Kayla felt her arm burn.

Not the one lying at her side, clutching the bedding. The arm she had lost. She ground her teeth and heaved up. Phantom pain had her mind believing her body whole when it was not. It happened nearly every morning.

The floor was cold. Kayla crossed the room on bare feet, mindless of the freezing temperature. She splashed cool water from a standing pitcher on her face and shrugged off her thin night shirt. The fabric was soaked with sweat. Kayla balled it up and threw it in a corner, then used a handcloth and the water that remained to wash up. Her hand paused at the stump of her right arm.

Thick scars wrapped around the right side of Kayla's body. They pulled the skin over her ribs and above her breast taut, like snarls in a knitted fabric. The field medic had barely gotten to her on time. He'd done his best to stich her up, but it was a hasty job, and it showed.

Kayla dressed slowly. She had nowhere to be, no plans for the day, no orders to follow. Her mind flit to the sword that lay at the bottom of her trunk, buried under clothes and books. Kayla saw it when she closed her eyes most nights, felt the blade at her own throat. It'd be faster with a gun. Mika's revolver, preferably.

Kayla didn't have Mika's gun. They did not let her keep anything that had belonged to her sister.

Kayla's uniform hung neatly near the door, the fabric gray with accumulated dust. Kayla ignored it in favor of a wrinkled black coat slung over a chair. She pulled on her boots and left, not bothering with locks and keys. There was nothing in that room she cared about losing.

The barracks were quiet. It was early, the sun barely over the horizon, but most of the block's residents were either out or fast asleep, depending on their shift schedules. Kayla took the nearest stairs down two floors, to the main hall. She nodded at the few trainees she encountered in passing. They saluted her, but kept their eyes carefully averted. Kayla grinned in her heart. Let them stare. Let them fear. Too many of those who signed up for the army had no realistic grasp of what it meant to be a soldier. It was easy to be swept away by the mundane aspects of life at base – training, lessons, everyday banalities and little tragedies that happened everywhere a large number of people congregated. The first real mission out in the field was always a shock.

That's where it had gone wrong, Kayla thought. Their first encounter with evil had shaken them all, but it had broken Dimitri. The man she remembered from their cadet days never returned from that accursed mission.

Kayla's steps slowed, caught by a sudden burst of voices. The training hall was up ahead. She had meant to relieve some stress at the punching bags but a glance through the wide doorway revealed a class in progress. Young men and women stood at attention at the center of the arena, eyes on their instructor, an aged soldier with heavy facial scars and an obvious limp. At his call, their neat rows broke to form a crescent. The instructor called out names in rapid succession. Six trainees stepped forward. They paired off and began a basic paring routine without weapons. Kayla nodded in approval. Even wooden swords were dangerous in inexperienced hands.

Kayla watched the group train. She did not mean to linger long, but the instructor caught her eye and waved her over before she could slip away. A number of cadets turned to stare before remembering their manners and quickly looking away.

Kayla approached without outward shift in expression. She tried to recall the instructor's name, certain they had met at least once before. The scar stretching the man's mouth in a perpetual sneer was familiar.

"Starr," the man greeted.

Kayla nodded back. The man didn't offer his hand. The breach of etiquette might be a slight, or deference to her injury. Kayla didn't care either way.

The man bared his teeth in a sharp grin. "Got time to spare on these numbskulls?"

"Sure," Kayla said with some delay.

The man rounded on his class. He barked a set of commands. The kids shuffled into two groups. The man herded one group to the far side of the room without leaving a word of instruction.

Kayla stared after him, bemused. She turned to her own bunch of wide-eyed trainees.

"What have you been learning?" she asked.

The floor suddenly became very interesting. Kayla waited out the silence with the patience of someone who had nothing better to do.

At length, a girl raised her hand. She was short, her arms thin and body still gawky with youth. Kayla would bet her remaining arm that the girl had lied about her age during recruitment.

"Throws and falls," the cadet offered.

Kayla nodded. "Alright. Pair up. We'll start with that."

The kids spent half an hour throwing each other on the mats. Kayla walked among the sparring pairs, fixing postures and correcting rolls. The lesson progressed naturally. There were different ways to throw an opponent, each tailored to different goals. Kayla demonstrated a few of the more basic moves, and was pleased by her student's attentiveness. The rest of the class passed in a blur of awkward falls and pained grunts. No one managed to break anything, although the young cadet who had answered Kayla's first question came close to twisting her wrist. Kayla ended the class with an impromptu lecture on knowing one's limits. The kids' eyes grew glazed long before she was finished speaking. Kayla sighed internally. There were lessons only experience could teach.

