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Erasmus leads me through the halls of the mansion, the corridors quiet and still at such a late—or early—hour. I've never been one to conform to the laws of time. Night or day doesn't matter when it's survival of the fittest. But this place is as quiet as the dead. I'd believe it to be abandoned if I hadn't seen the guards outside.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, eyes raking over everything around me from the flickering ornate sconces to the wide staircases that ascend to even more floors of winding halls. I'm beginning to feel like a mouse caught in a maze.

"I'm taking you to be examined," he replies in his deep voice, his long stride making me jog to keep up with him.

"Examined?"

"The streets carry many diseases, Azura. If you're going to be joining the rebellion then you'll live here, dine here, and train here, and we want you to be healthy."

"Great," I mutter, my gaze narrowing as I imagine prison bars over the doors of each room we pass. I have to remind myself I'm doing this for answers. "When does my training start?"

Erasmus takes a sharp corner and I quicken my pace to keep up with him, gritting my teeth.

"When Elder Palmira believes you're ready."

"Elder Palmira," I grumble, knowing it's the dreadlocked woman with the perceptive gaze that he speaks of. "She has a stick so far up her arse I'm surprised she doesn't choke on it."

Erasmus halts and I stop with him, my fingers twitching for a weapon as he turns his brown eyes upon me, lines forming around his mouth and between his brows. "She is my sister."

"Well," I say while baring my teeth in what I hope passes as a smile. "It must run in the family then."

He stares at me for a long moment, his scrutiny needling into me until bumps scatter along my arms. "In this place, Azura," he says, his voice low, "I suggest you keep your smart mouth closed and your head down. You aren't the biggest threat anymore."

I look down at my hands, holding my words in.

Hide it. Don't let them see. They want what you're hiding.

But what if they do see, brother?

Pretend you're weak.

"I'll keep my head down," I reply, swallowing the lump that forms in my throat as I hear his words, spoken in a whisper, a breath in the night beside the crackle of the fire as he changes my bandages and looks at my marks as though they'll set us both aflame.

"Good. Now, let's get you cleaned up."

Don't let them see.

I won't, brother. I promise.

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The promise is sour on my tongue as the woman before me frowns when I don't move. Only my eyes move, observing my surroundings, searching for the exits, looking for a weapon.

Turn back. Leave while you can.

Erasmus has taken me to a dungeon. The stone walls glisten with perspiration in the light of the candles, trickling towards the sunken floor where there's a deep well of water. An abundance of candles are clustered on the lips of the pool, reflecting on the water's steaming surface.

"Please, do as I ask and remove your clothes," the woman before me repeats in a rasping voice. Her sea blue eyes are too large for her face, contrasting her small nose and narrow chin. Her slim shoulders are dwarfed in navy robes that spill to the dark stone.

I look at her and the other similarly dressed people in the room, all gazing at me with impatience. "Maybe if you all gave me some privacy then I'd consider it. I try not to make it a habit of stripping in front of strangers."

She raises the towel in her arms. "It'll only be me that sees you. You need to be cleansed of the street's filth and any diseases that could pose a threat."

"Trust me, I'm not sick." I don't tell her that I've walked through groups of the plagued, drank from polluted waters, eaten food so rotten it tasted like death and decay, yet never fell ill. She would look at me like my brother once did and I hate that look. I'm already aware of my glaring oddities.

Not quite human. Not quite right.

The voices hiss.

"I'm afraid this isn't a choice."

Don't trust them.

"And why does he need to be here for this?" I ask, glancing at Erasmus who watches the ordeal with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Protection," the woman replies. "We get a lot of interesting people coming to the Order. Precautions must be taken."

"Fine," I spit. I grab the hem of my old tunic and yank it over my head, not giving myself another moment to deliberate this. I toss the tunic to the ground and the woman holds the towel higher, shielding me. The cool air licks at my bare skin and my fingers tremble, begging me to cover myself.

