I make the trek to the higher levels of the Resistance after my small meal. My stomach rumbles in spite of the food. Try as I might, I can’t seem to eat enough during mealtimes. Our downtime is scant, and with the water rushing around our only eating area, I can hardly keep enough down to stay upright.

A few stray trainees climb the stairs nearby, but they make no effort to acknowledge my presence. Morran’s actions have banned me from all human company except for the few stupid or nice enough to ignore the target painted on my face.

Ryker, the youngest of the recruits, shoots me a nervous glance as he hurries up the staircase in front of me. I keep my eyes carefully ahead.

I turn the corner, following the line of trainees to the open area ahead. The room is decorated by pillars, and a few shafts of sunlight even penetrate the darkness. I sigh internally and make my way towards the first outside light I’ve seen in a month.

Halfway to the room, Claire materializes in front of me, looking alarmed. She stands in such a way that my view of the room is blocked, but as I try to go around her, she stops me, shaking her head.

“What?” I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice. Sunlight is so close, and here Claire is ruining it.

“Kess, I was wrong,” she says. I try to peer over her shoulder.

“About what?”

“About the water.” I freeze and finally meet her light brown eyes. She watches me like one might watch a wounded animal, waiting for my reaction.

For a second all I can do is stand there, taking deep breaths. The panic engulfs me and finally manifests itself in a tiny shake of my head. Claire glances quickly over her shoulder at the flood of trainees packing the small area, then meets my eyes again, her face softening.

“We’ll stand in the back,” she says. “It’ll be okay.”

“That didn’t work last time!” I snap. Why did she tell me this? At least if I hadn’t known before, it would be easier to make my body respond. Now the chances of me entering that room under my own power are slim to none.

“Come on.” She grabs my arm and drags me to the very edge of the room, where I see my worst fears coming to life. A platform juts out from the corner of the room to hang in empty air above the lake far below. The mess hall is a pinprick in the distance, mostly obscured by the white spray coursing from the waterfall nearby.

My entire body goes numb, and I stumble as Claire continues to drag me to the far corner of the room. I have to focus. I have to make myself calm again. But all I can think of is my body dashing against the rocks below. Of the blood, the twisted limbs, the cloying breaths of water instead of air.

“Kess. Kess!” From far away I hear a voice. Vaguely I feel a wall behind my back, where my locket presses into my bare skin. The cool metal digging into my back brings me momentarily back to myself. I find Quinn’s worried eyes and try to slow my racing heart.

“Again?” That voice is off to the side. Sarcastic, bored. Mara. I recover enough to glance at her momentarily. She rolls her eyes and leans against the wall a short distance away, her body so relaxed she might slide to the floor.

“Kess, look at me.” I force myself to find the source of the sound. Quinn’s face, in front of mine again. Quinn glances furtively over his shoulder, and puts his hands on mine. His voice is soft but urgent. “You can’t look like this in front of Morran.”

Somewhere, from the depths of my fear and shame, I realize that he is right. Morran isn’t satisfied with my weakness. He wants my destruction, and he wants the rest of the trainees to witness it. I scrunch my eyes shut as tightly as they will go, trying desperately to block out the sound of the water and the feel of the warm mist on my face.

By the time Morran walks in, I am not ready, but I am better. My heart still thuds painfully against my chest and each glance at the platform gives rise to so much vertigo that I can barely stand upright without the help of the wall.

Quinn plants his solid frame in front of me, and I stare at his back instead of the water. It is the only solid thing in my world of nightmares.

For Oliver, I remind myself. You’re doing this for Oliver. It is a good thing I have such a good reason to be here, because if I didn’t, I would be out the door in an instant, and nothing would be able to stop me.

“Sleep well, Sheeplings?” Morran’s voice is enough to carry over vast distances, and in this small room it booms and echoes off the ceiling and pillars. I find myself laughing, inwardly. Morran spent most of last night in a drunken stupor, and chose to vent his energy right outside the trainee doorways.

“Phase one of your training ends today,” he says. “Today you all will prove to me that you are worthy of staying.” A mumble of dissent erupts from the crowd of trainees. It is quiet— barely louder than the mist spraying up from the water— but it is there. I can’t help but agree with them.

“Your physical training will continue as scheduled after today,” Morran says. “Consider this a welcome break from the rigors of your program.” I catch his razor sharp grin from a gap in the rows of trainees. Today will not be a break. Not for me. But with Quinn planted firmly in front of me and thirty trainees crowded in front, I can’t help but feel safe from Morran. Maybe this time I will be able to sink into anonymity.

His footsteps echo as he walks up and down the platform ahead. I try not to think about the drop, or the amount of water far below.

“The Errant are shifters,” he says. “They move things. Dimensions, time, themselves. They don’t operate in a straightforward fashion.” He pauses and stands on the very edge of the platform. I wish desperately that I could just shove him off the edge.

