The immortal's queen

Chapter 6: Suppression drills

The sunlight was offensive.

It streamed through the curtain gap like a personal attack, landing directly on my face. I groaned, rolling over and pulling the blanket over my head.

Five more minutes. Just five more minutes of peace before I have to face another day of humiliation and labor.

The blanket was ripped off my face.

"Rise and shine, criminal!" Noemi's voice was far too cheerful for this hour. She stood over me, already dressed in a loose sweater and ripped jeans, her dark curls somehow perfect despite the ungodly time.

I cracked one eye open. The sky outside the window was still a soft, pale blue—the kind of blue that belonged to dawn, not morning. Unreasonably early. Offensively early.

Five evenings of labor. Forced drills. Public humiliation. And now morning training. This academy doesn't want students. It wants survivors. Or maybe it just wants me specifically to suffer.

"If that's death," I mumbled into my pillow, "come back after breakfast."

"It's not death," Noemi said, yanking the pillow away too. "It's worse. It's responsibility."

I sat up slowly, my hair a complete disaster—sticking out in every direction like I'd been electrocuted in my sleep. My body ached from yesterday's running. My pride was still somewhere on the training grounds, probably collecting dust. And my head was already throbbing at the thought of more punishment.

"Why," I muttered, staring at the wall like it owed me answers, "does personal growth always start before sunrise?"

If self-improvement requires this much suffering, I'd like to formally request ignorance. I'd like to return my powers and go back to being a normal girl who only had to worry about burnt toast and rude customers.

Noemi grinned, clearly enjoying my misery. "You're going to be late. Darian's already in the training wing."

"I'm going to be dramatic," I corrected, dragging myself out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a zombie rising from the grave. "There's a difference."

"Not to the people waiting for you."

Darian. Theo's friend. The calm one with the nice butt. Great. I'm going to make a fool of myself in front of another attractive person. This is fine. This is my life now.

Getting ready felt like preparing for war.splashing cold water on my cheeks in a desperate attempt to wake up, took my bath after brushing my teeth.I pulled my hair into a messy bun that could pass as intentional—or at least not completely chaotic. And I put on the training clothes that had been left for me the night before. Plain. Flexible. Dark. The fabric was soft and stretchy, clearly designed for movement.

Perfect. Nothing says "unstable liability" like dressing for my own mental funeral.

Noemi tossed me a bottle of water from her desk. "Try not to get expelled before lunch."

"No promises." I caught the bottle and took a long drink. "At this point, expulsion might be a loyalty reward."

She laughed, the sound bright and infectious. "That's the spirit. Now go. Darian's patient, but even he has limits."

---

The training wing was quiet. Fewer students. Longer hallways. The kind of place that made you walk faster even when no one was chasing you. The stone walls were bare, the floors polished to a dull shine. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint scent of sweat and determination.

I found the room easily enough—a small, windowless space with padded floors and mirrored walls. It was designed for focus, for control. The kind of room where you couldn't hide from yourself.

Darian was already waiting inside.

He stood in the center of the room, arms loosely crossed, his posture relaxed but alert. He looked different from the other students—calmer, steadier, like he belonged in rooms that required control. His sandy brown hair was slightly tousled, and his warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched me enter.

He was handsome in a way that felt less sharp than Theo and more human. Approachable. Like he'd actually laugh at a joke instead of freezing you with a glance.

"You're on time," he said, his voice friendly and warm.

I stopped a few steps inside, already feeling defensive. "I considered being late just to keep my reputation consistent."

Have to stay on brand. Chaos doesn't take rest days.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Sit."

I sat on the mat in the center of the room, crossing my legs. The floor was firm but comfortable. The walls were smooth and pale, reflecting the soft light from the ceiling. No windows. No distractions.

The air felt slightly heavier, like the space itself was designed to keep things contained. It pressed against my skin, making me hyperaware of every sound—my breathing, the faint hum of the ventilation, the soft rustle of Darian's clothes as he moved.

This room has the emotional range of a locked safe. It's the kind of place where you either find inner peace or go completely insane.

Darian walked in a slow circle around me, his footsteps barely audible on the padded floor.

"Suppression drills are simple in theory," he said, his voice calm and measured. "You learn how to stop your power from reaching outward. No reading. No leaking. No accidents."

"And in practice?" I asked, already dreading the answer.

"In practice, most people hate it." He paused in front of me. "It's frustrating. It requires patience. And it forces you to confront parts of yourself you'd rather ignore."

Honest. Refreshing. Still horrible. Five stars. But would not recommend to a friend.

He crouched down to my level, his eyes meeting mine. "Close your eyes."

I did. The darkness behind my lids was immediate and complete. I focused on my breathing, trying to slow my racing heart.

"You're going to feel the edges of your ability," Darian continued, his voice soft and steady. "The place where your mind starts reaching for other people's thoughts. When you feel it, pull it back."

