Dawn of Fog and Glass

Chapter Nine: Dawn of Fog and Glass

After the assembly, Adams and her squad lead me to a measurement room. The uniform fitting is a series of uncomfortable waist and bust measurements followed by a seemingly unnecessary amount of poking and prodding with pins as the seamster makes adjustments to the sample uniform.

He tells Adams with a grim smile that it shouldn't take longer than twenty-four hours for them to craft a new one; it's not like he has clients begging for requests. He also should make a training uniform. For the time being, he hands me a sample which comprises black spandex leggings, a sports bra, and a tank top with an "s" for sample stitched across the breast.

Lunch is nothing like the crowded Marksberg cafeteria. Adams takes me back to my room just as a sea of officers swarms us from behind, all pulling along their respective Morphs. Adams puts me inside my room and closes the door with a soft click.

Within a few minutes lunch, they bring me lunch; by that, I mean a specially made-and-portioned platter of food carried in by a man in a kitchens' uniform. I sit on my much-too-comfortable bed. He drops my plate of food on my bed and scurries away without a word.

I glare at the plate, already distrusting it. A simple Caesar salad sits in a halo around a bowl of split-pea soup. I don't want to know how they know about my allergies and what portions of food I eat. I don't wish to eat anything a government lab, no matter how dressed up it is, feeds me. For all I know, this food has a tranquilizer in it.

With a grim smile, I drink the soup down to its dregs. If they knock me out, then maybe when I wake up, this nightmare will be over.

Usually, I would sit with Orion and Hera right now. I'd be listening to Hera's gossip about the theatre club and Orion's complaints about how the art teacher won't let him create what he wants. Now, I sit alone in a disorienting white room, its pristine brilliance disrupted only by the small case that contains my belongings.

With a sigh, I head to the case and pull out Orion's painting, gazing at it. He looks little like what he did back then, although the painting isn't a perfect rendition of his younger self.

The painting looks much better on my wall than the last one, I decide.

After that, I pull out the photo and set it on my bedside table. Without its frame, it flops sadly on the table, its face pointed towards the ceiling.

Orion looks so happy in the photo; his brown eyes have this glimmer that often loses its sheen. In this photo, though, I've captured it forever.

When I see Orion again, will I recognize him?

I push the thought out of my brain, squeezing my eyes shut. Of course, I will. He's the most important person in my life. There's no way I couldn't recognize him. A second thought grips me.

If I see Orion again, will I recognize him?

I'll see him again. With any luck, I'll get over this stupid minor glass thing and see him in a few weeks. Or months. Or however long it takes to get rid of the ability to manipulate glass.

I barely even acknowledge when Adams peeks her head around the door.

"Hey, kid," she says. "Classes are starting soon."

I frown. "I thought I didn't have my timetable yet."

She shrugs. "Classes end before lunch, and all students have training in the afternoons." She gives another glance around the room, then nods to my sample training clothes in a heap on the floor. "Put those on fast. We have places to be."

I have little say on the topic.

Luckily, this uniform fits me better than the other uniform, although there's still room for improvement.