Never let them see.

"What?" I ask, glaring at the woman as her eyes take in my revealed skin. I know what she sees and sickness churns in my gut at having her see it. I don't look down. "Have you never seen scars before?"

"Not..." she breathes, and then swallows. "Not to this extent. And not on such a young girl."

My skin crawls beneath her scrutiny, like bugs wiggling beneath my skin. I still don't look down, don't allow myself to remember each and every pain.

You deserved it all.

Maybe not deserved at the time, but I needed it. Pain is a valuable teacher.

"Well? Am I going to die of some disease?" I ask, running my tongue over my teeth.

The woman shakes herself and clears her throat. "The rest of your clothes."

I do as she asks, kicking away my pants with frustration clawing at my insides. My jaw works as I stand naked before her, my gloves the only things left on.

"The gloves too. And then get into the water."

Vulnerability needles into the back of my neck, telling me that I need to gain the upper hand somehow, put myself above them, show them I'm not one to bow so easily.

I move to the pool and dip a toe in, the hot water prickling my skin. If it gives me some sort of coverage then I'm not going to fight against it. There are worse ways to die than drowning.

I sink into the pool, the stone smooth against my skin. As it laps at my waist, I look the woman in the eye and finally peel my gloves off. Setting them on the lip of the pool, I delve my hands into the water before the marks are revealed for too long. The less people see of me, the better.

"Under the water, please. They have healing properties"

I do as she says, partly because they all watch me like they expect me to leap out and bite them, but also because the warm water sinks into my muscles and seems to take their ache away. I tilt my head back and allow the water to wash over me, stripping away the grime and sweat that's become like a second skin. I suck in a breath and let the water close over my face, immersing myself in warmth and softness, floating in a cloud of bliss where no one can touch me. My scars don't matter, my marks don't either. Here I am just the girl without a name.

Under the ice. Choking on the cold. Drowning.

Suddenly the water doesn't feel so warm. It sinks its frozen claws into me, slowing my heart, dragging the air from my lungs. The water hums around me and all I can hear piercing through the water are my cries, screaming his name, voice lost amongst the whipping wind and snow.

Weak. Coward who ran into the ice instead.

The water of ice and fire had closed over my head, forced its way into my lungs and pulled me to unknowing depths. I saw them. I saw the monsters with their bloodied talons even through the water. The cracking ice had been the only thing to save me.

Survive. Swim. Go!

I burst out of the water, gasping for air, spinning around in search of the demons, feeling their hateful gazes upon me, their blood-lust only temporarily slaked by my brother's death.

"Azura."

I lurch around, wide eyes falling upon those that watch my frantic movements. Then I remember where I am. The water is warm, not cold. I'm surrounded by stone, not snow. The floor is slick with water, not blood.

I squeeze my eyes shut until dots crowd my vision, willing myself away from the destructive memories. The only time I visit them is in my dreams. Not here, not while people watch me like I'm a skittish rabbit trying to escape their snare.

"Have I been cleansed?" I ask through gritted teeth, opening my eyes to stare at them.

"The waters have done their work. You can dress now."

I shove my gloves on before they can inspect the markings too closely, then wade to the edge of the pool. I snatch the towel that's offered by the woman, knees trembling with each step I take from the water.

Pathetic. He taught you better.

I look at the clothes one of the other robed people hand to me with a crease between my brows. "They're not my clothes," I state, eyeing the clean cotton of dark blue and moss green.

"Your clothes are being burned."

I turn sharp eyes on the woman, obsidian chips that alone have stripped people of their words and courage. "They weren't yours to touch."

"Azura," Erasmus speaks finally, lines around his mouth. "Get dressed and stop arguing."

I open my mouth to argue more, to tell them where they can stick their clothes, but the deep rumble of my stomach interrupts. I close my mouth, the hunger pangs that clench in my belly reminding me of the long night I've had.

I take what's offered like all street rats learn to do.