"Pull it back," I repeated, already skeptical. "Sure. Like a mental leash. Easy."

Next he'll ask me to fold my thoughts into neat little drawers and label them alphabetically.

"Begin."

For a moment, there was only quiet.

Then the pressure came.

It wasn't as violent as the restaurant—thankfully—but it was there. Soft threads of thought brushing against the outside of my mind. Distant. Tempting. Automatic. They swirled around me like smoke, curling and drifting, just waiting to be grasped.

Don't listen. Don't reach. Don't be yourself.

I tried to pull back, to build the wall Darian had mentioned. But every time I thought I had a grip, the thoughts slipped through like water through my fingers.

A flicker slipped past my defenses.

*She's tense. *

My eyes flew open. "I heard that."

Darian didn't look surprised. He just nodded slowly, like he'd expected it. "Again."

I closed my eyes, jaw tightening. I could feel the frustration building in my chest, hot and sharp.

Again!. Again! and again! until I either succeed or my brain explodes. That's the plan, right?

The pressure returned. My mind wanted to stretch outward—it was instinct, muscle memory I didn't ask for. Every time I tried to hold it still, it slipped. The thoughts were everywhere, brushing against me like whispers I couldn't ignore.

This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm totally not failing within the first two minutes like a broken radio. I'm acing this. Acing. Absolutely acing.

Another fragment brushed past me.

*Her control is worse than expected. *

I exhaled sharply, my eyes snapping open. "You're thinking very loudly."

"That's the point," Darian said, completely unbothered. "Ignore it."

"I'm trying."

"Trying isn't controlling."

Oh wonderful. A philosopher with perfect posture. Just what my headache needed. He probably meditates in his free time. And does yoga. And drinks green smoothies.

I closed my eyes again, gripping my knees. I could feel my pulse in my temples. My breathing was shallow, uneven.

"Focus," Darian said gently. "Don't fight it. Guide it."

Guide it. Right. Because that's so much easier.

We went again.

And again.

Each attempt left my head aching a little more. The pressure built behind my eyes like a headache. Sweat gathered at the back of my neck, rolling down my spine. My thoughts felt slippery, like I was trying to hold water in my hands while someone kept poking holes in them.

"You're overthinking," Darian observed.

"I'm overthinking my overthinking," I muttered. "It's a talent."

At one point, I let out a frustrated groan and collapsed backward onto the mat, staring at the ceiling. "Has anyone ever exploded from this?"

"Not yet," Darian replied, his voice dry.

"Comforting."

Nothing bonds people like the possibility of brain rupture. It's like team-building, but with more emotional damage.

"Get up."

"Cruel."

"Up."

I sat up again, temples throbbing. The room felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls were closing in.

"This is like trying to hold back a flood with a tea towel," I complained, rubbing my forehead.

Darian smiled slightly. "Then stop treating it like a flood. Treat it like a door."

I blinked. "A door?"

"Your mind isn't a wall. It's not meant to be closed off completely. You just need to learn when to open it and when to keep it shut."

That actually makes sense. Annoying. But sense.

I closed my eyes again, focusing on the metaphor. A door. Not a wall. Not a fortress. Just a door.

I tried again. The thoughts swirled around me, pressing against my mind. But instead of trying to block them completely, I imagined a door—solid, heavy, with a handle I could control.

I am a door. I am in control of my door. I am the master of my door.

The thoughts brushed against me. I imagined closing the door, just a crack. The noise faded slightly.

Okay. Slightly. That's progress. I'm a door goddess.

I kept my focus, pulling the door almost all the way shut. The thoughts grew distant, muffled, like voices in another room.

Darian said something. I heard his voice, but I didn't catch the words.

I opened one eye. "Did you say something?"

"I said, your control just improved by twenty percent."

I blinked. "Twenty percent?"

"Don't look so surprised. You've got the potential. You just need practice."

Practice. I have so much time between labor and suppressing my own brain.

He reached down and offered me a hand. After a second, I took it and let him pull me to my feet. The room swayed slightly, and I steadied myself against his grip.

"Your power reacts fast," Darian said. "That's both useful and dangerous."

"I've been hearing that a lot."

"Then start listening."

Everyone here loves a good ominous one-liner. It's like a campus hobby. They probably have a class on it.

I slung my water bottle under one arm and headed for the door. Just before stepping out, I glanced back.

"Same time tomorrow?"

"Earlier," he said with a hint of a smile.

I stared at him. "I take it back. You are worse than death."

His quiet huff of amusement followed me into the hallway.

My legs felt unsteady. My head ached. And somewhere under all the frustration, one annoying thought kept circling.

If this is only the beginning, Theo might actually kill me before the semester ends. Efficiently. Probably with paperwork. He'd probably make me fill out a form before dying. The Immortal's Official Death Request Form.

I started walking.

At least if I die during drills, Noemi can say I went out suffering productively. Very on brand.