Morran did not lie. I am regretting my actions with each passing second under this waterfall. After a minute of waiting for him to arrive, huddled between Claire, Mara, and Quinn, I am also regretting my choice to eat breakfast.

“Are you okay?” Quinn’s voice. Somehow I manage to nod, though my mouth is too dry to give an explanation.

“She was like this last night,” Claire says. She glances at my face, which I’m almost sure is some shade of green. “Are you really that afraid of Morran?” Irritation draws me slightly out of my fear.

“Of course not,” I say. I take my eyes from the water long enough to glance at Mara’s face. Her mouth is locked into a sneer. I almost want to hit her, but doing so would require movement— something I’m incapable of doing at the moment.

“Then what is it?” Claire asks. I swallow, my heart beating so hard it makes my chest hurt.

“The water,” I manage to say. To their credit, no one laughs. Mara’s expression doesn’t change, but that is all I can hope for from her. Quickly I am learning that Mara finds everyone’s struggles to be the most entertaining topic of any given day.

I watch Quinn’s head move from waterfall, to lake, to the water running down the sides of the walls, to the small streams emptying steadily into the bowl before us. “Well that’s…that’s a problem.”

I shouldn’t want to hit my new friends, but currently Claire is the only one on my safe list.

Morran saunters in, and I try to disappear into the wall behind me. It doesn’t work. His sharp eyes spot me and linger on my bandaged face briefly. He breaks into a wolfish smile before climbing onto a rock to rise above the mass of trainees. I console myself with the hope that with the damage already done, he will ignore me for at least the rest of the day.

The soft chattering ceases as soon as Morran takes his place on top of the rocks. I finally tear my eyes away from the swirling water to focus on him, but find myself squinting as I do so. Something doesn’t quite sit well with me about his appearance. My vision seems almost fuzzy as I try to focus on his figure. At first I attribute it to the blow to my head, but when I glance at Quinn and Claire, their profiles are clear and crisp in my vision.

“Listen up, children,” Morran says. “Listen up, children,” Morran says. “You've all heard this speech before. New round of training, new batch of unpleasantries. Pay attention and some of you might survive to fight the Errant.”

Some of us? I hear Quinn’s breathing speed up next to me. Rowan emerges from the shadows, the bruise from this morning already vibrant even under the low lights of the glowing rocks. He climbs to stand next to Morran, showing no sign of the limp from earlier.

“The Captain here is the closest thing you have to a mommy,” Morran says, his voice still a growl. Rowan cracks a small, lopsided smile on one side of his face. I can’t stop staring, because I didn’t think he was even capable of smiling.

“Your training will consist of trials that produce soldiers resistant to the Errant,” Rowan says. His voice is clipped and business-like, but his gaze is also warm as he locks eyes with each of the trainees. “Errant-resistance, physical training, mental training— it will be your reality for the next three months. Survive, and you will be placed with a squad fitted to your abilities.”

My ears perk up at this statement. The bad trainees won’t be put on the front lines, unless the Resistance is completely sadistic. But the front lines are where I need to go. They will be the ones closest to the Errant— closest to Oliver. Rowan continues as I do my best to contain my desperation. Desperation is not an emotion I can afford to show here.

“You can be eliminated at any time, for any reason,” Rowan says. “If you are eliminated, you’ll likely be thanking us in the long run. If you have any doubts, this isn’t for you.”

“Food is whenever and wherever you can get it,” Arlette calls out from somewhere behind the group. “Sleep is the same. My advice is to take what you can get, because it will never be enough.”

There are no moans of complaint or dissent. And as I watch Morran’s sharp gray eyes sweep the crowd, I know why. He is too much like a hawk, and he is looking for his next victim.

Rowan continues to dole out advice that may or may not be helpful, but I am too distracted by Morran to pay attention. Every time he shifts, a brief afterimage is left in his wake. After a few moments of watching this, I have to tear my eyes away to stop my head from spinning. As it is, I sway for a moment, drawing strange looks from my friends on either side.

“Kestril!” I flinch, because my name is coming from Morran again. I was wrong. He isn’t done with me. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, soldier.”

I force myself to look at him, though the chamber spins viciously as I do so. This can’t end well. Morran’s voice is smooth as he paces on top of his rock— in complete control of every aspect of the situation. Standing shakily so far below him, I feel completely out of control, and that is exactly what he wants.

“Girl, can you explain to me why water is an important tool in training a Resistance soldier?”

