Four days earlier, Zoey got herself ready. Since she hadn’t slept, she decided to make an effort to be on time. Oddly enough, she didn’t feel tired at all. In fact, she felt great—refreshed even. The amount of “cardio” she’d done during the night, zooming around the room and testing her limits, should’ve left her sore or at least winded. Instead, she barely broke a sweat.

  A nurse with a purple aura—knocked on the door and walked in, holding a uniform. The other one likely scared off by their earlier interaction Zoey thought as she spit in the sink. She glanced at the plain gray and white outfit that was stiff and utilitarian, lacking any personality.

  Zoey wrinkled her nose in disgust as the nurse handed it over. “This is ugly,” she said bluntly, holding it up like it might bite her.

  The nurse chuckled, trying to appear unfazed, and left without saying a word.

  Zoey stared at the uniform in disdain, flipping it over to examine it. It was dull, boxy, and—worst of all—completely unflattering. “Yeah, no,” she muttered to herself. If she was going to wear this, she was at least going to make it tolerable.

  She wasn’t sure what the dress code was—nobody had told her anything—so she assumed a few tweaks wouldn’t hurt. With her newfound speed and dexterity, the process was almost laughably fast. Her hands worked like a blur, snipping, stitching, and tying in record time.

  When she was done, the outfit looked entirely different. The once boxy gray jacket now hugged her figure, cinched at the waist to highlight her curves. She had loosened the collar, reshaping it into a V-neck that dipped low enough to show a tasteful amount of cleavage—not indecent, but definitely pushing the boundary of “appropriate.” She shortened the sleeves slightly, rolling them to just below her elbows, and added a few subtle slashes at the edges to give it a more edgy look.

  The pants had been baggy, but she’d tailored them to fit snugly, the material now streamlined to accentuate her legs. She finished the look by keeping the boots plain but polished, giving the whole outfit a slightly rebellious flair while still managing to stay just within the line of what might be considered regulation.

  Zoey smirked as she checked herself out in the mirror. “Hell yeah,” she said, running her hands down the front of the jacket to smooth it. She knew she was probably skirting the line with her changes, but honestly? She didn’t care. She wasn’t about to walk into whatever training they had planned looking like some lifeless drone. Glancing in the mirror caused a grin to spread across her face.

  Another knock came at the door, breaking Zoey’s train of thought. She assumed it was whoever was supposed to escort her to training. What surprised her, though, was the fact that the door didn’t immediately open. That was new—no one else here seemed to care much about privacy.

  Curious, she glided over to the door, her movements smooth and effortless as she got used to her newfound abilities. She opened it, expecting yet another nurse or stiff, older agent. Instead, she was met with someone entirely different.

  Standing there was a guy who couldn’t have been much older than her, making calling him a “man” feel like a bit of a stretch. His black hair fell in messy waves, framing sharp golden eyes that widened slightly when he saw her. His attire was anything but ordinary. He wore a sleek, high-collared black-and-white uniform with intricate silver buckles, straps, and tactical pouches. The dark material absorbed the light, giving it a faintly menacing aura, while the sharp lines of the outfit emphasized both precision and control.

  “Hi, I’m Crucible Kni… Uh…” he started, clearly thrown off, before shaking his head and pulling himself together.

  His gaze flicked over her outfit and the faint afterimages trailing behind her movements, lingering just long enough to make his reaction obvious.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notepad and pen.

  Zoey smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What, you gonna draw me like one of your French girls?” she teased, watching his reaction.

  His tone was calm but pointed. He handed the items to her. “You’re going to use this.”

  Zoey blinked, looking at the notepad in confusion. “What?”

  “I can’t understand a word you’re saying. So, you’re going to write it down.”

  Her smirk faded slightly, replaced with an annoyed glare. “You’re kidding,” she said, but even that came out too fast for him to catch.

  He gestured to the notepad in her hand, unbothered by her reaction. “Go ahead,” he said simply.

  Zoey let out a sharp exhale, her irritation bubbling up. Seriously? She scribbled something quickly on the notepad, her pen moving so fast the letters were nearly a blur. She tore the page off and held it to him.

