Celeste Vance had never realized how little she owned until she tried to pack it.
The room that had been assigned to her in the Argent Sentinels' dormitory was immaculate. The sheets on her bed were crisp white, hospital corners perfect enough to bounce a coin off. The desk held nothing but a datapad and a single pen, aligned parallel to each other. The closet contained her uniforms, arranged by function: combat, academic, formal. No photographs decorated the walls. No trinkets cluttered the surfaces. No evidence that a person had lived here for nearly two months.
Celeste stood in the center of this sterile space and felt nothing at all.
This is what Seraphina wanted, she thought. A controlled environment. No distractions. No attachments. Nothing that couldn't be packed in fifteen minutes and relocated to wherever the VHC needed me next.
She had succeeded beyond her sister's wildest dreams. She had become as empty as her room.
"I can't do this."
