I followed Corvin into the vast auditorium of Bellhallow.
I stopped at the threshold, frozen by the sight before me…
Rows of nineteen-year-olds sat stiffly in silence, each face expressionless, every movement rehearsed.
The air was stale, laced with the sharp scent of metal and something faintly chemical—like disinfectant struggling to mask fear.
Corvin didn't wait for me, he just kept walking, as if I wasn't even there.
I stood frozen for a moment, then shook myself and hurried after him.
We all had our places. Corvin and I were assigned seats at the very front, side by side, our names taped neatly to the chairs like a quiet reminder: You belong here.
The moment we sat down, the lights dimmed.
A woman stepped onto the stage, an all-too-fake smile plastered across her face. She stretched her arms wide, sweeping the room with her gaze before she spoke.
"Thank you all for being here today," she said warmly, as if we'd had a choice.
"Believe it or not, I truly believe I'll see each and every one of your faces at graduation, when you and your partner leave for the adult world."
She paused, her smile tightening.
"I believe the Paling will refuse to touch such promising children."
She probably says that to every class, I thought bitterly.
"Right," Corvin whispered beside me, his voice dry. "Because the Paling only chooses children who aren't promising."
The woman continued without reacting.
"And if I am wrong," she added, "it is not a measure of who you would have been. It is simply… nature."
Then her eyes landed on me.
Her smile widened, too personal, too knowing.
"Eira. I remember when your mother and father sat in those very chairs."
I squirmed in my seat, suddenly too aware of every eye, every breath in the room.
"They were full of promise, just like you," the woman added, then moved on, addressing the crowd once more as if she hadn't just peeled back my entire chest and poked at the softest part of me.
I sank a little lower in my seat.
Corvin didn't say anything for a moment. He just watched me, head tilted slightly, expression unreadable. It made my skin prickle.
The woman droned on, her voice fading into a distant hum. Something about dorm rules. Curfew. Daily screenings. The usual protocol meant to make us feel safe. Caged, but safe.
Then a sharp, wet cough broke the silence.
It came from somewhere in the middle rows. Heads turned. A few people stiffened. No one said a word.
The woman faltered—but only for a breath. She recovered, her voice even brighter now, as if she could bleach the air with optimism.
"Remember, children..." the woman's voice rang out again, a strained sort of cheer in it,
"not every cough, fever, or runny nose is a sign of the illness."
Her tone faltered for just a moment.
"However, any signs of illness will be taken with the utmost caution.
You will be quarantined...swiftly, for your safety and the safety of others."
She glanced to her left and gave a small, precise nod.
From the shadows of the auditorium walls, several tall figures stepped forward, men in black uniforms, helmets masking their faces. Silent. Controlled. Like they'd been waiting.
They descended into the crowd without hesitation.
A ripple of panic surged through the rows as they reached a girl near the center, she couldn't have been more than a few days into her placement. Pale. Shaking. She tried to stand, to speak, but the words never came.
One of the guards gently, but firmly, gripped her arms, while another lifted her red folder from the chair beside her.
No one moved. No one protested.
She was gone in less than a minute.
"Just a precaution," the woman said smoothly, as if nothing had happened.
"We thank you for your cooperation."
I sat frozen, heart thudding against my ribs. My throat suddenly felt too tight.
Corvin, beside me, didn't flinch. He simply leaned back in his chair, eyes on the stage, like he'd seen it all before.
Maybe he had.