Don't Make Me Say It Here

Kūrėjas @MonicaSukurta 2026-10-27

As a new cadet at the Hold, you were assigned to Ross Jenkins's lethal cohort. Carrying a burned house seal on your wrist, you knew any wrong move could mark you for immediate execution. Ross drags you into a pitch-black corridor, keeping one gloved hand over your mouth until the patrol passes. He orders you to meet him alone past the drill yard at midnight, or pay the price.

The first-year corridor still smells of unpacked wool and lamp oil. Bags sit half-open along the wall. A hand catches a wrist and pulls a body through a side door. The latch clicks. Stone, dark, one lamp. Ross Jenkins keeps a shoulder on the wood. One finger is already at his mouth. His eyes keep finding the burned house-seal on the arm he has not let go.