Like the other trains, this one had no windows. The walls bent outward in a round shape, making it uncomfortable for anyone to sit on. The Association did this to harden its assassins. The luxuries of comfort only existed within one's room in their assigned bunker.

The commute to wherever they were going lasted longer than Trace had expected. He was unsure whether they were even going somewhere within the Association's borders. But Isaac had said this was a day trip, which meant they couldn't be going too far.

Alexis said nothing as the train whizzed along the tracks—releasing a high-pitched electric noise. Trace watched her from the corner of his eye. Hers were shut, even as the train went around corners and made her readjust her balance. Nothing seemed to surprise her.

A tendril of her long red hair was woven in a braid and fell over her chest. Trace marveled at its brightness. Such lush beauty was allowed in the Association. Of course, only an Escort could carry such a burden.

Can you please tell me where we're going? Trace asked once more. Maybe if he threw in a "please," she would tell him out of politeness.

Her eyes suddenly shot open, but she didn't look at him. She stared at the metal wall of the train in front of her. Her light eyelashes fell halfway as she concentrated. Why must you know, when you will eventually see?

Alexis's tone had changed. She sounded more like Isaac. Trace didn't know what this could've meant, but he took it as a hint to not be as relaxed as he was previously.

He decided to be patient as the train carried them through the night.

#

Four hours later, they arrived at their destination. But Alexis didn't move to leave. She barely opened her eyes, even as the doors opened and frigid air spiraled into the car.

From where he was standing, Trace couldn't see the outside world. He had no idea where the train had taken them. How had the weather changed so drastically from where Phantom was?

Alexis finally took a step forward, and without looking back, ordered Trace to follow. He obeyed, falling into line with her as she walked onto the cold platform. They could only see what was right in front of them, thanks to the flurries of snow rushing into the station. The air was thick with frost—gray and white and dark all around them.

Alexis's breath sifted through her mask like a cloud of smoke. We're going to a training ground on the outskirts of the Association. It's going to be more difficult than any of the sessions we've had. Are you prepared?

Trace nodded. Yes, ma'am.

Alexis turned and started walking into the stormy terrain. She shielded her eyes with one hand and stuffed the other into her cloak, probably to keep warm. Trace copied her as he walked close behind.

A long and cold ten minutes of walking through the blizzard later, Trace and Alexis approached a small shack with a lamp flickering above the doorway. The wind carried it in almost-complete circles as it swung on its hinges, but the flame within still held.

We go in, we get changed, we get out. Alexis's orders were simple.

Understood, Trace said as they stopped before the door. The shack was made of wood, though the snow packed on its surface made it look as though it were made of ice. It was slightly bigger than it had looked from a further distance.

Alexis thudded her fist on the door thrice and it opened quickly. A tall Phantom member dressed in a large black jacket and wearing a black mask stood opposite of Alexis. There was no information on him, shown by the blank fields in Trace's Modifier. The man moved out of the way as he beckoned for them to enter.

The shack smelled of firewood and Trace was immediately taken back to his days with James. But his Mentor's hut had not been so well-stocked. In every corner, there were cans of food and fresh meat hanging from ropes tied to the ceiling.

Trace shook the snow from his boots and dusted his hood before moving further. He couldn't hide his awe when he realized how similar the space was to James'.

Stop gawking, Alexis demanded. Her voice was chillier than normal, and now Trace could really tell something was wrong. He fell into her command and followed her to two little stalls near the back of the shack. Both had a long black curtain that offered privacy. Alexis pointed to the one on the left. That one's yours. She pointed to the one on the right. This one's mine. And then she disappeared into the right stall.

Trace stepped into the left one. Hanging on one wall was a long black jacket with a hood, thick black snowpants, and heavy insulated snow boots. A pair of black water-resistant gloves sat on top of one another on a bench against the far wall. A black scarf and hat sat next to those.

Alexis's order ticked in his head again. We go in, we get changed, we get out. Trace wondered why they weren't allowed to remain their longer, where there was food and warmth. Even the shack owner was a Phantom member.

