Lo and behold—the Commander had entrusted them with summoning gloves. With the right hand movements, the gloves could conjure massive swords from thin air.

  He drilled the gestures into their heads relentlessly. “Fist. Thumb down. Again,” he barked, making them repeat until their muscles screamed. They squeezed and pressed until the motion became instinct, their bodies moving faster than thought.

  Only then did the real training begin: lifting and swinging. At first, the Commander allowed lighter swords, but gradually the weight increased. By the time they could handle the massive weapons, every strike felt like dragging mountains through the air.

  Miko, too eager, lost herself in the moment. She swung wildly, the sword slipping from her grip and spinning straight toward Zod’s head.

  “Whoa!” Zod ducked with ease, but his smirk faded just enough to reveal the flicker of unease. “You trying to kill me already, Miko? Training’s barely started.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “It slipped!”

  “Yeah, well, next time, slip it the other way.”

  The physical drills were only part of it. To Tee’s irritation, the Commander instituted Friday classes.

  Rows of desks. A whiteboard. A hologram projector. The familiarity clawed at her like Academy ghosts she thought she’d left behind. And the subjects weren’t any easier.

  “Survival,” the Commander announced one session, displaying graphic projections of bleeding wounds. He demonstrated bandaging techniques, then slapped a painkiller patch near his veins. “Immediate numbing. Instant clarity under pressure.”

  Tee stared at the patches, her stomach churning. Caffeine patches. Tetra’s trembling hands. Sleepless eyes. She pushed the memory away, but it lingered.

  Why numb the pain instead of preventing it? Why lecture on amputations? The Commander’s logic escaped her.

  But the classes revealed things Tee never expected:

  Kie could identify and classify Xenosapians like he’d written the textbook himself.

  Zod interrupted constantly with historical trivia nobody cared about.

  Miko knew which alien plants could be eaten, even if they looked like they’d kill you on sight.

  Saeda, though, stayed detached. Always quiet, always uninterested. Tee knew better than to judge—she was hiding things herself. She even imagined confessing right then, the image of mutating in front of the Commander making her stifle a laugh. The man running and screaming like a child? Too good.

  Then came the telecom: sleek wrist devices capable of teleporting them instantly, small enough to hide under their gloves.

  The Commander held one aloft. “It keeps you together. No one gets left behind. Range is limited, and you must press the button at the same time.”

  Great, Tee thought grimly. If she mutated, who would dare stand close enough to teleport with her?

  Still, the features impressed her—a hologram grid tracking each member, secure channels for telecommunication.

  Gradually, the sharp ache of training dulled. They weren’t zombies anymore. They laughed. They played.

  One afternoon they took to the field. Kie produced a bat he’d smuggled from his MG contacts, its base concealing a hidden blade. Zod brought a ball.

  “Cool,” Tee muttered when the blade clicked free.

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  Zod, however, ruined the game by sticking the ball to his hand with his ability, grinning as the batter waited helplessly. “Swing, swing! Oh wait—no ball!”

  When they fell for it, he doubled over in laughter.

  Tee finally stormed toward him, fist raised. Kie grabbed her wrist.

  “What?” she snapped. “I was kidding.”

  The ball eventually flew over the distant gate. Miko chased it down, returning flushed. “It’s so windy past there. Maybe there’s a beach.”

  Curiosity drew them out. Through a large gate. Beyond gnarled roots and scattered trees, the wind carried them to open sand.

  Tee inhaled deeply, hair whipping around her face. It was like flying. She sat down, savoring it.

  Kie lowered himself beside her. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

  “Yeah. The wind clears my head.”

  “Then you must have a lot on your mind.”

  Her secret pressed hard against her chest. The elders had told her to reveal it. But not at that moment. Not when they were laughing. Not when things were good. Or maybe, not ever.

  Miko, irritated by sand in her skirt and wind in her hair, rose first.

  “Miko, where are you going?” Zod asked.

  “Leaving,” she huffed.

  “I’ll come.”

  Soon they all turned back, though Tee lingered. The wind tugged at her, but thoughts of Tetra pulled heavier.

  Back in the field, conversation drifted.

  “Cool,” Saeda said suddenly. “Which one, Lanford?”

  Kie stretched on the grass. “First Class Mid-Guard. One day I’ll be the greatest official alive.”

  Tee nearly choked. Kie? MG official? The psychopath’s career path? He seemed too nice—nicer than Zod, anyway.

  Before she could press him, Zod rolled out a carpet. “Marshmallows. Fire. Let’s do it.”

  “What fire?” Tee snapped as he blocked her view.

  “You missed it,” Miko said. “We planned a campfire. Wouldn’t it be nice?”

  Zod added, “No curfew here. And no Xeno-victims either.”

  Tee froze, the others walking on ahead.

  “Hey, Tee!” Zod called, startling her. She rushed after them, clutching her secret tighter.

  That night the fire crackled, marshmallows roasting golden on sticks. Silence pressed in until Zod broke it.

  “Hey Tee, can you see through solid stuff? Like walls?”

  “Clothes?” Saeda teased.

  Tee bit her lip, fighting laughter. “Yeah.”

  Gasps. Zod leaned in, desperate. Tee laughed outright.

  “I can’t see through anything,” she admitted.

  Saeda rolled her eyes, though her smirk betrayed her.

  The firelight softened, drawing out stories about sparking their abilities. Tee spoke first—how she’d been chased by Mid-Guards after Jack was hurt, how her vision had shifted, saving her. She left out the part where she nearly ripped an officer’s arm off.

  “I’ve never told anyone,” she confessed.

  Saeda’s voice cut the air like a blade. “I attempted suicide.”

  The group stilled. Even Kie lowered his tab.

  “The rope snapped,” Saeda continued, voice flat. “I should’ve been paralyzed. But I lived. Now I see visions. People call me crazy. I stopped explaining.”

  Zod’s voice, quieter than ever, reached across the fire. “Suicide doesn’t end pain. It just passes it on.”

  Saeda met his eyes, then looked away.

  “What about you, Kie?” Zod asked.

  Kie didn’t look up. “It’s graphic. Better you don’t know.”

  Zod chuckled to himself. “That’s what my dad used to say when I asked about what would happen to me if I failed my exams. ‘Better you don’t know.’”

  Tee smirked. “I can’t picture you as a lawyer.”

  “That’s because I’m not gonna be one.” He looked at her. “What about you? You must’ve thought of something.”

  “A scientist,” she said without hesitation.

  “For what?”

  “Botany.”

  “Plants, huh? Figures.”

  “Miko?” he asked.

  Miko shifted. “My parents… they own MG gear companies. Uniforms, tech. They want me to take over. But I like cooking. My maid taught me. I want to be a chef.”

  “Follow your heart,” Zod said simply.

  His eyes turned to Saeda.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I like art. But it doesn’t pay.”

  “What about teaching?”

  Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Gross.”

  They laughed softly, the fire’s glow painting their faces. For a brief moment, they weren’t recruits or survivors. Just young adults, dreaming about futures none of them were sure they’d live to see.