The doors of the Hall opened with a deep, mechanical groan, revealing a corridor of seamless black stone lit by pale, flickering lights embedded in the ceiling. The air inside was cold and sterile, like a place untouched by time or life.
The twelve Offerings stepped forward, their footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness.
Mallory walked near the center of the group, her eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. The Hall was nothing like the rest of the city. It was too clean. Too quiet. Too calculated.
They were led down a long corridor by two silent soldiers, their armor matte and faceless. No words were spoken. No instructions given.
Eventually, they entered a wide chamber—circular, with a high ceiling and a ring of lights that cast long shadows across the floor. In the center stood a raised platform with a table lined with weapons: blades, rifles, compact crossbows, shock batons, and strange devices Mallory didn't recognize.
A voice echoed from above, mechanical and cold.
"You have been chosen. You will serve. You will survive. Or you will not."
The Offerings looked up, but saw no one.
"You will be assessed. You will be armed. You will be watched."
The lights dimmed slightly. A panel slid open in the wall, revealing a scanning station. One by one, the Offerings were called forward, their names spoken by the same disembodied voice.
Mallory waited.
When her name was called, the room shifted.
The others turned to watch her.
She stepped forward, calm and steady, and placed her hand on the scanner. A soft hum filled the air as the machine read her vitals, her neural patterns, her mutation markers.
"Subject: Mallory Devlin. Mutation: Ocular enhancement. Neural stability: 92%. Combat viability: High."
The panel beeped. A green light flashed.
She stepped back.
The others were still watching her.
She could feel it—the weight of their stares. Not fear. Not admiration.
Expectation.
They knew who she was. The girl who went beyond the Walls. The one who came back.
A tall boy with a buzzcut stepped forward. "You're Mallory, right? The one who's been out there?"
She nodded once.
He offered a hand. "Name's Juno. You and me—we should team up. I've got strength, you've got eyes. We'd be unstoppable."
Another girl chimed in, her voice sharp. "Or maybe you just want her to keep you alive."
Juno scowled. "I'm just saying—"
"I'm not a team person," Mallory said flatly, cutting him off.
The room went quiet.
She turned away and walked to the weapons table. Her eyes scanned the selection—sleek, deadly, pristine. But none of them felt right.
She reached behind her and unstrapped her own crossbow—the one she'd carried through the ruins, the one she'd cleaned and repaired a hundred times. She placed it on the table, then picked it back up.
"I'll keep mine."
The soldiers didn't object.
She turned back to the group—and caught him staring.
The boy in the hood.
Dread.
He stood near the edge of the room, arms crossed, sword still strapped to his back. His eyes—pale gray, unreadable—were fixed on her. Not with awe. Not with fear.
With curiosity.
She met his gaze.
He looked away.
But not fast enough.
She walked over, slow and deliberate. "You've been staring."
He didn't deny it. "You're not what I expected."
Mallory raised an eyebrow. "What did you expect?"
"Someone louder," he said. "Someone who wanted to be seen."
She smirked. "I don't care about being seen. I care about surviving."
He nodded. "Same."
They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the others fading behind them.
"You're Dread, right?" she asked.
He nodded again. "Yeah."
"You always this quiet?"
"Only when I'm thinking."
"What are you thinking about now?"
He hesitated. "That you're not a team person. But you're going to need one."
Mallory tilted her head. "You volunteering?"
He gave the faintest smile. "Just observing."
Before she could reply, the voice returned.
"You will be escorted to the barracks. Assesment begins at dawn."
The soldiers moved forward, guiding the Offerings toward another corridor.
Mallory followed, her crossbow slung across her back, her eyes still on Dread.
She didn't trust anyone.
But she was starting to wonder if she should.
The barracks were buried deep within the Hall—sterile, windowless chambers carved into the black stone like cells in a hive. The twelve Offerings were split evenly: six girls in one wing, six boys in another. Each room was identical—narrow bed, metal locker, a single dim light overhead.
Mallory sat on the edge of her cot, staring at the ceiling.
The others had already settled in. Some were asleep. Others whispered quietly in their bunks. Lynx lay in the far corner, mask still on, arms folded behind her head, eyes closed but clearly not sleeping.
Mallory couldn't rest.
The Hall felt wrong. Too quiet. Too clean. Like it was hiding something just beneath the surface.
She stood, pulled on her jacket, and slipped out the door.
The corridor outside was empty. No guards. No cameras she could see. Just the soft hum of electricity and the faint echo of her footsteps.
She moved quickly, hugging the walls, retracing the path they'd taken earlier. The Hall was a maze of corridors and sealed doors, but she remembered the central chamber—the one with the weapons, the scanners, the voice.
She passed it, then turned down a hallway she hadn't seen before. The lights here were dimmer. The air colder.
She didn't hear the second set of footsteps behind her.
Lynx moved like a shadow.
She'd seen Mallory leave. Watched her slip into the corridor like a ghost. And something about it had made her follow—quiet, careful, unseen.
She didn't trust easily. But she trusted her instincts.
And right now, they were screaming.
Mallory rounded a corner and froze.
Voices.
She pressed herself against the wall, inching closer to a half-open door. Inside, a group of figures stood around a glowing table—Council members, dressed in dark robes, their faces obscured by hoods.
She recognized one of them by voice alone.
Commander Voss.
"The mutation is accelerating. The Hollowed are adapting faster than projected."
"And the cure?" another voice asked.
"There are rumors of a strain outside the Walls. A stable one. But unconfirmed."
"If it exists, we need it. Before the Offerings discover it themselves."
"They won't. They're not meant to survive."
Mallory's blood ran cold.
She stepped back—and bumped into something.
She spun, crossbow half-raised—only to find Lynx standing behind her, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Mallory opened her mouth, but Lynx raised a finger to her lips.
Footsteps echoed from inside the chamber.
Without a word, Lynx grabbed Mallory's wrist and pulled her into a side corridor. They ducked behind a support beam just as two guards passed by, their boots thudding against the stone.
They waited in silence until the footsteps faded.
Then Lynx turned to her, voice low and sharp. "What the hell were you doing?"
"I had to know," Mallory whispered. "Something's wrong. They're hiding something."
"I know," Lynx said. "But walking into a Council meeting alone? That's not brave. That's stupid."
Mallory looked at her. "You followed me."
"I don't trust you," Lynx said. "But I trust them less."
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Then Lynx sighed. "Come on. Before they notice we're gone."
They slipped back into the barracks unnoticed.
The others were still asleep—or pretending to be. Mallory climbed into her cot, heart still racing. Lynx returned to her corner, pulling her mask back into place.
Neither of them spoke.
But they both knew.
The Council was hiding a cure.
And the Offerings were never meant to find it.