“No, sir.” I spit out the answer before my mind can fully register what has just been said. I barely hear anything now but my own heartbeat, and the roaring of the waterfall above. My face must register some of my horror, because a slow grin spreads across Morran’s face.

“When you’re staring down an Errant, and they’re trying to tear your head from your body, you need absolute focus and calm in the wake of sheer panic.” The grin grows wider. A nasty, unpleasant one. “Water is also an Errant’s weak point. They need an anchor to hold on to their sense of reality. Why would water make a poor anchor, Kestril?”

Anything I say will likely be used against me. But I can’t stand here and refuse to answer, either. So I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Because water is constantly changing, sir.” The smile disappears from his face. I wonder if he can hear the raw panic coursing through me.

“Are you mocking me, soldier?” he asks. I hear Quinn clear his throat nervously next to me. He is likely drawing the conclusion that I already have: that Morran is simply insane.

“No, sir.” He narrows his eyes at me, and I would give anything to not be here anymore. I would almost rather jump in the lake than stare down Morran’s shifting, unstable form. Almost.

“I’m very tired of hearing ‘no sirs’, trainee,” he says.

“I’m sorry, sir.” The sarcasm slips from my mouth. I meant for it to remain in my head, but my mouth hasn’t been very reliable of late.

Morran drops from the rock, gracefully for a man his age. He makes a beeline for what I thought was my sanctuary against the rock wall and drags me bodily from the group. The trainees part neatly to let him past as he drags me up to the rock.

The rock is much too close to the water. I can’t hide the panic that enters my face. Morran flickers in my vision, and I’m dizzy and I can’t fight his grip and the water is yawning before me. Then Morran’s dragging motion ceases and he begins to laugh. A hearty, all-out guffaw that makes me much more certain of my imminent death. Then the laughter ceases, and I notice how tightly he continues to hold my bruised arm.

My mind spins. I can’t figure out what to do— what I should do, because it is difficult to breathe, and even harder to focus. I glance away from his face and find the water again, instantly regretting my choice to look away. The smile on his face grows.

“What a shame,” he says quietly. “Trainees,” he says, addressing the entire group. “It appears that Kestril here is afraid of water.” He pauses before he asks, “Is that true, soldier?”

“No sir,” I say. Why am I bothering to lie?

“Jump in,” he says.

Silence. The blood pounding in my ears. Jump in. This is something I cannot do. Not for Oliver, not for survival, not for anything.

“Jump in,” he says again, his voice returning to the shard-like quality it possessed before.

“I can’t, sir,” I manage to choke out.

“I’m sorry, soldier. We can’t hear you.”

“I can’t!” Then, in a whisper, “I can’t.” My face burns. Now my weakness is public knowledge. I will never get to Oliver at this rate. Morran shoves me from the rock, where, with my spinning head, I barely manage to land on my feet. It is a small miracle in a world of nightmares. Then he begins to address the group again.

“When you’re facing the Errant, that will get you killed. That hesitation. That cowardice. That selfishness.” Each word is a searing, tearing barb in my ears. I’ve never hated anyone in my life, but with every sentence that leaves Morran’s mouth, I am beginning to understand what true hatred is.

“Soldiers like her will kill the rest of you,” he continues. “Take a very hard look at the trainees around you, and ask yourself if you want your life in their hands. This is your first lesson: trust no one.”

Trust no one. If we are expected to live, sleep, eat, and breathe with these other trainees beside us, how are we expected to trust none of them?

Morran storms up the staircase, and the entire group of trainees releases a collective breath. Slowly, the tension deflates and small chatter picks up as everyone disperses. Everyone avoids my eyes, or glances at me sidelong as they speak.

Quinn rushes over to me, his brows knit together in concern, followed closely by Claire. “Are you okay?” he asks. “I thought he was going to drown you or something.”

“Quinn,” I say. “Please don’t say that word.”

“Right,” he says, nodding quickly. “No drowning.” I shoot him a look that would peel paint, and he retreats briefly, his hands covering his mouth.

We make our way back to the dormitory for a brief few hours of sleep, but my mind won’t let go the puzzle that is Morran. Trust no one. This is not the way to keep the Resistance together. It is a way to divide it.

So if Morran’s job is to train the future Resistance soldiers, why is he working to divide us?

I crawl into my hammock, and at this point I am too tired to care about its awkwardness. The moment I crawl in, I drift off, and nothing— not even the threat of drowning or death— can wake me up.