The street leading to the Chamber Headquarters is deserted, the buzz of the ceremony in the town square muted as though the whole world had paused to watch us take our first steps toward the unknown. I walked with the others, each of us carrying the weight of our factions' hope.

Every step felt heavier, not from the distance to the Chamber Headquarters but from the unsettling feeling I have in my stomach. I glance up at the tall building and an eerie chill creeps over me.

A female Pacifier leading us flashes her ID card at the massive door and it n
yawns open. The sound of the door shutting behind us when we all are inside sends a shiver down my spine.

My feet move mechanically, but my thoughts drift back to the last moments I’d shared with my mother. Her grip on my hands had been firm, steady, as though she could anchor me to the life I was leaving behind. “Don't trust anyone in there, Aria,” she’d said, her voice soft yet unyielding. "If your gut tells you something is wrong, believe it."

My gut is telling me something is wrong now or it could be just the nerves kicking in.

We pass the test rooms where we’d all been evaluated just days ago, the memory of sterile white walls and judging eyes flashing briefly in my mind. The hum of machinery and faint buzz of fluorescent lights brought me back to the present as we continue down the hallway, its stark walls narrowing the farther we went.

At the end of the corridor, a heavy steel door awaits, partially open, revealing a staircase spiraling downward. My stomach churns as we descended, the air growing colder and the light dimmer with every step. The faint hum of the world above fades, replaced by an eerie silence that settled over us like a shroud.

The others around me walk in tense silence, our footsteps echoing off the stone walls. This isn’t just a building—it felt like we were descending into something alive, something watching us.

We approach an automatic door which slides open, and we are ushered inside. The sterile interior was suffocating, its cold, clinical design, not something I'm used to.

The dormitories are the first stop. Rows of bunk beds lined the room, each identical with thin, gray sheets and steel lockers.

“This is where the girls will sleep this week before the competition starts,” the Pacifier states. All the girls are in one dormitory, the boys were lead to the dormitory opposite ours.

From there, we were led to the cafeteria. The sharp smell of synthetic food hit me as we enter, and my stomach churns. Rows of narrow tables fills the room, and dispensers along the walls hum quietly.

“You will eat here,"she says coldly as if she dreads being the one to have to show us around. "Breakfast is at 7am, lunch is at 1pm and dinner is at 7pm. The last time you'd get a good warm meal. Enjoy the week while it lasts."

Something about the way she said that doesn't sit right with me. Her tone is too sharp, her words too weighted. We have a week until we enter the Chamber and we'll be staying here so long, and yet it already feels suffocating.

Next, we are taken to the training facility. The air is heavy with the metallic tang of weaponry and sweat. Obstacle courses stretch out before us, while racks of weapons gleam under fluorescent lights. Simulated terrains flicker in the corner, the holograms glitching slightly as they adjust to display various challenges.

“This room is quite self-explanatory,” the Pacifier says with flat voice. “Training is not optional. You will be expected to utilize these skills in the Chamber.”

The Pacifier leaves us alone and we all go straight to our dormitory. As if the tension in the air isn't already enough, it seems to thicken the moment we step into the dormitory. The room is wide and plain, with rows of bunk beds lined up against the walls. It feels too open, too exposed, like being on display.

As soon as we walk in, one of the Veilborne girls—a tall blonde with sharp eyes—smirks and tosses herself onto a lower bunk. Then the rest of the Veilborne girls follow, claiming the right side. “Guess the Ironclad will have to fight over who gets the floor,” she says, her tone dripping with mockery. The others laugh.

Tonya, who’s already tense, squares her shoulders and takes a step forward. “Don’t flatter yourself. We’re not beneath you, no matter how much you want to pretend.”

The blonde raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Really? Because last I checked, we’re the ones with power.”

“You Veilborne think you’re so superior,” another Ironclad girl mutters, her voice dripping with disdain as she throws herself onto a top bunk.

