After we parted ways, what I remember most is that time passed strangely. Things happened in a slow blur, and although I don't remember everything from those two years following my goodbye to 08A, I remember the fear and worry. I worried about my brother. Every day, I wondered what his life was like. What was fieldwork like? Was he ok? Safe? I refused to even consider the fact that he might already be... gone. Fieldwork was dangerous. The monsters were bloodthirsty, and our jobs as Hunters meant we were the last lines of defense against the evil.

But that danger meant my brother could already be finished.

And because I had no way to reach out, no way to make sure 08A was alright, I decided that I would see him again the only way I knew how: by becoming the best. If I was good like 08A, if I was the best, then I would impress the leaders of Imhullu like my brother. They'd let me do my trials early, and when I passed, I'd go into the field like A.

And I might get to see him again. Maybe even work with him.

So I threw myself over to training. I drowned in learning, devoting myself to being the best. If I could prove that I was even better than everyone else, then maybe I'd even make 08A proud of me. That's all I really wanted back then. I wanted my big brother's unconditional love and adoration.

But I couldn't dare let anyone know.

I stuffed my feelings for 08A down and refused to even acknowledge that I craved his approval, so instead of recognizing my own fear and need for my brother's love, I kept my head down and worked my ass off over the course of those two years we were separated.

I threw myself headlong into the lessons taught to us by the Imhullu trainers and learned with a passion that soon garnered me a reputation among the best teachers. At the time, I was elated that I was following in A's footsteps, that my actions were garnering me praise from the Imhullu leaders. Surely they'd make my brother proud of me, too. When I was young, I thought that was all I needed, all I wanted, but time and maturity has shown me the truth. I was more brutal than any eight-year-old should be. I was violent and brutal. I was... monstrous.

One event is particularly vivid in my memory.

It had felt like an eternity since 08A had left when the leaders pitted me against an eleven-year-old girl for combat training. As I'd stared her down across the mat before we sparred, I remembered where I'd seen her dark scowl before.

During a class earlier that week about enhanced interrogation tactics, the girl with the dark frown had targeted a small boy sitting in the back of the class. The little boy had managed to craft a tiny doll out of paper. Throughout the lesson, he ignored instruction to play with the thing quietly under his desk. The instructor didn't notice that the younger one was unfocused, but the frowning girl had. I'd caught her sneering at the kid, watching the boy fiddle with his tragically meager toy, and her reaction and the rage in her gaze had set me on edge.

After the class, the girl had cornered the little boy, saying something about how kids should learn to be respectful in lessons and listen to our handlers. Then, she'd snatched the doll out of his hands. The little boy had tried to fight back, swinging his tiny fist and landing a weak punch to her side. Although we were all trained to fight, the boy was too small for his attack to do much good, and laughing darkly, the girl had shaken off the hit and proceeded to destroy the little handmade doll.

When the kid had tried to strike her gain, the girl had grabbed the boy's wrist and jerked it. I remembered the snap of bone and the little boy's cry of pain as he'd fallen to the floor clutching his wrist. I'd recalled the dark look of joy on the girl's face as she'd stood over the kids collapsed form while the attendants had looked on.

And I hadn't done anything.

I knew why I hadn't acted. The attendants had been watching closely, and I couldn't afford to let them think I had developed a soft spot for the boy. I'd been a merciful kid when I was the boy's age, and it had nearly cost me my life. Imhullu could never know I felt such mercy now. They had to think I was hard and strong like 08A.

But now that we were fighting one another, now was my chance. It was my chance to stand up for that little boy without the trainers thinking I was weak.

The girl, unaware of my mounting anger, continued to stare me down from the other side of the mat while theatrically swishing around a vicious-looking butterfly knife. Now sneering myself, I strode over to the weapons rack and made my selection, going for my favorite weapon before returning to the place where we would spar. Once I was ready, I held a karambit, watching her display passively while waiting or the instructor's command to go.

Following the signal to fight, the mean girl with the dark smile lunged at me. I easily dogged her attack and dropped to the ground. Using a sweeping kick, I knocked her legs out from under her, and before she could recover, I leapt on her, using my weight to pin her down while holding my weapon to her neck. In a real fight, all I needed to do was move my knife a few inches to deliver a killing below.

My hand twitched with glee as I held the weapon there, poised over her carotid artery. However, instead of driving the weapon in I waited until the instructor signaled that I was the victor. It was only my conditioning that prevented me from hurting her, and it felt like an eternity until the instructor signaled that I was the winner and could now stand.

Again, only my harsh training gave me the control to keep from lashing out as I bit my lip and stood, ignoring the poison in the other girl's gaze as I did. Even though it had felt like a lifetime, the entire match had taken less than a minute, though my victory hadn't given me satisfaction as I'd expected it to.

I tasted blood in my mouth from where my teeth had broken skin, and I let loose a huff of frustration before I turned my back to her so that I could receive feedback from our instructor. Before I could react, I heard a grunt as the girl dove for me, jabbing her weapon into my shoulder. I screamed in both pain and fury and whipped around fully prepared to slice my karambit across her neck and sever her jugular.

If she was fucking playing dirty, then so could I. All it would take was one slash and she'd be done for. That's what she deserved for hurting that boy. For hurting me. But in the split second before I ended her life, I saw fear break across her face. For a moment, her poisonous rage melted away, leaving only the wide eyes of a terrified kid, which brought me to my senses.

She was a child.

I was a child.

And neither of us deserved to die like this.

So, instead of killing her, I altered my movement, using my claw-like knife to deeply penetrate her trapezius muscle. The girl screamed, reaching up to clutch her shoulder as she collapsed from the pain, and I found myself smirking darkly.

I had won. Again. Because I always won now.

With our combat over, we were both whisked to the infirmary so that physicians could attend to our injuries. Neither of our combat injuries were bad enough to warrant extermination, not that I cared whether they exterminated the other girl or not. And, I healed much more quickly than her, which seemed to impress my handlers because that was what mattered to me.

It was what my brother would've wanted me to feel.