And something else.
Hungry.
Chapter 12
Elira
The message came after my evening shower on day three.
I’d barely made it back to my room, every muscle screaming in protest, the weight of the day pressing into my bones. Dinner in the mess hall had been a blur—I couldn’t even remember what I’d eaten. Now, I lay sprawled across the bed, still damp, still aching, drifting somewhere between sleep and misery.
That’s when I heard it—paper sliding against wood.
Something slipped under my door.
I groaned, turning my head to glare at it. Maybe if I stared hard enough, it would get the hint and deliver itself. It didn’t.
With a wince, I rolled off the bed and crawled toward it on tired limbs. My fingers closed around the note, crumpled slightly from its journey across the floor.
I unfolded it slowly.
Heard the pipes are acting up again by the fan on three. Might get messy for a little midnight mouse.
My breath caught. My heart was suddenly too loud in my chest, thudding with adrenaline—or something else entirely. Only one person called me that.
Finn.
I trembled, unable to stop the violent shudder rippling through me.
Since training began, my door hadn’t been locked at night—not unless I chose it to be. A gesture of false freedom. We all knew the truth. Escape was impossible.
The building sealed itself from the outside world as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. We could wander the corridors, pace the sterile hallways, even press our hands to the cold glass at the ends of each wing—but that was it. There was no way out.
I didn’t even know where the infirmary was. During the rare occasions we were marched outside to train, I tried to spot it, scanning the uniform grey buildings for a hint of something different. But they were all the same—imposing, indistinct, a maze designed to confuse.
Still, if I was right… if I was right,heknew exactly where I was.
Which meant he could find me.
And maybe, he already had.
The building was warded against magic—an invisible net strung through every hallway and wall, humming just beneath the surface. It wasn’t to keep us safe. It was to make sure that if we fought, we’d do it the old-fashioned way. Fists. Blood. Bone.
I knew there were at least a few others like me on this floor—trainees, recruits, whatever name they wanted to dress it up with. I’d passed them in the hallways, caught glimpses of bruised faces and wary eyes. We didn’t speak. Not unless we had to.
Sometimes, I was sure they placed us closer together on purpose. Close quarters made tempers short, and according to Leo, this wasn’t about teamwork. It was survival of the fittest. And what better way to thin the numbers than by letting us tear each other apart before breakfast?
The worst part? In here, my shadows were useless.
The wards stripped them from me, like peeling a second skin away. I could still feel them—just on the edge of my senses, slithering beneath my skin like smoke sealed in glass—but they couldn’t reach me, not fully. Not where it counted.
And if it came to a fight, all I had were my hands.
And they were already shaking.
I waited. Counting seconds. Minutes. Each tick from the small clock above my bed echoed like a drumbeat in my skull.
Midnight crept closer, slow and deliberate.
