The training began before dawn.
Mila stood in the courtyard, surrounded by fog, her breath forming clouds in the cold morning air. She was dressed in tight black athletic wear that had magically appeared in her closet overnight.
Miss Rowan stood beside a man Mila hadn't seen before. He was tall, lean, and scarred. His eyes were hollow.
"This is Kade," Miss Rowan said. "Ex-special forces. If anyone can teach you to stay alive, it's him."
Kade offered no greeting. He simply stared at Mila like she was a problem that needed solving.
"She's too soft," he muttered. "She won't last a week."
"I can hear you, you know," Mila snapped.
"Good. Let's start with something easy." He tossed her a wooden stick that looked like a practice baton. "Try to hit me."
Mila hesitated. "What if I don't want to fight?"
Kade smirked. "Then you'll die faster."
---
The first hour was brutal.
She swung. He blocked.
She lunged. He dodged.
By the end, Mila's arms trembled, her breath came in ragged gasps, and her pride lay shattered on the courtyard stone.
But she didn't quit.
Not once.
"You're stubborn," Kade said, tossing her a bottle of water. "Good. That's the first thing that'll keep you alive."
As Mila gulped water, she caught sight of Elias standing at one of the upper balconies, watching. His face was unreadable, but when their eyes met, her heartbeat betrayed her.
What did he see when he looked at her?
A girl he was shaping?
A liability he hadn't decided what to do with?
Or something else entirely?
---
Later that afternoon, Mila wandered the mansion's west wing — the one Miss Rowan had warned her to avoid.
She didn't care.
Something about the silence called to her. Like a secret begging to be discovered.
The hallways here were darker. Older. Dust clung to the corners, and the portraits lining the walls weren't pristine like in the main wing. Their eyes seemed angrier. Like they knew things she didn't.
Mila passed a locked door and paused.
Voices.
She leaned closer.
"…if she finds out the truth, Elias, we'll lose control of her."
It was the woman from the dining room. The ice queen.
"She doesn't need to know," Elias replied, voice low but firm. "Not yet."
"She's already asking questions."
"She can ask. She just won't get answers."
"You're getting attached. Don't deny it."
Mila's breath caught.
Attached?
"You know what happened last time," the woman warned. "Don't make the same mistake."
There was a long silence.
Then Elias spoke—softly, bitterly. "She's not like the others."
Mila stumbled back, heart hammering.
What others?
---
That night, she couldn't sleep. Again.
Too many questions. Too many whispers.
She paced her room, trying to calm the storm in her head, when a soft knock made her freeze.
She opened the door.
Elias.
Of course.
He looked... different. No suit. Just a black T-shirt and slacks. Hair slightly tousled like he'd run his hand through it one too many times.
He looked almost human.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Too many ghosts."
He stepped inside without waiting. "Do you want a distraction?"
"I'm not in the mood for chess."
"No," he said. "I mean a real distraction."
Before she could ask what he meant, he walked to the far side of the room, pressed a panel on the wall—and the bookshelf slid open, revealing a secret staircase.
"What the...?"
"Come," he said, that mysterious smile tugging at his lips. "If you dare."
Against her better judgment, she followed.
---
The stairs led to a hidden garden.
Lit only by moonlight, the space was like something from a forgotten fairy tale. Vines wrapped around wrought-iron trellises. White roses glowed under the stars. A fountain gurgled softly in the center.
Mila stared in awe.
"Why is this hidden?" she asked.
"Because not everything beautiful is meant to be seen," Elias said, stepping beside her.
"Sounds lonely."
He didn't answer right away.
Then, quietly: "It is."
They stood in silence, the night thick between them.
"I overheard something," Mila said suddenly. "You and that woman… You said I'm not like the others. What others?"
Elias stiffened.
"You said you wouldn't lie to me," she pressed.
"I won't," he said. "But that doesn't mean I'll tell you everything."
"Why not?"
He turned to her, eyes flashing. "Because the truth is a weapon. And right now, you're not ready to wield it."
"I'm stronger than you think."
"No," he said, stepping closer. "You're braver than you think. There's a difference."
Her breath caught as he reached out—slowly, giving her time to pull away—and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Mila…" he whispered, his voice like velvet laced with shadows. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Then don't," she said, her voice barely audible.
His fingers grazed her jaw, lingering.
For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he might kiss her.
But instead, he stepped back.
"We should go."
---
Back in her room, Mila stood alone, hands trembling slightly.
There was danger in Elias Ashbourne.
A predator's stillness. A storm beneath the calm.
But also… a flicker of something else.
Something that made her heart ache even as her mind screamed to run.
She walked to the mirror and stared at herself again.
Not the Mila from before.
Not the girl who begged for coins or ran from fists.
This Mila was something new.
Still fragile.
Still uncertain.
But becoming.
And she had a choice to make.
Run. Hide. Disappear.
Or stay. Fight. Learn how to wield the truth when it finally came.