The silence in the barracks wasn't peaceful. It was heavy, like the air before a thunderstorm.

  I lay on my back, staring at the underside of the bunk above me. Ten minutes until the wake-up klaxon. Ten minutes until Final Selection.

  "You're awake, aren't you?"

  The whisper came from the bunk across from mine. Katherine. Even in the dark, I could hear the tremor in her voice.

  "Yeah," I whispered back. "Try to breathe, Kat."

  "I can't. I feel like I'm going to throw up."

  "Save it for the arena," a voice drawled from the top bunk. Becca dropped down to the floor, landing with a soft, practiced thud. She didn't look like she’d slept at all. Her curly black hair was pulled back into a severe knot, emphasizing the sharp, defiant set of her jaw. "Puking in here just means we all have to smell it."

  "Be nice, Becca," Alicia said, sitting up in the fourth bunk. She was already reaching for her uniform, her movements precise and mechanical. While the rest of us were still waking up, Alicia was already a soldier. She smoothed the wrinkles from her grey sleeve. "Panic is a waste of energy, Katherine. Just follow protocol."

  "Easy for you to say," Katherine mumbled, pulling her knees to her chest. She looked small against the grey wall. "You don't freeze."

  "Everyone freezes," I said, swinging my legs out of bed.

  I caught my reflection in the dented metal of the locker door. Dark, wavy hair tied back, interrupted by a single, jagged streak of white running through the left side. It had appeared the week the war started, when I was five—a permanent scar of stress that dye couldn't cover. Below it, my light brown eyes looked older than my years.

  I turned away quickly. "The trick is unfreezing before something takes your head off."

  "Today isn't about fighting perfectly," I told her, keeping my voice low. "It's about surviving till the timer runs out."

  "Or else, you know... boom." Becca pressed two fingers against her forehead, mimicking a gunshot.

  "Becca!" Alicia hissed.

  "What?" Becca leaned back against the lockers, her expression flat. "It's the truth. Half the cohort washes out today. We all know where the wash-outs go. And it isn't to a retirement home.”

  The lights snapped on overhead—blinding, harsh white LEDs that left no shadows to hide in. The loudspeaker crackled.

  "Good morning, soldiers. Selection begins in 0900 hours. Consumption of rations is mandatory. Lateness will be treated as treason."

  "Treason," Becca muttered, rolling her eyes. "Last week, sneezing was treason."

  "Just put your boots on," Alicia ordered, tossing Becca’s gear at her.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  We dressed in silence. The banter died down as the reality of the morning set in. Becca, the wild card who hated authority but fought like a demon. Alicia, the strict rule-follower who would probably quote the handbook while bleeding out. Katherine, who should have been an artist in a different world, but was forced to be a killer in this one. And me. Cassandra. The one trying to keep them all from killing each other before the monsters got a chance.

  "Ready?" I asked, standing by the door.

  Katherine took a shaky breath and nodded. Becca smirked, though her hand lingered near her hip where her weapon would be. Alicia simply straightened her collar.

  "Let's get this over with," I said.

  The walk to the sterilization chamber was a march of the damned. The air scrubbers hummed loudly, trying and failing to filter out the smell of thousands of bodies living in a bunker designed for hundreds. We stepped into the chamber, squeezed our eyes shut against the blinding UV flash, and emerged on the other side, sanitized but not clean.

  The cafeteria was worse. A cavernous hall filled with the low murmur of terrified recruits and the smell of recycled protein.

  I grabbed a tray of grey mash and scanned the room. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him.

  Anthony.

  My brother was sitting with his squad, looking taller and harder than the last time I’d seen him. He waved me over, a rare smile breaking his serious expression.

  "Can I... sit with you?" Katherine asked from behind me.

  I hesitated. Anthony hated weakness, and Katherine wore her fear like a neon sign. Bringing her over was a social risk. But looking at her shaking hands, I knew I couldn't leave her to the wolves.

  "Come on," I said.

  Anthony’s smile vanished the moment he saw her. "Does she have to be here?"

  "She's my friend," I said, sitting down before he could argue. "Be nice."

  He rolled his eyes and turned back to his friend, Liam. I noticed the fresh stitches running up Liam's arm.

  "Rough day?" I asked, nodding at the wound.

  "Final training," Liam said, forcing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Lucky me. Half the room didn't last five minutes. This is nothing compared to what Michael got."

  "My test is today," I said.

  "Good luck," he said darkly. "You'll need it."

  I poked at my food, my appetite gone. Beside me, Katherine was whispering a prayer under her breath.

  Suddenly, a scream tore through the noise of the hall.

  "GIVE IT BACK! PLEASE! IT’S ALL I HAVE LEFT OF HIM!"

  The room went dead silent. Near the exit, a woman was clawing at a guard's arm. The guard, a hulking figure in riot gear, held up a delicate gold chain with a heart charm.

  "Contraband," the guard's voice boomed, amplified by his helmet. "Violation of Rule 345. Punishment: Execution."

  "No!" the woman shrieked, falling to her knees. "Please! It was my son's! He's gone, please just let me—"

  BANG.

  The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. The woman crumpled. The necklace swung from the guard's hand, gleaming under the harsh lights.

  I stared at the blood spreading across the floor. It was red. Bright, human red.

  "Eat," Anthony whispered, not looking up. "Don't look at it. Just eat."

  I forced a spoonful of mash into my mouth. It tasted like ash. This was the world the cure had built. A world where a mother could be shot for holding onto a memory, because memories were dangerous. Memories reminded us that we used to be human.

  "Time to go," Liam murmured as the alarms blared for the next shift.

  We stood up, leaving the dead woman on the floor.

  The walk to the testing facility was silent. The air felt heavier now, charged with the metallic scent of blood and ozone.

  "NEXT!" a voice barked.

  I stepped forward. The officer at the desk didn't look up.

  "Number?"

  "07#AB12."

  "Room 4. Go."

  I walked into the white room. It was empty, save for a single console. The walls glowed with a faint grid pattern.

  SELECT WEAPON.

  I scrolled through the list. My hands were shaking, but my mind was clear. I chose Twin Blades.

  A panel slid open. A small green bottle sat on a pedestal.

  Drink Me.

  It looked like poison. It probably was. But disobedience was death.

  I uncorked it and drank. It tasted bitter, like copper and old pennies.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the floor seemed to tilt. My knees gave out.

  As I fell, the white room dissolved into darkness.