𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝟎𝟎𝟎

"𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙨𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙨 
𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙚'𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 
𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙨
𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙."

𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘚𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘙𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 - 𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘢 𝘝𝘢𝘯 𝘍𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘵

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"Get up."

The voice that greeted you as you eased out of your Aptitude Test wasn't a warm one. It was cold, rushed, and uncertain.

You gasped and sat up in a swift, dizzying movement. You were still disoriented from the test and it took you a moment before you could see straight and conduct a long scan of the small room that you had been thrust into earlier that morning. It was still just as cramped and quiet.

At sixteen, you were standing on the precipice of your life. Your future was just waiting on the dominoes to tumble into place. And that first domino was the Aptitude Test, which told you where in the faction system you would be the most successful. Where you would truly belong. Where you would spend every day until you inevitably died.

The woman who had administered your test was no longer sitting with her legs crossed neatly beside your examination chair. It took you a moment to locate just where her wavering cold voice had come from, and you watched through the mirrored walls as she tore through the small room like a tornado, ripping through papers and bundles of sealed documents like her life depended on it.

She was beautiful. You remembered thinking that when you first entered, a little short of an hour prior. She was still beautiful now, with feathered tawny hair and a striking black tattoo of a falcon plastered between her tan olive shoulder blades. But now she wore her beauty like a white flag—desperate—and her once striking copper eyes were now brimming with something new.

Fear.

"Two in one day," she muttered, shaking her head with her back turned to you. Her low-cut tank top gave you a perfect view of her broad falcon tattoo and you tried to focus on that as the rest of the Aptitude serum washed through your bloodstream. "What are the odds?"

"Excuse me?"

The woman—Tori, as she curtly introduced herself—froze and shot a quick glance over her shoulder, making her long silver jewelry jingle softly. You awkwardly balled the fabric of your marmalade skirts into the palms of your hands and eased yourself out of the massive chair that sat stark in the center of the testing chamber.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Amity," Tori mumbled under her breath, a little too unconvincingly for your liking. She glanced quickly over at the screen in the furthest corner of the room. Several different glowing windows were open, but the screen itself was fuzzy and hundreds of different numbers and images were appearing and disappearing all at once.

As if suddenly noticing that your attention had been drawn away, Tori reached over and pressed a button on the edge of the monitor. The screen shuddered and snapped to black. A good thing too, because staring at it any longer would have made your headache significantly worse than it already was.

"What was...I mean, what are my results?" You asked, voice as unsure as your footsteps as you hovered near the exit. Just tell me what I already know. Just tell me that I'm Amity so I can leave.

Tori blinked twice. She turned away to face the blank screen again and folded her long fingers into a tight fist behind her back. For the first time since you entered the testing facility, you felt doubt. It bubbled up through your chest and made your heart feel tight between your ribs.