When Cassandra slid the envelope into my palm that night, the black wax was still warm from her fingers. She didn’t have to say anything; the invitation was confirmation enough. This time the card carried a single word embossed in silver: Obedience.
My skin prickled as if someone had traced a line down my spine. Obedience sounded like surrender and study and something darker — a curriculum for the body I had never known I wanted to learn. Yet when I walked through The Echelon’s doors, it felt less like a choice and more like an appointment my soul had scheduled long before I knew its name.
“You look different,” Cassandra murmured as she led me past the lounge. There were nods from familiar masked faces, small bows of recognition. I’d become a curiosity, then a fixture, and finally someth