Regardless, Trace got dressed as quickly as he could. The coat was snug and warm, the gloves and other accessories making it easier for his body to regain heat. He hadn't realized how cold he'd gotten in such a short amount of time. And then he realized why it was important for them to get out as quick as possible:

Any longer in the cozy shack with such heavy gear on, and they'd sweat to death.

He pushed the curtain to the side and looked to his left. Alexis was dressed in the same black jacket as his, her hair all tucked into the hood and under the woven hat. Replacing her black mask was the black scarf that concealed most of her face.

"Thanks, Duke," Alexis said as she walked past the tall member.

Trace jerked his head towards this "Duke," surprise making him speechless. Was this the same Duke that had seemed so close to Peter at HeadQuarters? And if so, did he know where Peter had gone?

Duke? Do you know what happened to Peter? Trace attempted to communicate via private channel. But the other member didn't show any acknowledgement that he'd heard him, nor did he respond. Maybe it wasn't the same Duke, after all.

Trace turned away and followed Alexis back out into the blizzard. The wind shut the door aggressively behind them.

That's the same Duke that knew Peter, Alexis said. Though he's also not the same Duke.

What do you mean?

Phantom destroyed his old Modifier and gave him a new one. Like the ones they give the Strays. She seemed so unfazed as she said this, like it wasn't as devastating as Trace had witnessed. Yet, Trace could understand that if she'd never been part of a squad of people that had real personalities, she would never connect the humanity with the Modifier. To her, everyone must've seemed simple pawns of the Association's empire.

Why was it destroyed? Trace asked. He didn't do anything wrong, did he?

Alexis trudged through the snow and grunted slightly. Her first sign of vulnerability since boarding the train. With Phantom, connections are tricky. If you're close with anyone, any bad decision you make could affect them, too.

So you're saying, because of Peter. . .?

Alexis was silent.

You're speaking normally again, now. Was something wrong earlier? Trace knew he was crossing a line with his questions, but something about Alexis made him feel like he could relax, even though she was an Escort.

She sighed. Yes. Duke is now strictly a pawn for Phantom, meaning that anything said within earshot can be sent back to HeadQuarters. He'll tell on anyone who says anything out of line.

The thought that such a burly man as Duke had been removed from his position at HeadQuarters so easily was unsettling. Even more so than the position he was in now. Trace wondered if they'd done the same thing to Peter, but he didn't feel like now was a good time to ask.

They carried on through thick winds that whipped the skin on their faces. The rest of their bodies stayed warm, but Trace knew that nothing could warm the ice chilling his heart.

How could Phantom be so cruel? He said it before he could think it. And now he couldn't take it back.

Alexis stopped and the wind picked up around them. She turned to face him, her eyes dark and almost hidden behind her scarf.

Do you know that what you're saying can be considered treason? Her voice was measured. Serious. Her speculation was correct. Trace was questioning the morals fo the organization that he'd already sold his life to.

Yes, Trace said plainly. I can only be loyal to Phantom when I know why those around me are disappearing.

Even I don't know that, Alexis said bitterly. She turned and continued walking. We must simply blindly trust them. Because it's like you said, we've sold ourselves to the Association.

Trace picked up his pace so he was walking right next to her. Aren't Escorts 'born into' the Association? He doesn't mean to say this as confidently as he did.

Alexis sighed. They tell you so many lies. And you believing them only makes their plan easier to accomplish.

Then what made you an Escort? Trace asked bluntly.

Alexis took a moment to answer. She might've been struggling to find an easy way to explain, or maybe the answer wasn't supposed to be shared. Finally, she began to laugh.

How about I answer that if you survive our training session?

They approached a large domed structure. Nothing was there to mark it—no lantern or torches. The shape just appeared as they got closer. It seemed to be made of ice, or something glasslike. And it was very large.

