A pool of crimson spreads beneath him, inching across the floor toward my boots. I freeze, unable to look away from the growing stain. My heart hammers in my ears, drowning out the chaos around me. I've seen death here, but the casual cruelty of this murder makes bile rise in my throat.

Malakai is barely attempting to look shocked or remorseful. He makes a few half-hearted excuses about how it was an accident, but his eyes scan the room, watching our reactions. When they land on me, I see a flicker of something predatory, and I quickly look away.

The whole ordeal only takes moments. Lorne is dead. The body is taken away, and class resumes, as if there isn't a pool of drying blood on the floor in the center of the room we’re all supposed to pretend we don’t notice.

Everyone is afraid to show fear here. Afraid to look weak. To look like a target.

An unpleasant blooming of shame rises up in me. Yes, I stood. Yes, I took steps toward the chaos. But what did I do after it was all said and done?

I looked away from Malakai, afraid of being next.

We all did, and I feel a sudden, burning hatred for this place and what it's turning us all into. I slowly take my seat again, eyes on my disguised mark.

The only indication Primal Sestra gives of noticing or caring about the "accidental" murder is the slightest tightening around the corner of her mouth.

"Let this be a lesson," Sestra says after a moment. "In battle and war, you will be expected to continue performing your task, even when faced with horror. Show me how you can all press on in the face of adversity."

My stomach churns as I stare at the dark stain spreading across the stone. Just minutes ago, Lorne was alive—breathing, thinking, hoping to survive this place like the rest of us. Now he's gone, hauled away like refuse, and we're all expected to continue practicing water manipulation as if nothing happened.

I look around at my classmates. Some are pale, hands trembling as they try to focus on their water spheres. Others have already adapted, eyes forward, determined to be among those who survive. But it's the third group that chills me—the ones watching Malakai with something like curiosity and even admiration in their eyes.

He's showing them another way to excel here. Why compete with your peers when you can simply eliminate them? Brutality and cold-blooded murder win out. Those who strike first have the advantage, and Malakai is putting together a team of killers just like himself.

People who will kill us, even if it only marginally increases their odds of becoming a primal or getting a better assignment after graduation.