The room crackles with tension, the kind that only leads to one thing. The blonde leans in closer, her tone colder now. “Maybe because we are.”

Tonya doesn’t hesitate; her fists clench, her entire body taut like a spring about to snap. It’s clear she’s ready to throw the first punch, and the blonde looks just as ready to take her on.

I step forward without thinking, shoving myself between them. “Enough!” I snap, holding my arms out to keep them apart. “How about we save this energy for the competition? Or would you like to get eliminated before the competition even starts?”

For a moment, neither of them moves. Tonya’s jaw tightens, her nostrils flaring, but she finally takes a step back, muttering something under her breath. The blonde watches her for a beat longer, then exhales sharply and steps away with a dramatic toss of her hair.

As she passes me, she leans in close, her voice low and sharp. “Don’t ever step in front of me like that again. I don’t mind getting eliminated if it means taking someone with me.” Her words hang heavy in the air as she saunters to a bunk, throwing herself onto it like she owns the place.

I let out a slow breath, my muscles tense from holding my ground. The room is quieter now, but the hostility hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next spark.

***

The lights in the dormitory flicker slightly as the room settles into a quiet hum. The others have drifted off to sleep, their shallow breaths barely audible in the otherwise silent room. My bunk is on the bottom, the thin sheets feeling cold against my skin, but it's the least of my worries.

Tonya’s voice, soft but steady, breaks the silence. “Now that your mask is off, I could swear I haven’t seen you before. Are you from the South or North? I literally know most people from the North and South even though I'm from South.”

I freeze for a second, the question slamming into me like a shockwave. The Ironclad district is small. It’s close-knit, so everyone knows at least a few faces, even if they don't know names. Most of us, if we’ve been around long enough, have crossed paths a few times. But that’s the problem. If anyone knows who I am, I'm finished.

"I'm from North." I finally blurt out. "The quieter side."

Although some of the Ironclad stood by my father, others were against his vision. They tried to have him removed as the leader of Ironclad countless times.  I don't blame them sometimes. My father’s vision was bold—too bold for some. He believed we could stand on equal footing with the Veilborne, not just survive in their shadow. But that kind of thinking required unity within our faction, something we didn’t have.

Even now, years later, I can’t understand how he thought harmony with the Veilborne was possible.
My father believed in alliances, but I’ve seen firsthand what the Veilborne do to those who trust them. Their version of peace is submission, and their power comes at a price too steep to pay. They executed my father for daring to challenge the status quo, for daring to dream of a world where Ironclad weren’t shackled by their whims.

Moreover, if the Veilborne know I’m alive, if they catch wind of who I really am, they’ll want to finish what they started. They’ll do to me what they did to my father. Execution. It’s too dangerous.

The thought of my mother’s warning ring in my mind. Trust your gut, Aria.

Tonya’s voice comes again, this time with a hint of curiosity, "What's your name, anyway?"

I stiffen, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. I can’t give her my real name. Everyone knows who Aria Jones is; the former leader of the Ironclad's daughter who was executed 10 years ago. Aria Jones is a ghost now. A memory.

Quickly, I scan my brain for something simple, something that won't raise suspicion. Something close, but not too close. I settle on the first name that comes to me—AJ. It's just a shortened version, a way to keep a piece of my real name without giving it all away.

“AJ,” I say softly, forcing the lie past my lips. I try to make it sound natural, like it’s the truth. "I’m AJ."

Tonya’s silence hangs in the air for a moment, and I can practically hear her brain working, trying to place me. After what feels like an eternity, she speaks again, though there’s no judgment in her voice. Just curiosity. “AJ... Hmm."

I let out a slow, silent breath, relieved for now. She doesn’t seem suspicious but she's curious about me. I can tell by the way she looks at me when she speaks to me.

For a moment, the room feels safer, as if I’ve successfully sidestepped disaster. But I know better than to think it's over. Curiosity is dangerous. It grows and festers, poking at truths better left buried.