“And so the Errant don’t expect a straightforward response,” he continues. The pacing stops. I take deep breaths of the musty air. We’re just up here for a lecture. We have to be. A fall from this height would kill any one of us, even if we hit the water.

I wait for Morran to continue, but silence continues to reign. I stand on my toes to glance over Quinn’s shoulder at Morran.

He waits expectantly, his gaze not on us, but on the doorway where Arlette stands with her arms crossed. Her no-nonsense manner doesn’t faze him, and he smiles sweetly at her.

For several long, painful seconds, Arlette continues to glare at him. Then she sighs and walks towards the center of the room.

“Trainees,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but strong enough to carry over the entire room. “Can anyone explain why we’re here?”

A few brave, stupid hands go up hesitantly throughout the room. Her eyes light on one of the larger boys— one part of Mara’s group— and she nods towards him.

“Asher. Speak up,” she says. Asher, no longer the sneering boy who taunts us daily from across the mess hall, begins to speak. He is only slightly more respectful here than in the company of his fellows.

“You’re gonna make us jump, aren’t you?” he asks. I take a moment to nurse the injustice I feel as Asher stands there, unfazed, even after such brazen disrespect. Morran would already have flung me off the platform.

A small smile decorates Arlette’s lips before she replies. When she does, her voice is careful and cold. “You would be unlikely to survive the fall, trainee.”

Morran steps forward, another icy smile creeping onto his lips.

“However,” he begins. “The Errant would survive that fall. Does anyone know how?”

Ryker raises his hand in the front, and I stare. Ryker’s face is always half-pained, like he’s about to be hit at any second. Ironic, considering I am the only one Morran has left with a bandaged face. Morran nods in his direction, hands clasped carefully behind his back.

“They would shift the air around them to slow their fall, sir.” He spits it out so quickly that it takes me an extra second to process the information. Morran narrows his eyes momentarily at Ryker, then smiles. A shudder goes through my body.

“Exactly correct,” he says. “And how would a normal person survive that fall?” he asks.

Silence. We all know too well where this is going. No one dares raise a hand. Beside me, Claire takes a shuddery breath, and Quinn’s shoulders have gone completely rigid with fear.

Morran unclasps his hands from behind his back and rubs them together expectantly. My stomach drops clear to the floor.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Brief silence, then: “Kestril.” The crowd of trainees slowly parts to reveal Morran’s smiling form. Even Quinn turns partially, leaving me a clear path to Morran. I can’t blame him.

Pins and needles surface in my toes and fingers. For several long seconds, I can’t even decipher the emotion I’m feeling. Shockingly, I discover that it isn’t entirely fear. I am afraid. That much is clear. But there is something else— something white-hot overpowering the cold of my fear.

It is hate. I am tired of being the scapegoat. I clench my now sweating palms together and meet Morran’s icy gaze. He won’t defeat me today. I expect to stutter— to freeze in my tracks as I try to make my way to Morran, but when I finally move, my steps cooperate.

My entire body shakes, but I clench my jaw together until it creaks and take confident steps towards the man.

“Trainee,” he says, his voice low. That smile still lingers on his face. “Can you answer the question?”

“No.” I don’t even bother with the sir. If it’s deadly, I don’t care. I’ve reached some kind of breaking point, and I can only hear the roar of pounding blood in my ears.

A scowl begins to creep its way across his face as he looks me over. He begins to circle me, too much like a shark.

“Here we are again, Kestril,” he says. His voice is too soft. I don’t trust it any more than I trust his screaming. “I’m asking you a question, and yet you refuse to answer it.”

“I don’t know the answer, sir.” He stops directly in front of me and leans close to my face. I can still smell the alcohol on his breath when he speaks.

“But you have a way of finding out, trainee.” His words are a hiss. Any small chatter from the trainees is gone now, replaced by a hollow silence that threatens to swallow me up. I can’t formulate the right response. I don’t know what the right response even is.

“Walk to the platform, soldier.” He leaves this statement hanging in the air. From the corner of my vision, I can see Quinn struggling against Claire’s grip. What does he think he could do for me? If Morran doesn’t get me today, he’ll kill me tomorrow, or the next day. My only saving grace is that he will have to make it public, and in front of our training group, no less.

“I gave you a command, soldier,” he says. His voice turns into a growl. I should be terrified, but all I can feel is this hum in my body and mind. This energy that I can barely contain.

“I can’t do that, sir,” I say. Immediately I want to kick myself. Why am I fighting? Morran always gets his way. Instead of screaming, like I expect him to do, he raises an eyebrow at me.

“That’s an interesting response, Kestril,” he says. He begins to pace in circles around me again. “Why?”

A crooked smile creeps its way onto my face. In some strange way, I am completely divided inside by my response. A part of me is terrified enough to still be shaking. But another, stronger part demands that I stand my ground.

“I have a question for you, sir,” I say. I shift my weight to one hip and cross my arms. When he doesn’t slap me or throw me off the platform, I continue. “If I do the crazy thing you’re asking me to do, isn’t that an Errant response?”