Deal, Trace agreed. They stopped where there was a cutout in the structure, shaped similar to an arched doorway. Alexis ducked under it and Trace followed. Inside was nothing. Just a flat space. The dome shielded them from the wind. Can you tell me where we are now?

Alexis laughed. You keep asking that, but isn't it obvious?

Trace shook his head honestly.

She stopped laughing. The Association is only able to operate within an area with low population levels. Thus, she gestured to her and Trace's outfits, then to the large dome structure around them, they set up camp in the glorious Antarctician savannah.

#

Alexis dug her heel into the icy ground and breathed slowly. Her eyes searched the walls and ceiling carefully. She held her hand low and level at her side, signaling for Trace to stay behind her. Then she twitched her head to the side as though she heard something.

Then the words filtered into Trace's Modifier.

Directive has changed, a low robotic voice said. Number 704 and Number 1207. You are now a team. Eliminate all targets.

Alexis whipped around, her hair rolling out from her hood like fire. Her eyes were wide with surprise. Gun. Now.

The words almost didn't register quick enough, as the floor began to shift like geographic plates. Then, where cracks formed, the ice was pushed up and over the surface. Steam arose from the holes that were scattered across the floor of the dome. All was silent for a moment, then the thunderous unison of footsteps sounded from beneath.

Trace unzipped his jacket and reached into his cloak for his revolver, then zipped himself back up again. Alexis was already poised with her gun at arm's length, aiming at each hole in the ground for a few seconds before moving onto the next.

Watch my back, Alexis growled.

I'm on it, Trace grunted, turning so his back was against hers. They covered all blind spots, waiting for whoever would come from underneath the dome. The footsteps continued to grow louder along with the beating of Trace's heart. For a moment, they aligned perfectly in each other's rhythm.

And then the footsteps stopped. All was silent.

Slowly, heads appeared and then rose from each hole, revealing long black-cloaked bodies. The arose stealthily, robotically. Everyone wore a dark gray mask.

They're Strays, Trace gasped.

On my count, she said, ignoring him.

The Phantom members filed out of their underground zones like zombies, moving aimlessly in every direction. Some even bumped into each other. Would this even be a fair fight?

Three, Alexis counted carefully, whipping her gun towards a group of approaching assassins. They seemed oblivious to their surroundings, not even meaning to move towards them. But Alexis held her gun firmly in their direction, slowly releasing the safety with her thumb.

Two, she continued. Her voice was still steady. She gently pressed her back against Trace's encouraging him to move forward.

Trace hadn't yet raised his gun to aim. What was the point of this? Would they really kill their own Phantom members? They didn't appear to be armed and were clearly defenseless.

Something about Alexis's seriousness made him wonder if there was something he was missing here, though. Why had the training session changed, and what had it been originally? From her expression, she hadn't planned for this to happen. Their training had turned into a mission. An inside job.

One, she said at last.

From then on, everything seemed to play in slow motion. First, the surrounding gray masks' eyes filled with blackness, though still managed to glow. Their Modifiers activated. Then, every head turned to face Trace, and the immense feeling of bloodlust he had at first felt from Isaac collapsed on him all at once. Every assassin in this room had the full intent of killing him.

And he wasn't ready.

They all ran at him at once as he scrambled with his gun, cocking the barrel to the side to knock a bullet into place. But as he did so, something struck him in the thigh. The pain didn't come at first, and then that's all he felt.

These assassins were, indeed, armed.

Trace fell to the floor and stared at the white all around him, mixed with gray and black that continued to close in on him.

Alexis's gunshots were now audible, echoing off the domed structure. Following each round, the sound of thudding bodies against the ice and her heavy breaths.

Get up, Trace, she yelled. Weakness isn't an option here.

Alexis was right, though Trace had completely forgotten how to move. He'd been injured before, but there was way more to this than a simple injury. Had Alexis brought him to his own execution?

Something boiled inside him, moving past the confusion and feeling of betrayal. If Phantom had betrayed him, he'd kill every last one of their members in this room. Stray or not. He'd end the suffering for these mindless pawns.

