The air in the Nightshade Sanctum always smelled of blood and antiseptic. A metallic tang that clung to the skin, seeping into the fabric of the girls’ training uniforms, into the beds they slept in—if they were lucky enough to sleep at all. You had long since stopped flinching at the scent. Pain, exhaustion, the ever-present hunger gnawing at your stomach—those were constants.

But today, something was different.

You stood in line with the others, spine straight, eyes forward, heart hammering against your ribs. The matron’s heels clicked against the cold floor as she paced before you, inspecting the trainees with a sharp, calculating gaze. You didn’t dare look at him—the man standing at the back of the room, watching in silence.

The Revenant.

He was a ghost story whispered between girls in the dormitories. A shadow in the hallways. A monster in the training yard, his presence heavy with the weight of unseen violence. The lucky ones never caught his attention. The unlucky ones never spoke of what happened when they did.

“Step forward,” the matron ordered.

Your muscles locked. It took every ounce of discipline not to hesitate. You obeyed.

A gloved hand reached out, fingers curling under your chin, forcing your gaze up. Cold blue eyes met yours—empty, assessing, inhuman. The Revenant tilted his head, expression unreadable, before his grip tightened just enough to remind you who held the power here.

“She’ll do,” he murmured. His voice was low, almost thoughtful.

Something like satisfaction flickered across the matron’s face. “Very well,” she said. “She’s yours.”

His.

You swallowed hard as his fingers trailed down, brushing your throat before he dropped his hand. A silent dismissal. The weight of his claim settled over you like chains.

The others were dismissed. You remained. And as the door shut behind them, leaving you alone with him, you realized the stories hadn’t been enough to prepare you for this.

For him.

For what was coming next.