“I’m Twelve,” I said with a straight face, already bored out of my mind with all the serious talk and endless instructions. I needed rest—like, immediately. My brain couldn’t process another rule about “behavioral standards” or “curfew protocols.”

Mr. John, my personal lecture machine, wasn’t done though.

“Bell rings at five to wake up,” he said, reading from some notebook like it was the Bible. “Failure to do so comes with punishment.”

Blah, blah, blah.

I’d heard it all before. The foster home ran on the same routine—strict bells, fake prayers, starvation called “discipline.”

But fine. Whatever. I nodded along, pretending to care.

Now let’s get into that door, I thought.

I pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was bigger than I expected—neat, dimly lit, with two perfectly made beds. One bed had boys’ stuff all over it: folded uniforms, a wristwatch, and a messy pair of sneakers tucked underneath. The other bed was empty, clearly waiting for me.

I dragged my bag over, exhaled, and glanced around. A wardrobe—great. I tossed a few of my clothes in, not all, just what my lazy hands could reach. My shoes were killing me, too tight and already carving a scar into my heel. I kicked them off with a hiss and flexed my toes. Finally, some peace—

The door swung open.

“Uh—sorry,” a voice said. “Can I help you, miss?”

I turned around and saw a boy my age—or maybe a little older. Same uniform, but his fit perfectly across his shoulders. He looked like the type who worked out for fun, which was already suspicious.

“No, I was assigned here,” I replied.

He frowned like I’d told him the sky was green.

“By who?”

“I kinda forgot his name, but… Mr. Thomas,” I said with a polite smile.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

He walked past me to the far end of the room, then turned again when he realized I hadn’t said a word.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Rose,” I said slowly. “But the guy who dropped me here said they go by codes or something?”

Michael laughed, loud enough to echo off the walls.

“Yeah, right. You can call me by my name—it’s fine. But the higher-ups? They don’t use real names. Only codes. I’m Thirteen.”

He stretched, his shirt riding up just enough to show a faint scar across his side. “My last roommate got eliminated last month. Guess you’re Twelve.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, he said I was Twelve… but what do you mean eliminated?”

“Dead,” he said bluntly. “He got killed in a survival match. Took it too seriously. His opponent beat the shit out of him.”

Michael leaned back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I’m surprised they let a girl in here though.”

I froze, mouth half open. My heart skipped, then stuttered. I wanted to say something clever, maybe crack a joke—but no words came.

Not funny. Not one bit.

“Uh… where’s the bathroom?” I finally asked, forcing my voice steady.

He pointed lazily to the far end of the room.

“Back there. Just past the lockers.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed a towel and hurried off before he could start another casual conversation about death.

The bathroom was tiny, cold, and smelled like metal and soap. There wasn’t much to bathe with—just one bar of soap, freezing water, and whatever dignity I had left. I made it quick. When I got back, Michael was still awake, lying there, staring at the ceiling like he was counting stars that didn’t exist.

I cleared my throat and threw myself onto the bed. “Oh my God, this bed is so soft,” I murmured, half to myself.

He chuckled. “Yeah. That’s the only good thing about this place—the bed and the food.”

That made me roll over. “Wait, the food’s good?”

He smirked. “Really good. Don’t worry, you’ll taste it tomorrow. After the morning exercise, of course.”

“Exercise?” I groaned. “Man, I sleep till I’m ready to wake up. I’m way too lazy for morning workouts.”

“That’s gonna be a problem,” Michael said, laughing softly. “By five, we’re all up. Nobody’s exempt. And if you’re not up… the master handles you himself.”

I frowned. “The master? Sounds like I walked into a cult.”

He didn’t answer immediately, just stared off like he was remembering something.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he finally said, voice low.

I didn’t like the way he said it.

Trying to change the topic, I asked, “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” he replied. “Since I could pronounce my name.” His tone was neutral, but something flickered behind his eyes.

“So you never met your parents?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Grew up here. When I turned twelve, they brought me down to join the inmates.”

He smiled—like that was a good thing.

I tilted my head. “So you… like it here?”

He gave me a half-smile. “You get used to it.”

Right. That’s comforting.

“What about you?” he asked, his voice softening a little. “Did you ever meet your parents?”

I shrugged. “Nope. Grew up in foster care. Wasn’t adopted till now. So yeah, same story as you—except my version comes with daily fake prayers and cold beans.”

He laughed quietly. “Guess we’re both unlucky in the family department.”

“Lucky,” I corrected with a smirk. “At least we don’t get to miss anyone.”

He glanced at the wall clock. “It’s eight already. You should get some sleep. You’ll need energy for the morning drill.”

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight.”

He mumbled something like “Nighty” under his breath, and I smiled into my pillow. Despite everything—the rules, the codes, the creepy vibe—he seemed… normal.

I shut my eyes.

The bed hugged me in all the right places, soft and warm. I didn’t even realize when sleep pulled me under.

It felt like only seconds had passed when I heard the loudest noise known to mankind.

A bell. A very angry bell.

No way. Nope. I’m not moving. If there are thieves, they can take whatever they want—heck, I’ll help them pack later.

Then someone shook me.

“Hey, wake up! It’s time for morning exercise. Let’s go.”

Michael. Of course.

I groaned, grabbed my pillow, and covered my face. “Michael, I’m not doing shit. Leave me alone. I’m tired.”

He sighed. “Suit yourself. But you better be up before the master gets here.”

Then he left, footsteps fading down the hall.

Good. Peace again.

I snorted and buried myself deeper in the blanket. Ain’t nobody disturbing my beauty sleep.

I must’ve drifted off again because the next thing I felt was something wet.

A drop.

Then another.

Nah. They didn’t have dogs here… right?

Something splashed on my face—cold, sticky. My brain kicked awake instantly. I sat up halfway, ready to curse Michael out for whatever prank he thought was funny.

“Micha—what the fu—”

My words froze.

Right there, in front of me—