“How is it Errant to follow an order, trainee?” he asks. His voice is careful, quiet. In some small way, I must have intrigued him, since I’m not at the bottom of the lake yet. Mentally I cross my fingers and press on.

“If the Errant shift and avoid things, then confronting things directly would be the best way to stop them, sir. And so following an order blindly without cause is just another way to avoid conflict. It’s Errant, sir.”

Silence follows my comment. I wonder vaguely if I’m making any sense. Somewhere behind me, I hear someone whistle softly. Morran’s eyes never leave my face. He smiles.

“Excellent response, Kestril,” he says. “However, I have a problem with your theory. If your theory is indeed correct, then the best, most direct response is to jump off that platform like you were ordered to do.”

His smile disappears suddenly, and he grabs my arm. I tug the opposite direction, but he’s much stronger than me, and my feet skid on the ground. Years of fighting lessons are forgotten as my rage turns to cold, blinding fear. I can’t breathe and I can’t think as he drags me closer to the platform. Even if I survive the fall, I will drown. There’s nothing more to it.

When we reach the very edge, he shoves me, and I desperately pinwheel my arms to keep my balance on the edge. My ears roar. My stomach drops like a rock as I stare at the frothing surface of the lake, hundreds of feet below.

My plan to get out of this situation has backfired tremendously. Morran will shove me off this platform. I will die. Oliver will be left alone in this awful excuse for a world, as I rot underground.

I close my eyes as Morran screams at me, my balance just barely keeping me standing at the edge of the platform. Everything goes quiet around me. I open my eyes and can see Morran screaming at me, but I no longer hear him. Spit flies from his mouth as he becomes even more agitated. Back in the crowd, several trainees are fighting to keep Quinn down.

Everything is slow. Like being underwater. I wonder, in some small way, if my brain has already given up. If it knows where I will be going next. If this sensation of being underwater is its way of coping with my imminent death.

Morran reaches out to shove me again. Once more will be the end of any minute balance I may hold at the tip of the platform. I watch him do it in slow motion. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I am sick and dizzy and tired.

Something snaps within me. All of my senses come to alertness. It is like waking up from a dream, but everything is still so slow. I grit my teeth together and move to grip Morran’s arm. It’s him or me.

I close my fingers around his wrist, but something odd happens. My fingers go right through his flesh. I glance up, shocked, at his body still flying towards me. Slowly, his face registers his own shock as his momentum carries him over the platform.

I can’t touch him. I can only watch as he flies through my body, his face a mask of shock and rage.

As soon as he goes over the edge, everything snaps back to normalcy. Quinn’s struggles return to a normal speed. My breathing tears through my ears so fast that I wonder how I haven’t hyperventilated yet.

The screaming begins, and I sink to my knees, covering my ears.

I don’t want to hear the splash below. I can’t handle the crack of Morran’s body on the rocks, or even the slap of him hitting the water. It could have been me. But is his death any better?

With the return of my hearing and the normalcy of time, my entire body begins to shake. I should move from the platform, but I can’t bring myself to. I am drained and exhausted, and I can’t even figure out why. My thoughts turn to a confused blur in my mind as I sit on the very edge, inches from Morran’s fate.

Something begins to burn against my skin as Arlette ushers the rest of the trainees from the platform. At first I ignore it. I just want to sleep. To lose consciousness for even a brief second.

But the burning turns into a searing pain against my chest so quickly that I yelp, scrambling to pull my locket from my chest. I move so quickly and so wildly that my legs slide from the platform.

Stupid. Maybe I deserve to die. I grab the edge of the platform with shaking hands, the locket still burning an imprint into my hand. The pain is so searing that I doubt I can hold on for long. My arms shake, and a sick weakness eats into my very bones. I can’t pull myself up.

Then I feel strong arms around my own, pulling me back to safety. I glance up and meet a blurry face. Rowan.

I let him pull my exhausted body up, though I hate myself for it. He drags me away from the platform to the edge of the columned room, and hisses as soon as he sees my hand.

Dazed, I follow his gaze. My hand is a mangled, burnt mess in the shape of the locket. Raw, pink flesh peeks out from a circular patch of skin where the locket once rested, and my stomach churns. The locket lies on the ground nearby, already fading from what once must have been a white-hot shade of metal.

I glance at Rowan’s face. His features fade in and out of my vision, but I catch glimpses of his sharp eyes as he watches the straggling trainees leave the room. Their eyes are wide. I’m not a hero in any fashion. Now I am just more dangerous. From down the hall, Quinn’s screaming and swearing reaches my ears. I know it will only be a matter of time before he barrels down here, and I can’t handle his reaction right now. I just want quiet.

Rowan takes one look at my face and helps me to my feet, snatching the now-cool locket from the ground as he does so.

“We’ll go somewhere else,” he says. “Come on.”

He leads me away from the platform and from the prying eyes of my peers.