  The note read: This is ridiculous, but fine.

  After reading the note, Crucible smirked, clearly amused by her annoyance. But the smirk quickly faltered as Zoey discarded the piece of paper, only for it to dissolve into thin air the moment it left her hand.

  Zoey froze, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. They both stared at the empty space where the paper had been, then back at each other, then back at the air as if expecting it to reappear.

  She opened her mouth to explain herself, but stopped, knowing he wouldn’t be able to catch a word she said. She sighed, grabbed the notepad again, and scribbled a simple response: IDK.

  Crucible just stared at her for a moment, clearly trying to process what had just happened. His golden eyes flicked between her face and the notepad in her hand. Zoey thought she saw a flicker of curiosity in his otherwise composed demeanor.

  But he recovered quickly, clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders as if physically willing himself to regain control of the situation. Zoey, sensing his effort to reassert authority, couldn’t help herself. She mockingly straightened her posture, snapping into an exaggerated attention stance, her afterimages mimicking the motion with perfect, almost comedic precision.

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  Her face remained neutral, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at her lips. Crucible’s jaw tightened slightly, but he ignored her antics. “Let’s get going then.”

  As they walked down the hallway, Crucible glanced over at Zoey, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her. “How did you change your clothes?” he asked abruptly, his tone sharp with curiosity. “It looks like a professional tailor worked on it.”

  Zoey blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What?” she asked, her rapid speech still incomprehensible to him.

  He stopped in his tracks, turning to face her. He understood enough to answer her. “Your uniform,” he clarified, speaking slowly. “How’d you modify it? On this level, it looks like it was professionally done. You didn’t have the tools or time for something like that.”

  Zoey tilted her head, confused, until realization dawned on her. He was right. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time—she’d just started tearing away at the ugly thing, tugging, twisting, and somehow reshaping it into something that suited her needs. She hadn’t questioned the lack of supplies or the precision, she just desired a certain look.

  “Oh,” she muttered, chuckling under her breath.

  Crucible didn’t seem to find the situation funny. His eyes narrowed further as he stared at her, clearly expecting an explanation.

  Zoey shrugged, her afterimages mimicking the motion perfectly, shimmering faintly in the hallway light.

  “That’s not an answer,” he said, folding his arms and waiting for her to clarify.

  Zoey rolled her eyes, grabbed the notepad, and quickly scribbled: IDK. I just started tearing it apart. It turned out like this.

  She handed him the notepad with a small, amused smirk. Crucible read it, his expression unchanging. “You just tore it apart?” he repeated skeptically.

  Zoey nodded.

  Crucible frowned, his mind turning over Zoey’s modified outfit. It made no sense unless she had used “Possess,” But how could she? He sighed, realizing that wondering about it wasn’t going to help. The report had already flagged her as “different,” and him overthinking it wouldn’t make any difference. Instead getting her evaluated would hopefully clear this anomaly up.

  His golden eyes flicked back to her outfit, and his frown deepened. “You know that’s not even remotely acceptable here, right? Not while in uniform, at least. Outside of that, dress however you want, but this? Yeah, no.”

  Zoey stuck her tongue out at him playfully, her afterimages following the gesture like a cheeky echo. Not being able to talk sucked. She felt like half her personality was locked behind a barrier, and the notepad wasn’t exactly cutting it.

  Which was a shame, because this boy was cute. Messing with him would’ve been the highlight of her morning. Especially with a silly name like “Crucible”.

  Instead, she grabbed the notepad and scribbled down: I’ll remember next time.

  She held it up to him with a grin. Crucible read it, and sighed. But she saw a slight grin on his face.

  He kept pace with her as they walked—or more accurately, as she strode ahead with unnaturally long, smooth strides. Keeping up with her meant he had to jog before catching a rhythm with her, which didn’t exactly help his already-frayed patience.

  Her afterimages shimmered behind her like a glowing train, catching the light and drawing attention from everyone they passed. Other operatives stopped to stare, whispering as Zoey walked by, completely thriving in the spectacle she was creating.

