The glances kept coming my way, quick little flicks of eyes that didn't want to be caught staring.

  Each of their expressions told its own story, ones of mockery from the veterans, of contempt from the fighters, and pity from the rest.

  No one dared come near me now.

  The distance between my table and the next occupied one might as well have been a mile. A part of me wanted to laugh at their reaction, it wasn't like I was actually contagious. But that was the point, wasn't it? I needed space, I needed to be left alone, needed to gather information without being watched too closely in return.

  For the first time since arriving at this shit hole, I could actually think.

  My little corner gave me a perfect vantage point to watch the entire mess hall without seeming like I was paying attention to anything. I could see the comings and goings, take note of who spoke to whom, which prisoners commanded respect and which ones were desperate for protection.

  The corner was quiet, removed from the clamor of the mess hall. It was perfect for the madman everyone wanted to avoid. Perfect for me.

  I noticed I wasn't completely alone in my isolation.

  At the far end of the same bench, a woman sat with her back straight as a ruler. I studied her from my peripheral vision, careful not to turn my head and make it obvious.

  Sadie, the silver haired woman from my team.

  The one who'd fought like death incarnate on the bridge. Up close, her posture was rigid, controlled, and perfect. Even her prison uniform somehow looked immaculate, pressed almost, which seemed impossible in a place like the Front.

  Her silver hair was pulled back in a tight bun, not a single strand loose. Her face looked like it had been carved from porcelain. She had pale silver-gray eyes that stared straight ahead, focused on nothing and everything at the same time. She was beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful… something you admire but know better than to touch.

  Something about her made my skin crawl, and that was saying something considering what lived under my skin these days. I couldn't put my finger on what bothered me about her. It wasn't her beauty or her stillness.

  It was her eyes.

  They were empty, expressionless, constantly assessing. They reminded me of someone, and the realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

  Those were the same cold eyes. The same calculating coldness hidden behind a perfect mask.

  My jaw tightened involuntarily, and I had to force myself to relax before the worms reacted to my tension. I fought down the memory of my father's face as he consumed Rell, forcing back the rage that threatened to bubble up.

  I took a slow breath through my nose, settling the storm inside me. As I regained control.

  By all rights, she should have been at the center of any power structure here.

  Instead, she sat alone in an empty corner.

  And then it clicked, the corner wasn't empty despite her presence. It was empty because of her presence.

  The other prisoners sensed what I had just identified.

  That cold lethality, that perfect control. She was surrounded by an invisible but almost palpable aura that screamed danger to anyone with survival instincts.

  The Sacred weren't superstitious, but they weren't stupid either. They recognized a predator when they saw one, even if they couldn't articulate why they felt uncomfortable.

  I suddenly understood why no one had approached this corner even before my performance. Sadie had claimed it first, marked it with her presence, and everyone else had the good sense to stay away.

  Armed with this understanding, I expanded my observation to the rest of the mess hall. There was a pattern to how the prisoners had grouped themselves, an instinctive sorting based on survival.

  The center tables held the prime positions… the veteran prisoners, Bridge Sergeants, and high Grades. They sat with easy confidence, calm and collected, with an air of earned superiority. Kaz was there, his golden presence commanding attention without even trying, his laugh occasionally rising above the general din.

  Near him was Rafe and his admirers, the wealthy and trained Sacred who'd had the benefit of preparation before their Trials.

  The next was the mid-tier prisoners, those with useful Origins, established survivors who'd made it past their first few months. They were alert and political, trading information, forming alliances.

  The outer edges held the fresh arrivals, low Grades, the uncertain.

  They clustered together, nervous and scared, attaching themselves to anyone who would have them, seeking protection in numbers.

  And then there were the corners. Me and Sadie. The ones who didn't fit the hierarchy. Me by performance, her by nature.

  Only one person seemed to break the pattern entirely.

  Zo, with her electric blue hair which was impossible to miss, leaned against a pillar near the center of the room. She belonged to no group, joined no cluster. She stood alone, watching the room with lazy, amusement.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Unlike the nervous loners at the edges, she wasn't seeking protection. Unlike Sadie and me in our corners, she wasn't avoided. She simply stood apart, watching, as if none of it mattered to her. Like she was above the entire game.

  I turned my attention back to my corner.

  Sadie still hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged my presence in any way.

  The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, it was actually comforting. Two people occupying space without occupying each other's attention.

  Just as I was thinking this, a guard entered the mess hall, but not just any guard. This one was massive. He stood at least six-foot-six, with shoulders wide enough to fill a doorway and a chest like a barrel.

  His arms looked like they could snap a man's spine without trying, and his hands were rough and calloused from years of what I guessed was actual combat, not just training. A full thick brown beard streaked with grey covered the lower half of his face, framing a mouth.

  His eyes, though—dark and calm—were constantly moving, assessing us. This was a man who saw everything and missed nothing.

  He moved through the mess hall with authority.

  The prisoners shifted aside without being asked, conversations dying as he passed, only to resume in hushed tones after he moved on.

  The man reached the center of the room and stopped, surveying the assembled prisoners. When his gaze passed over my corner, I felt suddenly alert.

  His gaze moved on—I apparently wasn't worth special attention—but lingered for a moment on Sadie. There was something in that look, a flash of recognition perhaps, before he turned away.

  The guard spoke, his voice deep and carrying without being raised.

