Page 32

H.A.Z.E

" I was out for two days," I drawl, leaning back against the farthest wall, my arms crossed over my chest, and blending into the shadows. "Any trouble with your ex?"

I feel Reece's suspicious side-eye but pay her no attention. "I didn't think you cared."

"I don't." My words tinge with amusement, each one leaving my lips like a joke I didn't find funny. "But I'm also not in the mood to be knocked out again."

"He didn't mean to," Reece whispers, her words so small that I almost miss them, but then she's suddenly in my face and blocking my view of the facility. "He panicked. You said you wouldn't kill the Alpha, then changed your mind, Haze. What was that?"

"His memories… I saw them." I sigh, my gaze connecting with Reece, her brows furrowed. "That morning, he poured ketchup on his eggs. It was a travesty. I had to end it right there."

The air in the underground facility is cold and sterile, tinged faintly with the sharp tang of sweat and oil.

The walls are a dull concrete, oppressive and unyielding, the kind that makes the space feel like it goes on forever yet closes in on you all at once.

Overhead, harsh fluorescent lights buzz faintly, casting a pale, sickly glow over the room that makes everyone look more like shadows than people.

Weapons line the walls in meticulous rows—rifles, pistols, blades of every shape and size.

Each one gleams, polished and ready, as if waiting for the next chance to be used.

In the centre of the room, combat mats stretch across the floor, their faded black surface scuffed and worn from years of relentless training.

Reece stares at me, her jaw slack as she tries to speak, but no words come out. Just as I’m about to tell her to move, a loud noise disturbs the quiet facility. The doors bang open with a loud crack that echoes in my bones.

I glance to my left as a cluster of familiar faces shuffle into the large training facility.

The recruits I had sat with on my first day here are young, raw, and far too eager, with that mix of nervous energy and wide-eyed curiosity.

Their loud voices disturb my peace of mind as they gather around the mats.

But something else has caught my attention, something discreet and small, trying to disappear into the shadows with me. I glance at Reece, her shoulders stiff, fingers curling slightly in her palms. But that isn’t what caught my attention. It’s the smell—fear. Her fear.

The Sergeant steps forward. He doesn’t need to shout to command attention; his presence alone is enough to silence the voices, straighten the spines. He’s different on the mats, more controlled. He has a cold, calculating look in his eyes, the kind that tells you he enjoys this far too much.

But then, he does the most unexpected thing; he turns, and points at Reece.

Reece doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate. She just steps forward, her face blank, her movements steady, like a puppet obeying its strings.

I tilt my head, watching as Reece stands opposite the Sergeant. He nods his head at her, a brief show of approval for her compliance, and then he strikes.

The Sergeant wraps an arm around Reece's neck, tucking her into the crook of his elbow as he applies pressure to her throat and carotid arteries. Her head is bent forward, trapped, as she slaps and struggles against the Sergeant’s hold.

And he asks her, his tone casual with the barest hint of a smile, "How do you feel?"

Reece struggles to talk, her arms flailing wildly as her body is forced into an extremely uncomfortable and stressful position.

Her whimpers and cries echo off the stone walls, but no one pays them any mind as the Sergeant talks to his recruits.

Explaining how to restrict airflow, how to keep someone subdued without killing them—unless, of course, that was the point.

He shoves Reece into another position. Her chest hits the mats with a loud thwap, and a small cry escapes past her lips before the Sergeant presses his knee into her back— hard —forcing her chest against the mat.

I see her ribs shift under strain, her breathing shallow and laboured, as he speaks to his recruits in a too-calm voice.

"It doesn't matter what you are; Nightwalkers need air, too. And what they need, we can take."

I raise an amused brow, listening intently. I don't actually know if holding my breath would kill me, but I'm certainly willing to test out his theory.

I suck in a large lungful of air as Reece's face turns to me, her cheek pressed against the mat. Her eyes find mine for a fleeting second, and what I see there makes me pause. She looks like her son— powerless.

He grabs hold of her hair and yanks her head back, cutting off her airway for a few seconds to demonstrate some hold. And he holds there while talking to his recruits. They watch, wide-eyed, taking it all in like good little soldiers.