  As they stepped into the elevator, Zoey immediately noticed the display showing their destination: Floor 8. She hadn’t even realized she’d been on Floor 5 this whole time. The detail sparked a small flicker of curiosity of how big this place was, but it was quickly overshadowed by the odd tension in the elevator.

  Crucible kept staring at her. She wasn’t sure if it was because he thought she was cute—she wouldn’t blame him—or because every time she turned her head to look around, her afterimages lit up the elevator like some kind of traveling art installation. Either way, the attention wasn’t unwelcome. She smirked to herself, pretending not to notice.

  The back of the elevator had a wide window that gave a view of the lower floors. As they descended, Zoey spotted something that made her do a double take. On one of the lower levels, a group of people in uniforms—similar to the one she’d “reimagined”—were gathered on a large open floor. They weren’t fighting or training like she’d expected. Instead, they appeared to be… doing yoga?

  Her brows furrowed, her head tilting slightly as she watched. What the hell?

  Crucible noticed her confusion and chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the otherwise quiet elevator ride. “That’s the class you’ll be joining,” he said casually, nodding toward the window. “After a quick introduction, of course. It’s part of the process, just to get you caught up.”

  Zoey turned to look at him, her expression blank for a moment before her eyebrows shot up. A small introduction… to do yoga? she thought.

  She grabbed the notepad and quickly scribbled: Yoga? Really?

  He glanced at the note and shrugged. “You’d be surprised. It’s not just yoga. It’s a warm-up—focus, balance, control. You’ll need it.”

  She wrote again: Focus, balance, and control? Why isn’t anyone flying or doing something cool?

  Crucible read it, and his smirk returned. “Patience, Rookie,” he said, tapping the notepad lightly before handing it back. “You’ll get to the flashy stuff soon enough. Right now, they’re just getting their minds and bodies ready. Trust me, it goes a long way.”

  Zoey rolled her eyes, leaning back against the elevator wall. If this was what they had planned for her, she was already less than thrilled. Yoga, she thought again, shaking her head. She stared out the window at the group below, unimpressed but still curious.

  If nothing else, it’d be interesting to see what kind of “focus and balance” they thought she needed.

  As they stepped out of the elevator, the bustling base sprawled out. People rushed back and forth, some in sharp uniforms, others in combat gear, each appearing to have a purpose. The walls were lined with glowing panels, and the occasional hum of machinery gave the place an almost futuristic vibe. It was everything someone might expect from a top-tier organization like the E.R.O.—exciting, efficient, full of wonder.

  But for Zoey, it just… fell flat.

  She couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was because she couldn’t talk the way she wanted, leaving her feeling muted and disconnected. Or maybe it was because the “training” she’d seen so far looked boring as hell. Whatever the reason, the awe she figured she should be feeling was replaced with a dull sense of indifference.

  Crucible, walking beside her, seemed to notice the unimpressed look on her face. He chuckled lightly, his voice breaking the quiet between them. “It won’t be so bad once we get past this part,” he said.

  Zoey raised an eyebrow at him, tilting her head in silent curiosity.

  “And by this,” he continued, motioning ahead of them, “I mean that.”

  Zoey followed his gesture and saw a set of enormous double doors that immediately grabbed her attention. The dark, heavy doors were carved with four massive lions, their mouths open in what could’ve been howls or roars—she wasn’t sure. The intricate detail in their expressions gave them an almost lifelike quality, as if they might leap from the doors at any moment.

  The sight was imposing, enough to finally stir a flicker of intrigue in her otherwise dull mood.

  Before they even reached the doors, they began to open on their own with a low, rumbling creak, revealing a darkened room beyond. Zoey hesitated for a brief moment, then took a deep breath, steeling herself before walking inside alongside Crucible.

  The air shifted as they entered, a faint energy crackling in the room. She stepped forward into whatever awaited her as the doors closed behind them. Her afterimages flickered for the first time—hesitating, like they weren’t sure they wanted to follow her further in.