𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬 ೃ⁀➷

chapter one

I sit cross-legged on the cold metal floor of my cell, running my fingers over the rough lines I've scratched into the surface. My drawings are crude, but they're all I have. Little fragments of memories—moments from before everything went wrong. Before I was locked away. The lines blur together, forming an image of Joshua's face, the only constant in my life before I was taken.

Drawing isn't something I ever cared about. I wasn't an artist; it was just something to do. Something to fill the long hours of silence. I couldn't read the romance books Joshua used to read to me. I couldn't hear his voice, feel his protective arms around me, or talk to anyone. I was completely, utterly alone. And I had been for 1,751 days.

The air in my cell was always stale, cold, and sterile. I've gotten used to the sounds of the Ark: the distant hum of machinery, the occasional footsteps of a guard, the soft clicks and whirs of the ship's systems. Nothing ever changed here. Nothing ever happened.

Until today.

The heavy door to my cell slides open with a metallic screech, sending a shiver down my spine. My hand pauses mid-sketch, and I quickly drop the scrap of metal I'd been using as a makeshift drawing tool.

"Prisoner 1-0-7, face the wall," a deep, authoritative voice commands from the doorway.

My heart races, confusion tightening in my chest. I hesitate, unsure of what's happening. I had a few months left, didn't I? Why are they coming for me now? Are they going to float me early?

Slowly, I get to my feet, feeling the cold, smooth floor beneath my bare feet. My body moves mechanically as I turn toward the wall, my mind spinning with questions. What's going on?

A guard steps forward and grabs my arm, securing something cold and heavy around my right wrist—a metal band. I flinch at the touch of the restraints, panic bubbling up inside me. My throat tightens, and I let out a nervous laugh, trying to keep myself from spiraling into fear.

"Is Jaha floating me already?" I ask, my voice shaky with forced humor. I'm terrified, but I refuse to show it.

The guard doesn't answer with the smug satisfaction I expect. Instead, he simply says, "No, ma'am."

The tension in my chest tightens further. My heart pounds. If they're not floating me, then what's happening? My skin prickles with goosebumps, and the hair on my arms stands on end. Something is wrong. This isn't how it's supposed to go.

The guard grips my arm tightly, leading me out of my cell. As we step into the hallway, I see a line of other teenagers being escorted from their cells as well, all wearing the same confused, anxious expressions. My stomach twists in knots. I thought I was alone in this nightmare, but now there are dozens—no, hundreds—of us. They're not just killing me.

*They're killing all of us.*

When I was 11, I used to lie awake at night, terrified of my 18th birthday, the day I knew I would die. But standing here now, surrounded by other prisoners like me, I'm not so sure I'm afraid anymore. There's a numbness settling over me, like I've already accepted it. We're all going to die together, and somehow, that feels... easier.

Before I can process it any further, I feel a sharp sting in my neck. The world tilts, the lights blur, and I barely register the guard injecting something into me before my vision goes black. My last thought is of Joshua.

---

When I wake up, my head feels heavy, my limbs weak and unresponsive. I blink groggily, trying to shake off the fog in my mind. I'm no longer in my cell. I'm strapped into a seat, surrounded by the same faces I saw in the hallway—other teenagers, all groggy and confused, just like me.