Ink stains

Cassie was going to use the Web. It was a done deal. She had nothing left to lose, and as Konrad said, the alternative was dying of boredom.I just hope they can find out who else was on that mission with Sophia, she thought.

But not so fast. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the reinstatement.

The next few days blurred into one long, gray smudge—a constant loop of self-study, or rather, trying to shove fourth-year material back into a brain that felt like it was full of wet sand. The study group was a collection of the Academy's dregs: leftovers from different years and departments. Twelve of them sat in a half-empty lecture hall where every whisper amplified until it bounced off the walls.

"This is your responsibility. No one is going to drag you across the finish line by the scruff of your neck," the proctor would bark whenever the hum of noise became an irritant.

They sat there, scribbling under a watchful eye. Cassie would open the textbooks and take notes until her hand turned into white noise—a numb, buzzing thing that didn't feel like it belonged to her anymore.

Everyone ended up here for a reason. Some had been mangled on missions; others were benched for breaking the rules. Cassie didn't know which category she fit into. There were no broken bones or doctor’s notes. She had just returned, and no one asked questions. Everyone just knew.

Some looked at her with curiosity. Others with that grating, suffocating pity—the same look Greta gave her every time they crossed paths.

But the Academy had plenty of people to pity besides her. Cadets got hurt. Cadets died. Though, she couldn't remember the last time a death had actually been announced. Usually, that only happened to the ones who signed the "Shield" contracts—the ones trained to guard the perimeter and hack the limbs off mutants.

Only those desperate for money or fame agreed to that. The pay was decent, and if you managed to survive until forty, you got the rank and the honors. Just like Claudia’s first husband. He’d made it to forty-two.

No sane family in the Protectorate would willingly hand their child over to that kind of service. It was the local bogeyman. “Study hard, or you’ll end up in the Shield,” Claudia had once said. Cassie hated her guts, but she didn't think even Claudia would wish her first husband's end on anyone else.

Another paragraph copied. Her hand was throbbing, the content completely ignored.

Cassie's mind drifted, snagging on the same jagged loop. Sophia, back on that mission in the forest. A horrific, visceral thought clawed its way to the surface: what if the clinic was nothing but a story? What if that aberrant thing, all rot-jelly flesh and twisted bone, was actually gorging on her sister? The images returned, graphic and unbidden: the creature burying its face in Sophia’s torso, choking on the black, viscous fluids leaking from the body. Tearing sinew. The sickening, wet crunch of ribs snap-snap-snapping like dry twigs.

A sharp, localized crack from a joint in her own foot echoed the noise, shattering the trance.

Training grounds rushed back into focus. Cassie was mid-stride, having lost count of the laps around the quad. This happened often now. Poisonous thoughts flooding the mind, fueling the worst-case scenarios. No! Sophia is not dead!

Sometimes, exercise helped, briefly. It drowned the inner noise. Running, push-ups—anything that made muscles scream. Anything that sounded different from that crunch.

And then, there were the extra sessions with Otto.Calling those hours "help" was a stretch. They managed to quiet the dark scenarios of Sophia’s death, stopping the gore from looping behind closed eyes, but the silence came at a price: a constant, rhythmic headache. 

It had been fine at first. That sweet, practiced smile was still a vivid memory, as were Greta’s words about how much the boy reminded the old woman of Sophia.

He’s nothing like her! The old bat is senile.

That fake smile had twisted into a permanent, weary sneer. It was almost impressive how something so repulsive could crawl out of such an innocent, boyish face. Cassie found herself tensing up the second she crossed the threshold of the office.

Sometimes he just sat in silence, as if testing how many minutes she could endure staring at her assignment in total stillness. He looked burned out, hollowed by some internal fire. Any question she asked simply evaporated before it reached him. The tension would build until Cassie's skin felt too tight for her body, a frantic need to break something just to make a sound.

Then, he'd suddenly snatch her notes away. He'd scan them with those dead eyes, exhaling like he was literally running out of oxygen, before tossing the notebook back at her like it was a wet, dirty rag. The movement was trivial, but it left a thick, greasy knot in her throat. Heavy. Wrong.

In her head, she'd already broken his jaw. A scrawny kid like him wouldn't last five seconds. She’d play the scene over and over—the crack of bone, the way he'd collapse. It was the only thing that kept her in her seat. She needed to pass the test. She sucked it up and grit her teeth.

But this time, stepping into Greta’s office, she knew her patience was gone.

"Do you ever get tired of looking like you just crawled out of a gutter?" Otto poked a finger toward her chest, indicating a massive wrinkle in her uniform she couldn't care less about. He let his gaze drift slowly from her head to her boots.

