ASTRID

CHAPTER 4

I’m staring at the ceiling now, unmoving. After hours of brutal, soul-crushing training, this is the only peace I get. A fleeting moment to breathe. To feel—if only for a second—free from the pain and inhuman drills I still don’t understand the purpose of.

No medic came. No bandages. No care. I was left to bleed and bruise, the cuts on my arms and body drying on their own. I didn’t even bother washing up. What was the point?

I’m just... tired. Bone-deep exhaustion settling into every part of me. All I want is sleep. Just a few hours where I don’t have to fight, or prove, or survive.

Because tomorrow... tomorrow means more of the same.

This life is suffocating. And all I’ve ever wanted was to be free of it—free from the weight of my father’s shadow. From his ruthless eyes that never look at me unless it’s to find a flaw. From his cold indifference, like it wouldn’t matter if I lived or died on that training floor.

I close my eyes, finally letting sleep pull me under—

Until a sudden blaring alarm shatters the silence.

My drowsy, half-asleep body jolts awake.

What the hell?

I force myself to sit up, heart racing. Maybe it’s just a system glitch... a false alarm. But the sound keeps going—loud, urgent, relentless.

Something’s wrong.

And sleep... sleep will have to wait.

I stagger to my feet, still groggy, the bone-deep exhaustion making every movement sluggish. My limbs feel like lead, but the blaring alarm is relentless, forcing me into action.

Ignoring the aches that flare up with every step, I drag myself to the small armoire and yank it open, pulling out a worn, dark jacket. My hands tremble as I slip it on. The alarm keeps screaming, its high-pitched wail drilling into my skull.

What’s going on?

I pull open the door—and nearly stumble back when Kenny barrels toward me out of nowhere. His face is pale, his eyes wide with panic.

“Astrid!” he gasps, grabbing my arm in a bruising grip. His fingers dig into my skin like a vice.

“What the hell, Kenny?” I snap, yanking my arm free as I glare at him. “What are you doing?”

“We have to leave,” he says, his voice ragged, breathless, like he’s just sprinted a mile. “Now.”

“What?” My heart stutters, confusion swirling in my head. “Leave? What are you talking about?”

He glances over his shoulder, as if expecting something—or someone—to appear behind him at any second. His panic is infectious, setting my nerves on edge.

“They’re here, Astrid,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the blaring alarm.

“W-Who’s here?”

Kenny meets my eyes, and in that moment, I know. I know before he even says the words, and my stomach drops like a stone.

“Our enemies.”

“Enemies?” My voice comes out a whisper, barely audible over the relentless blare of the alarm. My mind is racing, struggling to grasp what Kenny’s saying. “Who? Are they…?”

I barely hear my own words through the pounding in my ears. This can’t be real. Our enemies couldn’t possibly find this place. It’s buried deep underground, hidden beneath layers of reinforced steel and security systems. Practically impossible to detect.

And yet…

I stand frozen, trying to process it, but my thoughts feel sluggish, stuck in a fog of exhaustion and disbelief. This feels like a dream—or maybe a nightmare.

But the ache in my body reminds me it’s not.

The pain is real.

This is real!

“We have to hurry, Astrid,” Kenny says urgently, pulling me back to the moment. His grip tightens on my arm, his panic radiating off him in waves. “Your father sent me to guard you.”

I blink, my breath catching.

“Where is he?” I ask, dread curling in my chest.

Kenny hesitates for half a second before answering, and that pause is enough to send alarm bells ringing in my head.

“He’s with the guards, fighting off the intruders.” His voice is tight, like the words are being dragged out of him. “We have to move now. Or it’ll be too late—”

“No.” I pull my arm away, shaking my head. “I have to fight, too.” My voice hardens as I straighten up, ignoring the ache in my limbs. “My father trained me for this.” And besides, he wouldn't care if I die anyway. I'm just nothing to him.

A year ago, the enemy found us. My father didn’t let me fight then—only Hillary. I still don’t understand why. Was I not good enough? I can already take down five men in training. So why? Why am I always left behind?

Kenny grips my wrist tighter, his desperation evident. “We have to go now! You don’t understand!”

I rip my arm away, my glare sharp. “No. I have to understand now.” My voice is steel. “I will fight with them. That’s final.”

“Astrid—”

Kenny lunges for me, trying to drag me back, but I twist my body and shove him away. My movements are fluid, automatic—the kind drilled into me through years of relentless training. He stumbles, catching himself just before falling.

I don’t wait. I bolt.

“I. Will. Fight.”

I don’t care what my father wants. I don’t care about orders. I need to see this with my own eyes.

Ignoring Kenny’s protests, I sprint toward the steel door at the end of the hall. My heart pounds in my chest as I reach for the handle—

Then—

BANG!

A gunshot. Loud. Sharp. Deafening.

The sound ricochets off the metal walls, blending with the wailing alarms. My breath catches, instincts screaming at me to move.

I throw myself to the side, just as a bullet slams into the steel door where my head was a second ago. Sparks fly. My pulse skyrockets.

Someone’s there. Someone’s waiting.

I press my back against the cold metal, forcing a steady breath through my nose. My hands curl into fists.

Who are these people? Why do they keep coming after us?

Slowly, I crack the door open, just enough to peek through. The corridor beyond is dimly lit by flickering red emergency lights. And then—I see him.

The enemy.

He’s clad in a sleek, high-tech suit, the dark fabric reinforced with metallic plating. A combat visor obscures his face, and in his gloved hands, he grips a high-powered rifle, the kind designed for precision kills.

My blood turns to ice.

This isn’t some low-level mercenary. This is a professional. A soldier.

The moment my eyes land on him, he fires again.

BANG!

I jerk back, slamming the door shut as another bullet dents the metal. My breath is ragged, my mind racing. I don’t have a weapon—not even a knife. But I’ve trained for this. I can do this.

I press my palms flat against the cold steel, grounding myself.

Think.

I don’t need a gun. I just need an opening.

And then—I see it.

The gunfire has left scorch marks on the metal, but also small indentations on the ground. He’s aiming for center mass. He expects me to panic, to run, to make a mistake.

I won’t.

I shift my weight onto my heels, heart hammering. Then, in a single motion, I twist the handle and launch forward.

The door swings open violently, catching him off guard. He lifts his rifle, but I’m already inside his guard.

I duck low, twisting my body as his finger pulls the trigger. The gun goes off—BANG!—but I’m underneath his arm now, using his momentum against him.

I strike.

My elbow slams into his ribs—once, twice—before I pivot, grabbing his wrist and forcing the barrel of the gun away. He grunts, trying to overpower me, but I’m faster.

I drive my knee into his stomach. Hard.

He staggers. His grip loosens.

I don’t hesitate.

I twist the rifle from his hands and slam the butt of it into his visor. The reinforced glass cracks with a sharp snap. He stumbles back, disoriented, and that’s all the opening I need.

I step forward—turn the rifle around—

And pull the trigger.

The gun kicks in my hands. The force rattles through my bones.

The bullet slams into his chest, the impact sending him sprawling backward.

He doesn’t get back up.

I swallow, my breath shaky, my hands trembling around the rifle.

One down.

I exhale sharply, forcing the fear down.

This isn’t over. More will come.

And I’ll be ready.