"Cool down!" the instructor boomed.

The cadets lined back into their assigned rows and bowed in unison, first to their instructor, then to Kayla. The chatter picked up. Kayla's group was particularly lively, boasting about the new moves they had learned.

"Good work," the instructor offered.

"Do you always bum help off unsuspecting passersby?" Kayla asked.

The man laughed. "First offense. I'll buy you a drink to compensate."

Kayla looked at the man, considering his offer and the possible hooks behind it. "It's eleven in the morning," she said.

"You look like you need it. I'll throw in lunch, too." The man raised his voice. "Oi! Shut it and get going!"

The trainees scattered. Kayla turned to leave, but the man cut into her path, the movement sudden and therefore threatening. Kayla changed her balance in a split second and stepped to the side instead. A dagger slipped from her sleeve into her left hand. She glared at the older soldier with cold eyes.

The man did not move closer or step back. "We've got a mutual friend," he said.

Kayla's grip on the dagger tightened. "I've got no friends left."

"Friend of a friend, then," the man said.

Kayla sheathed the dagger back into its hidden holster. Her body remained tense, ready to move at a moment's notice.

"After you," she said.

The soldier slanted her a distorted smile and set forward. After a moment of hesitation, Kayla fell in step behind him.

They ended up in a small bar at the outskirts of the city, aptly named The Lost Coin. It was close enough to base to be a well-known spot, popular with new recruits for the novelty and older soldiers for the familiar environment. Kayla had attended her fair share of gatherings around the bar's scuffed tables, usually at her sister's behest. She had not set foot in the place since Mika's death.

The soldier's name was Ellis Musser. The man was forty-three years old. He'd withdrawn from active service some five years prior, fought in the war, had two sons, and liked his wine warmed over coal.

Kayla neither needed nor wanted to know any of these things. She drank her beer and nodded at random intervals. The man hadn't seemed like the talkative type. He still did not, despite the noise-induced headache building behind Kayla's eyes.

"-another stray. We've got two dogs already, and he comes home with a kitten." Musser paused to take a bite of a mutton stew that had seen better days. "I dunno what we're gonna do with him. He can't go around rescuin' every injured creature that crosses his path."

Kayla set her cup down with some force.

Musser stopped talking. The barkeep glanced their way, then smartly retreated for the relative safety of the kitchens. He was obviously an old hand at handling solider tempers.

"What do you want?" Kayla asked.

"Took you long enough. I was running out of stories," Musser said.

Kayla's chair screeched over the stone floor. "Thank you for the meal," she said, and rose to her feet.

"You're gonna leave before I tell you what this is about?" Musser asked.

"I don't like games." Kayla told him.

"Yeah? Then what're you playing at with those bastards in Zero?" Musser called after her.

Kayla halted cold halfway to the door. Her back was to Musser. The bar was empty save for the two of them, the owner still nowhere to be found. "You said we have a friend in common," she said quietly.

"He ain't that," Musser replied.

"Friend of a friend, then," Kayla mocked, turning the man's words back at him.

"He ain't that, either." Musser exhaled loudly. "Fuck. Look, I didn't do it proper. This wasn't meant to be a damn charade."

He fell silent. Kayla turned back around, but did not return to her seat. The man was armed, and she was not foolish enough to take his abashed expression at face value.

"What do you want?" Kayla repeated. It was the man's last chance to speak plainly. She did not plan to stick around for another long-winded tale.

The soldier held her eyes. "Zero's growing," he said, and a chill went down Kayla's spine. "Those bastards multiply like maggots and Hel only knows what they're up to – but we're still here, and you are still one of us. Remember that, if you're ever in a tight spot."

Kayla's throat closed up. She hated the way Musser' eyes softened, hated whatever vulnerability had shown on her own face.

"Sorry for your loss. Meant to say it earlier," Musser said.

"We've all lost someone," Kayla forced out.

"Yeah. One after the other. We buried less soldiers during the war. Strange, ain't it?" Musser laughed. There was no mirth in his voice.

Musser stood. Kayla watched him advance, wary. The man clapped a hand over her shoulder in passing. The right one, mangled and ugly under her coat. Musser did not hesitate to touch her and Kayla did not flinch away, as had become her habitual response to any form of contact.

The door slammed shut behind the man a moment later.

Kayla remained where she was. Her eyes were opened wide, but she could not see; the world was blurred, melting.

"I'm fine," she told the barkeep when he asked.

The man did not look like he believed her. Kayla wondered why he'd ask in the first place. Why he'd care.

There was nothing left to care about in this world, least of all her.