?The night never fully settled.

  ?Every sound carried close—the shift of straw, a cough that came too late, the creak of a bunk that refused to rest. Sleep drifted through the cracks.

  ?When the door opened at dawn, no one screamed this time. They sat up, blinking into the gray.

  ??The huntress voice cut through the air:

  ?“Ten minutes. Pack your things. Yard.”

  ?Then the door shut again.

  ??For a breath they stared at one another.

  ?Melissa folded her blanket by rote.

  ?Sara fumbled with her shirt ties.

  ?Aurora closed her book, slid it into her satchel, charcoal still inside.

  ?No one spoke.

  ??They washed in the same basins, the water cold enough to sting.

  ?Then, barefoot and half-dressed, they lined up by instinct and filed into the yard.

  ?

  ?

  ?---

  ?

  ?The air outside was pale and hard, smelling of salt and iron.

  ?The boys were already there, faces drawn, eyes lowered.

  ?The hammer-man wasn’t. Nor the nurse.

  ??A stranger waited.

  ??She was tall—taller than any of the teachers—and round in the way of someone made for holding others.

  ?Her hair hung in thick braids; her dress was fine cloth, deep green under the morning light.

  ?A faint sweetness clung to her—flowers overripe, fruit near turning.

  ??When she saw them, her expression folded in pain.

  ?“By the Great Borg, Jeanne, what did you do to these poor children?”

  ??The name—Jeanne—fell into the air like a dropped tool.

  ?The huntress stiffened, eyes narrowing at the sound.

  ??The tall woman stepped forward, her hands warm as she cupped a boy’s cheek.

  ?“They’re so scrawny,” she murmured. “Don’t worry, Aunt Martha will take care of you.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  ??A few of the smaller ones almost smiled.

  ??Jeanne drew breath to answer, but Martha turned with a perfect smile.

  ?“Not here, Jeanne. They’re children, not soldiers.”

  ?Her tone softened—half whisper, half rebuke.

  ?“You were the same once, remember?”

  ??Something moved in Jeanne’s jaw, but she said nothing.

  ??“Come now,” Martha said brightly, clapping her hands. “Warm beds and proper food waiting for you.”

  ??The children didn’t move.

  ?Habit made them glance toward Jeanne.

  ?She gave the command without meeting their eyes.

  ??“You’ll be in her care for the following weeks,” she said.

  ?Then, quieter: “Dismissed.”

  ??She turned and walked away.

  ??Martha’s perfume filled the space Jeanne left.

  ?It was pleasant. Too pleasant.

  ?

  ?

  ?---

  ?

  ?They followed her out of the yard.

  ?The boys trailed behind, whispering until a glance from her stopped them.

  ?Martha moved with practiced grace, each step measured.

  ??At the gate, a line of carriages waited—black lacquer, white horses, gilt trim.

  ?Servants in gray coats stood ready to open the doors.

  ?Wealth that had no place beside a training ground.

  ??Martha turned.

  ?“Don’t be shy, darlings. There’s room for everyone.”

  ??Aurora climbed into the nearest carriage with Sara and Melissa.

  ?The seats were velvet; the air smelled faintly of rosewater and polish.

  ??Outside, Martha spoke softly with a driver, then entered the first carriage.

  ??When the wheels began to roll, they were too smooth, too quiet for the cobbled street.

  ?The city slid past the window—market stalls, towers, drifting smoke—then fields.

  ??People by the roadside paused to stare.

  ?Some smiled and waved, but the smiles never reached their eyes.

  ?Through the glass came a whisper: “Again?”

  ?Another voice, lower: “Poor kids…”

  ??Sara shifted. Melissa kept still.

  ?Aurora watched the color drain from the city until only dirt roads and wind remained.

  ??The road narrowed.

  ?Fields gave way to scrub, then to trees that leaned close, branches locking overhead.

  ?The air cooled; the light turned green and shallow.

  ??The first carriage slowed, and the rest followed.

  ?Ahead lay a wooden bridge—narrow, old, spanning a pit that swallowed light before it reached bottom.

  ??Martha stepped down first.

  ?Her dress brushed the dirt without taking it.

  ?“This way,” she said, voice soft as cloth.

  ??She crossed without sound.

  ?The planks shifted but didn’t groan.

  ?When the children followed, the wood creaked beneath them—a long, tired breath.

  ??Sara kept her eyes on her feet.

  ?Melissa glanced once over the side, saw only depth, and swallowed.

  ??On the far end Martha waited, smile unbroken.

  ?“See? Safe as home.”

  ??They entered the forest.

  ?No birds. No wind.

  ?Only shoes on dirt and the faint hum that rose from Martha’s throat, tuneless but steady.

  ?The deeper they went, the less the forest smelled of trees.

  ?The air grew heavy, close to skin, like a room after tears.

  ??There was no warmth in Martha—only the outline of it, worn like a mask.

  ??After a time, the path widened.

  ?Light returned all at once.

  ?The trees ended in a clean cut, and beyond stretched a garden bright enough to hurt the eyes.

  ??Grass trimmed to a blade.

  ?Flowers in impossible order.

  ?Colors too vivid to name.

  ??At the center stood a mansion, white as salt, windows gleaming, servants aligned like painted figures on a clock face.

  ??The children stared.

  ??Martha turned, arms wide.

  ?“Welcome to my home,” she said. “Welcome to Aunt Martha’s house.”

  ??The words came rehearsed, a prayer repeated until it emptied itself.

  ?Even the wind paused to listen.

  ??They climbed the marble steps.

  ?The door opened before she touched it.

  ??Inside, light poured in folds of gold.

  ?The scent was sweet again—flowers, fruit, and something beneath, faint as iron.

  ??Martha looked back, eyes bright.

  ?“Come in, darlings. You must be starving.”

  ??No one moved.

  ?Then one of the younger boys stepped forward, drawn by habit or hope.

  ?The others followed, slow.

  ??Melissa lingered at the threshold, gaze tracing the shining hall and the floor that mirrored their shapes.

  ?She exhaled through her nose and muttered, just loud enough for Sara—

  ??“Okay…”

  ?Her eyes followed the swaying figure deeper into the house.

  ?“We’re done for.”

  ?

  ?