I take a slow, deliberate step out of the shadows as I release the breath I was holding, because death by suffocation is bullshit. My hand raises as I say, "Um, teacher!"

All heads turn to me, eyes wide in shock at my unexpected presence. The Sergeant turns to me, his face brightening in delight at my arrival. "Haze! We weren't expecting you. Are you joining us?"

"Yes." Reece's fingers clench into the mat beneath her as her neck arches back at a brutal angle. The stretch of her ivory skin seems impossibly taut, every tendon and sinew pulled tight like strings about to snap. "I actually have a question."

"Of course." The Sergeant grins. "Questions are encouraged here."

"Humans are impressively weak, especially compared to the other creatures of planet Earth." The Sergeant frowns as I step onto the mat and close the distance between us. "How do you counter the difference in strength when you're subduing these Nightwalkers?"

He releases Reece, and her head hits the floor as he holds his hand out to me. He wears a pair of black, fingerless gloves. Between the thumb and index finger, there is a small dial and button.

"The SDF is known for their high-tech equipment, and our gloves are designed to send out an electric current strong enough to put even the oldest vampires on their knees. It'll cause their muscles to spasm and allow us the opportunity to go in for the kill."

I tilt my head, examining the glove that fits snugly around his hand. I've heard lots of great things about the high-grade equipment the humans gatekeep from other creatures dying to get their hands on even one of their weapons. This seems like a good opportunity to test them out for myself.

"Give them to me," I demand. I'd rather just rip them off his hands, but I decide to hold myself back.

The Sergeant doesn't hesitate and slips the gloves off his hands as I take them and slip them onto my own. They’re a little stretched out, but otherwise, they’re comfortable.

"You can control the voltage with the dial." He points to the dial, and I turn it to the highest setting. The Sergeant watches as I flex my fingers. The gloves charge hums faintly; a whisper of a sound, a soft cackle like static before a storm.

The Sergeant nods, his stance shifting as his knee twists into Reece's spine, and says, "Keep it low for now since the girl is human and— Argh!"

The shock is instant as my palm slaps against his receding hairline.

The current blasts into him, the high voltage charge lighting up his entire body in an instant.

His muscles lock up, his arms jerk awkwardly, and his legs tremble before completely giving out.

His cocky grin vanishes as he shoots across the mats, his body flinging backwards like a ragdoll.

The Sergeant hits the mats with a heavy thud, skidding across the surface until he slams into the far wall.

I skip towards him, the glove humming louder now, little arcs of electricity dancing between my fingers. He twitches on the floor, trying to pick himself up, but his body refuses to cooperate. His fingers claw weakly at the mat, his head lolling as he tries to focus.

"These things are great," I muse, perching low before him. "I think I'm going to keep them." I’m not asking, and I doubt the Sergeant is listening, but I raise my hand a second time, aiming the glove directly at his head, and unleash another jolt.

His body convulses uncontrollably. His back arches off the ground, limbs flailing as if they’re no longer his own. His gasps for air come in short, stuttering bursts, his face contorted in a mix of pain and helplessness.

It’s fascinating to watch; the way the currents dance across his skin, the faint smell of burning in the air, the twitch of his muscles as they rebel against him.

"Um H-Haze," a small, scared little voice calls, and I glance over my shoulder at a familiar face. It’s one of the nameless recruits I sat with in the cafeteria. "Y-You're going to kill—"

"Shut up." My words are cold and sharp as I stare at the recruit, daring her to take another step towards me. "I didn't interrupt you when you were having your fun, so don't interrupt mine."

I tap the Sergeant's head again and stare at her the entire time. She jumps as the Sergeant’s body spasms again… and again… and again.

"H-Haze." Reece steps up beside the recruit. Her footsteps are hesitant, and her words, a broken whisper. "I-I think…"

Whatever strength she summoned to talk to me disappears the moment my eyes connect with hers. I smile; there is nothing human about it, as I drawl, "Don't think, Reece. Clearly, it's not your speciality."

I rise to my full height, and Reece takes a step back. I glance at Anise, and say, "Take him to the infirmary." Then I glance at all the recruits standing in the back, afraid to come near or even to exist in my space. My words are low, but the impact hits like a gunshot. "Out. Now."