Letting out a cry, Trace grabbed the sharp object in his leg and tore it out. The pain of flesh coming with it fueled his anger. He tossed the knife to the ground.

He could almost see the reflection of his purple irises in his shadowy breaths, and he knew that he was subconsciously forcing his Modifier to control him. His movements needed to be quick, accurate, and most of all, smart.

He felt the power grow down his arms and into his hands, almost as if they would charge the bullet in the gun. He held his arm out, locked his jaw, and pinpointed a line of charging assassins.

His finger hugged the trigger and the loud gunshot rippled around him like a forcefield. The bullet twisted through the front man's torso and hit four more behind him. They fell one after the other, like dominoes, and blood eased out of them across the pure white.

Trace reloaded, re-aimed, and shot another at a line of assassins. A few more went down this time. With each stream of kills, Trace felt success buzz in his arms. His legs grew sturdier, his mind stronger. Is this what Isaac had wondered about? How it felt to kill when not on a mission?

Trace both hated and loved the thrill each pull of the trigger gave him. No hesitation, just pure accuracy and efficiency.

Whoa, who's this now? Alexis asked, nearly out of breath as she continued firing at her targets. Where did Trace go?

He's still here, Trace laughed. He reached into his cloak for extra bullets and reloaded the barrel at a lightning speed, then proceeded to mull down more Strays. Each shot was balanced with Alexis's, like they were communicating with each other on a subconscious level. Something like "shoot now, okay now it's my turn." The rhythmic explosions in each of their weapons was the closest thing to music Trace had ever heard.

And it was. . . beautiful?

No, this isn't the Trace I'm used to, Alexis continued. She pressed against Trace so they'd change sides. He made a quick flip to face her line of enemies.

Her shots had been quicker than his, and probably necessarily too. The assassins on her side of the dome wielded blades and charged faster. Some carried rapiers, while others threw weapons like Wyze's shurikens. There were many stuck in the ice, silently slicing through.

Trace felt one hit his wounded leg and he groaned aloud. Hot blood rushed over his knee and circled around his calf. He was beginning to feel numb, but he forced his leg to stand strong.

He spotted the weapon's thrower, aimed his gun, and the man collapsed into other bodies scattered across the ice. The kill covered Trace's tongue in something sweet.

But he'd just wasted a bullet on one assassin, when he could've fell a few more. He was starting to become wasteful. He was beginning to let his anger control him, at least consciously now.

He shot two more rounds and nine more assassins fell to their deaths. Only a few remained, still energized and charging at him. But they were scattered, and Trace had only one bullet left. His supply was in his cloak, and they were approaching too quickly for him to retrieve them.

Alexis, Trace said. And that's all he needed to say.

She was at his side, facing the same targets, and her eyes flickering with a brilliant white that he hadn't ever seen before. Her blue was still there, but the glow of pure white mixed with it like the black had with Isaac's dark brown.

Her finger pulled the trigger once and she swung her arm horizontally. The bullets hit each target perfectly, starting with the left. And each strike shook their bodies with tremors like they'd been infused with electricity. Their bodies hung in the air for a moment and their eyes glossed over before they eventually crumpled to the cold ground. All dead.

Thanks, Trace said, but Alexis was already back to her side. Trace flipped around to help. His last bullet prepared itself in the shaft, itching to be launched at its next target.

Trace locked eyes with an assassin that stood still. Her eyes were dark like the others, but he saw what looked like a flicker of orange there. His eyes widened in shock, suddenly connecting her with the girl he saw that day at HeadQuarters. Whether or not it was her, he felt so strongly that killing her was wrong that he hesitated.

Alexis was busy with others, leaving this one assassin to Trace, but he was struck motionless. He hadn't known this girl, just seen her Modifier destroyed before his very eyes. And now here she was, a pawn of the Association, poised to attack at their command without a second thought or any sense of morality.

She lifted her arm up, aimed a silver weapon at him, and fired.

The bullet hit its target, and Trace joined the other casualties on the cold, hard ground.