Her eyes snapped open.
Catherine sat up abruptly, her breath uneven.
The Grandmaster's voice still echoed in her mind—cold, deliberate.
Hatred… turns a survivor into a weapon.
And beneath it—
Another sound.
A scream.
Her mother's.
Her jaw tightened.
Sleep had not found her.
And it would not.
She swung her legs over the side of the bunk and climbed down quietly, her bare feet meeting the cold stone floor.
The room was dim, lit only by faint moonlight slipping through narrow windows. Rows of bunk beds stretched across the hall, filled with girls her age and older—some tossing in their sleep, others whispering faintly, trapped in dreams they couldn't escape.
Catherine's eyes swept over them.
They looked small.
Fragile.
Nothing like what she planned to become.
She stood there for a moment… listening.
No howls.
No screams.
Just silence.
But it didn't feel peaceful.
Her fingers curled slowly into fists.
She wasn't here to sleep.
She wasn't here to mourn.
She was here to become stronger.
And she would start now.
The corridor outside was colder.
Quieter.
Stone walls stretched endlessly, lit by flickering torches that cast long, shifting shadows. The air felt heavy—like the building itself was watching.
Catherine walked.
Slow. Measured.
She turned a corner—
And stopped.
A faint glow spilled from beneath a door at the far end of the corridor.
Voices.
Low.
Careful.
Catherine's eyes narrowed.
She moved closer.
Each step deliberate. Controlled.
"…they won't survive at this rate," one voice said.
"They don't need to survive," another replied. "They need to be ready."
Catherine froze just outside the door.
Slowly, she leaned in…
Pressing her ear against the wood.
"They are children," a third voice argued.
A pause.
"They are weapons," the Grandmaster said.
Silence.
"…we need them ready as soon as possible," someone added.
"For what?" another voice asked.
A beat.
"For what's coming."
Catherine's breath slowed.
Something shifted behind her.
"Hey."
She went still.
"You."
Catherine turned slowly.
An Operative stood a few steps behind her, arms folded, eyes narrowed.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Catherine said nothing.
Just looked at him.
Studied him.
"I couldn't sleep," she said flatly.
His gaze sharpened. "And that led you here?"
Silence.
She didn't deny it.
"Recruits don't wander these halls," he said. "Especially not here."
Catherine tilted her head slightly.
"What's coming?"
The question landed without hesitation.
The Operative paused.
"That's not your concern."
"It is if I'm supposed to be ready."
A beat.
"You're out of line."
Catherine didn't move.
"Then put me in line."
No fear.
No emotion.
Just challenge.
The Operative held her gaze for a moment longer—
Then exhaled softly.
"…go back to your room."
Catherine didn't respond.
She turned.
And walked past him.
Dawn hadn't fully broken when the bell rang.
A deep, hollow sound echoed through the halls.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The first light of the sun crept over the horizon, pale and cold.
"Recruits—assemble on the field!"
Doors creaked open.
Children stumbled out, half-awake.
"Isn't it too early…?"
"I want to go back to sleep…"
"My mum never woke me this early…"
They dragged themselves toward the training grounds—
And slowed.
Whispers spread.
"She's already there…"
Catherine sat perched atop a tall wooden post at the edge of the field, her figure still against the dim sky.
She hadn't moved.
Hadn't spoken.
Just stared upward… like the rising sun held answers no one else could see.
Like she had been there all night.
"She's weird…"
"Did she even sleep…?"
Catherine didn't react.
A voice cut through the murmurs.
"That's enough."
Silence fell.
A man stepped forward onto the field.
"I am the field operative known as Jim," he said. "I'll be overseeing your training today."
A brief pause.
"The higher ranks are occupied."
Catherine's gaze shifted.
Slowly.
She looked down—
And met his eyes.
Recognition flickered.
Her.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then—
Catherine rose.
And stepped off the post.
Landing lightly.
No words.
No hesitation.
She walked forward and took her place among the others.
The recruits shifted slightly, giving her space.
Jim watched.
Then looked away.
"Good," he said.
He clasped his hands behind his back and stepped forward.
"You're all awake now."
His gaze swept across them.
"You think you've been brought here to be trained."
A pause.
"To be protected."
Another.
"To be given a second chance."
His expression hardened.
"You're wrong."
Silence.
"You are at the very bottom of the food chain."
The words hit.
"Out there—" he gestured toward the distant forest, "—there are things faster than you. Stronger than you. Smarter than you."
A step forward.
"And they will not hesitate."
His voice lowered.
"They will tear you apart… without mercy."
Some of the recruits stiffened.
Jim continued.
"And in here?"
He spread his arms slightly.
"You are no different."
A ripple of unease passed through them.
"You are the weakest this Order has to offer."
A murmur started—
He raised a hand.
Silence returned instantly.
"Recruits are not soldiers."
A beat.
"You are candidates."
Another.
"Test subjects."
The words settled heavily.
"Some of you will rise."
A pause.
"Most of you will break."
His gaze moved across their faces.
"And the rest…"
Silence.
"…won't survive long enough to matter."
The wind brushed across the field.
No one spoke.
Then—
"However…"
The word pulled them back.
"You are here for a reason."
A glance—brief, deliberate—toward Catherine.
"You've lost something."
Her fists tightened.
"Something that can either destroy you…"
A pause.
"…or forge you into something useful."
He turned fully to them.
"In this Order, there is no equality."
He began to pace.
"There is only rank."
"Above you are the Operatives."
"The ones who survive long enough to hunt."
"Above them, the Lieutenants."
"Then the Division Chiefs."
"The Council."
A pause.
"And above all…"
His voice lowered.
"The Grandmaster."
Silence.
"You will earn your place."
His gaze hardened.
"Or you will be buried beneath it."
A beat.
Then—
"Training begins now."