The air was thick with sweat, metal, and gunpowder.
Ava O'Conor guided Kian and Ellie into the stillness, their boots crunching over shattered concrete as the invigorating clang of metal echoed across the compound. The mercenary-military compound was a fortress of battered stone and armored steel. It was like coming into the belly of something that breathed and watched and evaluated.
Dozens of mercenaries were already in training. Some were sparring with hand-to-hand combat, while others disassembled and reassembled guns with mechanical precision. Further down, live fire crackled through the air as snipers aimed at distant targets. Not a single face smiled.
Their eyes followed the siblings like wolves tracking stray pups towards the den.
Ava led them all quietly, her overcoat streaming behind her like a black cloud. Kian hovered beside Ellie, trying not to look back over his shoulder at the tally of battle-hardened fighters regarding them — fighters whose arms were forged of steel, whose faces bore scars like roadmaps, and whose dead eyes had seen too much.
"Don't look at them," Ellie whispered. "Just keep moving."
"They're all staring at us."
"Let them. We didn't come to impress them."
"Did we even come here? Or were we pulled?"
She didn't reply. Because they both knew what was real.
Vance had left them in a small metal room, saying he'd be back in no time. Then Ava O'Conor had appeared, ice-blue eyes and no smile, like frost turned human.
Now they were walking deeper into a room that didn't want them to come.
Ava finally stopped in front of a boxy, square building at the side of the main training area. She punched in a code, swung open the steel door, and stepped aside.
"This is your room," she said to him. "You share it. Don't complain."
Kian and Ellie stepped inside. The space was small — only two beds, a trunk for storage, and one window encircled by metal bars. Two piles of folded black training clothes sat neatly on the side of one bed.
"You have ten minutes to change," Ava went on. "Training starts whether you are prepared or not."
Ellie frowned. "Ten minutes to—?"
"You'll be behind for each and every second you delay asking questions,"
Then Ava turned and walked out, the door hissing shut after her.
Kian released a breath. "Friendly place."
Ellie sat down on the bed and eyed the clothes. "It's not meant to be friendly. It's a weapons factory."
"Then why have we come?"
She did not look at him. "Surviving."
He watched her for a moment, then began pulling off his jacket. They both changed in silence, slipping into the worn dark gear that fit just a bit too loosely. The clothes smelled faintly of oil and metal — as if they'd been used before.
When Kian sat down to lace his boots, he spoke quietly.
"You think we'll make it here?"
Ellie paused, then nodded slowly. "We made it this far."
He almost smiled. "We almost died this far."
"But we didn't."
She looked at him now — calm, but firm. "Kian… we've been running since Mom died. We finally rested. Maybe this place is hell, but hell is preferable to being hunted like vermin."
He didn't reply.
She shook his shoulder gently with a nudge. "We can do this. You and me."
He nodded.
Then they stood, straightened their clothes, and stepped back out into the world of mercenaries.
The training grounds were worse up close.
Ava stood at the entrance, arms folded, waiting like a judge. Around her, half a dozen mercenaries were hanging around — some smirking, others just curious to see how soon the new recruits broke.
"Line up," Ava said.
Kian and Ellie did.
"You're not soldiers. You're not mercs. You're barely worth my time," she said to him. "But Vance brought you here. Which means you get one chance."
She waved her hand. "Run the course."
Kian turned and saw it — a brutal gauntlet of obstacles. Mud pits. Rope climbs. Barbed wire. Weighted dummies non-lethal but pain-inducing rounds. It looked impossible.
"Go," Ava snapped.
They started.
The mud was frigid. Barbed wire cut through his sleeve. Rope shredded his palms. Ellie was faster than him — faster on her feet — but even she fell trying to hop over a wall that seemed as tall as twice her height. The mercs watched and mocked as Kian face-planted into a ditch.
"Already down?" a shout came from one of them.
Ava said nothing. She just scribbled some note on her clipboard.
By the time they reached the last stretch, Kian could barely breathe. His legs shook. Ellie was limping slightly. When they finally dragged themselves past the last post, Ava didn't clap. She didn't speak.
She just checked the time.
Then said: "Too slow."
Kian collapsed to his knees.
Ellie stayed standing, jaw tight. "We'll get faster."
One of the younger recruits — smug and broad-shouldered — stepped forward. "Or maybe you'll just die slower."
Ellie stood up to him without hesitation. "Want to try that?"
He sneered. "You couldn't—"
She moved fast.
He just dodged the first punch, and the second landed on his side. They exchanged a flurry of blows — hers quick and stinging, his slower but harder. At last, he caught her by the arm and slammed her down hard.
She fell in the dirt, wind knocked out.
Kian scrambled up, fists clenched — but Ava stepped between them.
"That's enough."
The recruit jeered and left. Ellie stood up once more, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.
"Still want to run?" Kian breathed at her.
She smiled, tiny and wincing. "Later. When I can knock him out."
They stood there, gasping.
Then Vance materialized — striding across the yard, hands jammed into his pockets, coat flying a little behind him.
He looked at Ava. "They're still standing."
Ava did not blink. "Barely."
TENYEARSLATER
The base hadn't changed very much.
Still rough. Still noisy. Still savage.
But the stares had changed.
Now, when Kian and Ellie passed through the yard, recruits stepped aside. Not in fear — not quite — but in that quiet manner people stepped around a storm they'd seen before.
Someone whispered past them: "That's one of the Strays…"
Kian did not speak. He merely walked, tall and silent. A thin scar on the right side of his neck curved into his collar.
Ellie matched him stride for stride, older and more perceptive. Her gaze swept the field instinctively, noting movement, herapties, patterns.
They did not talk.
They did not need to.
At the edge of the training field, Kian's stride lost a fraction of its speed.
A youth — maybe sixteen — fell in the mud during drills, landed on the ground with a thud. There was laughter. A trainer yelled at him to get up.
Kian halted.
Watched.
Was quiet.
Then moved on.
The youth got up again slowly behind him.
Ellie glanced back once. Then forward.
The wind lifted the Black Banner above the base — still tattered, still rebellious — as the two Strays continued the war that had become their life.
And high above them, in the corroded tower, Ava O'Conor watched them from behind bulletproof glass — no longer doubting.
Waiting.