me.
They gave me trials. I'll give them a war.
I sit there as the sun rises, as the quality of light in the room changes from silver to gold. My hands hurt. My body aches from swinging the staff. But something in my chest that's been hollowed out for two days feels almost solid again, not fixed or healed but present.
I stand up slowly. My legs are shaky but they hold. I walk to where the staff lies on the floor and I pick it up. Look at it. My blood is on the wood. I don't wipe it off.
I put it back on the rack carefully, intentionally, like I'm making a promise to an object.
Tomorrow night. I'll be back.
I walk to the door and look back once at the training hall. At the mirrors and the mats and the weapons that are going to teach me how to survive this place. How to be more than what they think I am.
Tomorrow night I'll come back. And the night after that. And the night after that.
Let them come.
I'll be ready.
I leave the training hall as the sun rises properly, gold and sharp through the windows casting long shadows across the floor. My hands are bleeding but I'm smiling.
The girl who walked up to that tower wanted to die.
The girl walking out of this training hall wants to win.
That's enough of a difference to start with.
Chapter Eleven
Iwalk into the dining hall like I'm wearing armor I haven't earned yet.
The conversations don't stop all at once. They ripple outward from where I stand, waves of sudden quiet spreading through the room as heads turn and voices drop. I know what they're seeing. The video is still making its rounds through phones and whispered retellings, Nico's betrayal edited and perfected into something people can consume at breakfast. My private thoughts, my desperate loneliness, everything I trusted him with spread out for entertainment. I'm the joke that won't stop being funny.
But I'm also the girl who's still here, and that seems to surprise them.
I hold my head up and move toward the food line. My shoulders stay back, spine straight, even though every instinct I have is screaming at me to curl inward and disappear into the walls. The students in front of me shift slightly, creating space Ididn't ask for. Fine. If they want to treat me like I'm contagious, I'll take the extra room.
The oatmeal is lukewarm and the fruit looks tired, but I pile both onto my plate anyway because my body is a tool and tools need fuel. I learned that last night in the training hall with blood on my palms and splinters in the staff.
When I turn toward the back tables, I catch sight of Lily already sitting in our usual spot. She looks up as I approach and her whole face does this thing where it goes from neutral to startled in the space of a breath. Her eyes scan my face like she's looking for one thing and finding something else entirely.
"You look different," she says once I've sat down.
I pick up my spoon. "I am different."
Lily sets down her fork and leans forward slightly. "Nova. What happened? You were barely functioning two days ago and now you're..." She gestures at me, searching for the word. "I don't know. You're here. Really here."
"I decided not to let them win."
"That's it? You just decided?"
