Stevie points to the one on the right, top side. “That’s yours.” She points below it. “That’s mine.”
The other bottom is Nolan’s, the little boy’s, and the last one is Frances’.
“So how come you never learned to fight?” Frances asks as she stares up at me.
“We don’t fight in Brownston.”
“That’s that weird cult place, right?” Nolan says as he sits on his bed and tugs on a pair of boots.
“Yeah…”
A knock sounds on the door, and a man with freckles sticks his head in. “I have a set of bedding and clothes for the newbie?”
I hold up a hand. “Hi, that’s me.”
“Oh.” He looks me up and down. “I assumed these were for a kid that just hit puberty early.” Clearing his throat, he smiles at me, his eyes on mine. “My name’s Ari.”
“Arienna,” I say, taking the pile he’s offering.
His grin widens. “Like Ari, but longer.”
“Uh… yeah.”
“Nice. Nice, nice.” Nodding, he leans against the door jamb and crosses his arms. “So you’re new here, huh?”
“First day.”
“Back off, bozo,” Stevie says, shoving him out into the hall. “Newbie needs to change. You know what happens if we’re late.”
Shutting the door in his face, she turns to me. “Get dressed. We have five minutes before we’re expected in the courtyard.”
Peeling off my jumpsuit, I ask, “What happens if we’re late?”
Frances shuddered. “You really don’t want to know.”
Nolan points to my bunk. “Leka was the last person to be late, and she’s never been seen again.”
“That’s because she got sucked into Echo’s eyes.”
“Echo can’t do that.”
“Yes, she can. I saw it happen to Ingland.”
“Who’s Ingland?” I ask nervously.
“He was the boy before me.” Nolan thumps his chest and stands, having finished putting on his shoes. “If I make it to the evening, I’ll have lasted longer than him.”
The blood rushes from my face as I quickly pull on my new shirt. “And how long would that be?”
“Three years and seven months.”
Bugger.
I have a lot of catching up to do.
I stand at attention, mimicking the three- to six- year olds beside me as a young teenager walks in front of our line, his hands behind his back. His brown hair looks almost golden in the morning light. His eyes flash with a devilish but strict gleam of red.
“I’m Chief Gallagher,” he says. “When I call your name, step forwards.” Half a dozen names are called, followed by half a dozen kids stepping forwards one at a time. None of them look to be older than three.
