Page 10 of Veiled

I give her the basics of the events that led to Matt and me being here.

“So, you were conscripted because you defended yourself? And your friend was sent here because he helped you?” Her questions sound genuinely concerned—a reaction I was not expecting.

“Technically, yes. Well, that and the fact that we ran after the fight. But my dad made up a bullshit story about what happened, and between him and his friends, that’s the ‘truth’ that stuck.”

“Wow.”

That’s all she says, so I continue answering her other questions.

“Matt’s the best, though. He lives two floors up, so you’ll definitely see him around. I could live on coffee, tacos, and tequila…and I love everything chocolatey…or salty…or if I’m in the mood, then gummies.”

Sasha smiles and motions for me to sit at the end of her bed while she leans back against the headboard. Once we’re comfortable, she launches into her own, far less messy, backstory.

I learn Sasha’s mom and dad are both retired Arcane Healers, and she is like a child prodigy in both healing and spellcasting. And I’m thankful when she confirms the crimson vials scattered across the floor when I came in are, in fact, tinctures she's working on and not blood.

Apparently, despite her parents having earned plenty of favor with King Lucen, they’re super introverts, so Sasha didn’t grow up going to events and hanging out with or getting to know any of the other recruits.

“There are some nice people, but you’ll realize that most of them just don’t care to talk to you unless you’re in their circle. They won’t be rude, well, the majority won’t, they’ll just pretend you don’t exist.”

“I’m surprisingly okay with that,” I laugh.

“Same! So…have you learned anything that’ll help us survive this place yet?” she asks, propping her chin on her fist.

“Oh, totally. Over dinner, Matt's new friend James gave us the rundown.” I sit up a little straighter and count off on my fingers. “Rule one: never trust the cafeteria’s ‘mystery meat.’ Rule two: always keep a backup snack hidden somewhere—preferably where even a hungry neighbor can’t find it,” I wink.

Sasha gasps in mock offense. “Ruuude.”

“His words, not mine,” I tease. “Rule three: if you find a quiet corner in the library, guard it like your life depends on it. Apparently, that place turns into a war zone, especially on the weekends.”

She laughs, the sound light and easy, and for the first time since I got here, I feel something close to normal. The tension I didn’t realize I’d been carrying has loosened in her bubbly aura.

We’ve talked about everything under the sun and spiraled all the way to our favorite books when I finally notice the time.

“I should probably crash before morning formation,” I sigh, starting to pull my shoes back on.

“Yeah, good call,” Sasha says, smiling. “Don’t worry, we’ll survive the first day together.”

With a quick goodbye and plans to meet in the morning, I grab my bag and head for the door.

Back in my room, I shower and get ready for bed. Without thinking, I shoot Matt a quick text to let him know I’m safe and going to sleep.

I’ve been sending that same message before bed every night for as long as I’ve had a phone. And even though I’m not at risk of getting one of my dad's beatings, I know for a fact that Matt would be pounding my door down soon if I didn’t send the message.

Chapter five

Annalise

My alarm jerks me from my nightmare, and for a minute, I think I am back at my dad's house, fighting for my life. I’m drenched in sweat, hair and shirt stuck to me like glue, and either I slept in the worst possible position, or my nightmare has ghost pains lingering throughout my body. My neck has a kink, my arm is asleep, and my head aches like it took a few kicks with a boot.

Forcing myself to abandon my warm bed, I take a quick shower before slipping into the issued all-black uniform.

The scoop-neck top is soft, cool, and molds to me like a second skin. I pull the leather-like tactical pants on next and appreciate the way they stretch with every movement I make, despite the armored panels hugging my thighs and knees. I strap the twin thigh sheaths into place, each one cradling a dagger that settles warmly against me.

The hardened leather knee-high boots follow, and I can’t help but appreciate how lightweight they are as I walk to pull my uniform jacket from my closet. It’s cut flatteringly at the waist, but the reinforced stitching along the shoulders, sleeves, and forearms draws the eye to every curve of my body.

It’s a standard issue uniform, but somehow the whole thing is both insanely comfortable and looks like it was custom-made for me.

I pull my long, black hair to the back and quickly French braid it so it will be out of my face.