What the hell? Even the instructors didn't dare touch the students. It was a violation—an unearned look into a room she kept locked.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately? With a face like that, you should be banned from the halls," the retort snapped out of her instantly.

It grated on her that she even noticed him outside of these sessions—the corridors, the mess hall, it didn't matter. Her eyes always snagged on those dark circles. Ink stains on a white shirt. He looked like a wreck, yet here he was, taking shots at her.

"Talk about the work," she added, her voice dropping to a low, jagged edge. "The rest is none of your business."

"There are many like you, and you can't be handled any other way. Do you realize you get distracted more often than you breathe?" He leaned forward slightly. "I've explained the same thing three times. It's a miracle you even made it to your fourth year. Since you can't even pretend to be interested in the work, the least you can do is keep your uniform in check."

The truth was, she’d been trying incredibly hard to listen to him. She’d been tracking his voice so closely she could practically feel the shallow hitch in his breath between sentences. She hadn't missed a word. 

But the material was wrong. Lately, the topics he'd been pushing felt too dense, too jagged—harder than anything in the standard modules. It wasn't tutoring. It was obedience training. He was feeding her obstacles just to watch her trip over them.

A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost nothing, but it was there.Is he... doing this on purpose?

A memory flashed in her mind—Otto in the hallway, flicking the back of another cadet's head. Sharp. Arrogant. That same crooked smile. The foul aftertaste hit her again, coating her tongue.

Cassie shoved back, her chair screeching a long, ugly note against the floor. Her fists were clenched so tight they vibrated. But she held it. She forced herself to stay still.Don’t snap. Not now. You don’t want to get expelled for another fight.

If she hit him, he'd snitch. He was the type. You could see the rat in him, just waiting for her to break. That's how the teacher's pets always played it—they push until you snap, then run for cover the second things get real.

"For God's sake!" she spat.The realization that every little thing could be used against her was suffocating. She swept up her notes and slammed the door behind her before she did something she couldn't take back.

She stood in the hall, trying to catch her breath. It was obvious: the bastard was power-tripping. And she'd been putting up with his little errands, too. He'd ask her to bring books, then intercept her in the hall, snatching them out of her hands. Sharp. Cold. No "thank you."

Once, his hand had brushed hers. She'd broken out in goosebumps from the chill. His fingers felt like long, bony icicles.***

The next day. Library.

Cassie was picking up the manuals Otto had requested for another cadet's session. It wasn't just because he’d asked; she needed to prove to herself that he was nothing like Sophia. If he was tormenting cadets behind Greta’s back, she had to know. 

Greta was the one who had made the comparison, after all. The old woman needed to see what was happening right under her nose.

Cassie lingered at the door, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She cracked it open, just a sliver.

Two people were inside.

Otto stood by the shelves, hands clasped behind his back. The guy across from him was hunched over the desk, eyes averted, mumbling something low and incoherent.

Otto turned. Silent. He stepped closer. The cadet squeaked something else and pointed at his notes. Otto leaned over him, mimicking interest.

As he tucked that lock of hair behind his ear again, a sickening nausea tickled the back of Cassie’s throat.

Then, Otto's fingers drove into the back of the guy's neck.

He slammed the student's face toward the desk. There was no impact—just a steel grip that stopped the guy's forehead a fraction of an inch from the wood.He didn't let go.

Otto just stared at the back of the boy’s defenseless head. Five seconds. Seven. Finally, he released his grip.

"Stop asking stupid questions," Otto said.

Caught you!

Cassie threw the door open. The student nearly jumped out of his skin. She marched in and slapped the books down on the nearest table. One slid off, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

"Do you ever plan on learning how to knock?" Otto asked. He looked right through her, as if she were a crack in the wall he was inspecting.

Cassie stepped closer. "Is this part of the official protocol? Manhandling cadets?"

He didn't answer. He didn't even flinch.

Standing this close, she realized for the first time—he was barely her height. She’d always thought he was taller. The realization made him even more repulsive.

"I'm not entirely sure what you want from me," he said, his face a total blank.

The student suddenly stood up, avoiding Cassie's eyes. "Hey, just leave, okay? I have a major placement test coming up."

Cassie blinked, stunned. The guy was built larger than Otto, yet the abuse had been taken without a word. Just stood there and let it happen.

What is actually going on here?

She didn't even notice Otto taking a step toward her. He let his eyes slide over her as if she were empty space. A pause. Then, a heavy, bored sigh.

"Get out," he said. "And I'll pretend this never happened. Go home and read the material twenty times before our next session."

The pulse in Cassie's head became a heavy, rhythmic throb as she fought the urge to snap.

"I'll handle my own studies," she spat. "By the way—you're fired."