  "I'm Curtis, senior supervisor for the Bridge Section," he announced. "For those of you who just survived your first surge… congratulations. You lived. Don't get used to it."

  Everyone listened without interruption. Even the veterans fell silent.

  "Some of you might think you've proven yourselves." His eyes swept the room, landing briefly on a group of newer prisoners who'd been celebrating earlier. "You haven't. The Front is patient. The tears are endless. The moment you start believing you're safe is the moment you die."

  He clasped his hands behind his back, his posture military-straight but relaxed, like a man comfortable with his authority.

  "I've watched hundreds of first-battle survivors die in their second surge. Thousands in their first month."

  "In the coming days, veterans will share what they know," Curtis continued. "You'll learn tear patterns, beast behaviors, survival tactics. But don't be fooled—knowledge isn't enough. Whether you survive depends on you alone."

  He began pacing slowly, his boots making dull thuds against the concrete floor.

  "Your Bridge Sergeant isn't your savior. Your team isn't your family. Your Origin isn't your guarantee. The responsibility to survive is yours."

  Around the hall, newer prisoners exchanged nervous looks. I kept my expression vacant, playing my role.

  "You're not civilians anymore," Curtis said. "You shouldn't be soldiers either… but here you are. The Front doesn't care what you were, what you wanted to be, who the hell is waiting for you. Your training means nothing, your connections mean shit, and your hopes… none of it matters here. Only what you do matters."

  I fought back a snort.

  I realized this speech wasn't for me. It was for the others, the ones who still had connections to the outside world, the ones who thought their previous lives mattered. The ones who hadn't yet accepted that this place was all that existed now.

  But I understood the purpose. Fear kept prisoners sharp, kept them alive longer. Curtis wasn't being cruel, he was trying to keep these people breathing.

  Curtis paused, letting the fear settle into the room like a heavy blanket. Then, with a slight nod, he continued.

  "Tonight, we will be collecting cores. Your teams will report their harvest, quotas will be assessed."

  I listened carefully now.

  "You're full SDC resources now."

  "Report to your Bridge Sergeants after the meal. Anyone who fails to appear gets their rations docked."

  Curtis surveyed the room one final time, his gaze passing over my corner again. This time it lingered for just a moment longer on me before moving on. Then he turned and exited without ceremony.

  The mess hall slowly returned to conversation, but the tone had changed. There was less politics now, more urgency. People were finishing their meals quickly, preparing to meet their sergeants, counting cores in their pockets.

  I remained in the corner, processing what I'd learned. Sadie still hadn't moved or spoken.

  The silence between us continued, but it felt different now, it was loaded with new understanding.

  I stood, preparing to find Kaz. I didn't look back at Sadie as I left. Some mysteries could wait.

  I spotted Kaz across the mess hall, his golden hair making him easy to find even in the crowd. He was already gathering our team, gesturing for them to finish up. I made my way toward them, keeping my vacant expression in place, shuffling slightly to maintain my act.

  "Fish," Kaz called when he saw me, using the nickname he'd given me. "Got your cores?"

  I patted my pocket, where the small pouch of goblin cores rested. "Got 'em right here, boss."

  Kaz nodded, his eyes assessing me quickly. "Good work today."

  "The worms were hungry," I said, letting a bit of madness creep into my voice. "They're always hungry."

  Kaz's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes... calculation.

  He was still figuring me out, still deciding whether my particular brand of crazy was useful or dangerous.

  "Join the circle," he said finally, gesturing to where the rest of the team was gathering.

  I shuffled over to them, careful to maintain a bit of distance. Sophie edged away slightly when I approached, but Zo actually moved closer, studying me with open curiosity.

  "Quite the show you put on with Rafe," she said, her voice low enough that only I could hear. "I'm impressed."

  I blinked at her, feigning confusion. "What show?"

  Zo's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Sure, Fish. Whatever you say."

  Before I could respond, Kaz called for our attention.

  "Core count," he said. "Now."

  One by one, the team members reported their haul from the bridge. When my turn came, I produced my pouch and counted out seventeen cores.

  Kaz's eyebrows rose slightly. "Seventeen from a Grade 5 with no combat experience. Not bad."

  I shrugged. "The worms were hungry."

  "So you keep saying," Kaz replied, his tone neutral. "Zo?"

  "Twenty-two," she said, dropping her pouch into Kaz's outstretched hand.

  "Sadie?"

  I turned to see Sadie had materialized beside our group, still with that perfect posture. She handed Kaz a pouch without a word.

  Kaz opened it and whistled softly. "Thirty-one. As expected."

  The count continued until everyone had reported. Kaz tallied the results quickly.

  "One hundred and forty-seven total. Above quota. Good work, team."

  There was a collective exhale of relief. Above quota meant no dangerous rotations, at least not for our team.

  "Fish," Kaz said, turning to me. "You're with me for core collection. The rest of you, get some rest. Tomorrow's assignments will be posted at dawn."

  As the team dispersed, I noticed Sadie watching me with those empty, calculating eyes. For just a moment, her gaze met mine, and I felt a chill run down my spine. Then she turned and walked away, her movements as precise and controlled as her posture.

  "Come on," Kaz said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Let's get these cores logged."

  I followed him out of the mess hall, leaving the noise and the politics behind. The worms beneath my skin stirred slightly, as if sensing something important was coming.

  Core collection. Quotas. Rotations. The mathematics of survival.

  I'd survived my first day in the Front. Now I just had to survive the rest.