Chapter 5: The Step Forward

Everleigh’s legs felt like lead as she moved through the crowd. Every step toward the platform seemed to echo in her chest. Mothers clutched daughters, whispering last-minute encouragements. Fathers straightened their backs, staring at the elder’s raised scroll as if it could shield their girls from fate. The cobblestones under her feet seemed to stretch endlessly, each one a reminder that her life was about to change—or be chosen for someone else to shape.

She kept her gaze forward, though her mind kept darting around, searching. For Rowan. For anything familiar. For the reassuring grin that had always made the world feel lighter. But there was nothing. No trace of him.

Only the masked man.

He remained near the edge of the platform, leaning slightly, his gaze locked on her. His mask hid the upper half of his face, but the intensity in his eyes cut through the layers of fabric, the blur of villagers, and the soft whispers of fear and excitement around her. It made her skin prickle.

Why is he looking at me? she wondered. She shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. She had to keep moving.

The crowd parted as she approached, the murmur of villagers fading to a soft hum around her. Her heart pounded with every step, the rhythm of her own fear echoing the approaching ceremony. Some of the other girls whispered and giggled as she passed, their dresses bright and new, their hair perfectly braided. She noted them only briefly—girls whose lives had probably always been easier, their families more connected, their futures less uncertain.

She swallowed, straightened her shoulders, and forced herself to hold her chin high. I belong here as much as anyone else, she told herself, though the words felt fragile.

The elder’s platform rose before her, a wooden stage polished smooth and worn by years of ceremonies. Steps led up to it, and she climbed slowly, counting each one in her mind. With every step, she imagined herself walking out of the world she had always known and into a place where power and expectation waited.

“Everleigh,” the elder called again, his voice steady. It seemed to echo across the square, drawing the eyes of everyone around her. She forced herself to breathe evenly, focusing on the sound of her own steps rather than the growing swell of attention pressing on her.

On the platform, she glimpsed the other girls who had been called before her. Some wore confident smiles, their posture immaculate. Others trembled, faces pale with anxiety. She felt a strange kinship with them despite herself; all of them were bound by the same invisible thread, pulled into this moment by a force beyond their control.

The masked man shifted slightly, leaning forward just enough for her to catch the glint of silver on the clasp of his cloak. His presence unsettled her, but it also held a curious pull. Why is he watching me? The thought refused to leave her mind, gnawing at the edge of her awareness as she moved closer to the elder.

Her fingers brushed the hem of her dress. It was a simple thing, patched and worn, but she had dressed carefully for this day. She wanted to be presentable. She wanted, somehow, to carry herself as if she belonged here—not as the girl from the poor side of the village, not as the one who had always been different, but simply as herself.

As she reached the top of the platform, the elder’s eyes met hers, and she felt a sudden rush of heat across her face. The air seemed to thin, and for a heartbeat, all she could hear was the quiet of her own breath and the distant murmur of the crowd.

“You’ve come far,” the elder said, not unkindly. “The Lottery will determine your place. Stand proud, child.”

Everleigh nodded, forcing a steady smile. I can do this. I have to.

Behind her, she sensed movement. Not the rustle of dresses or the shuffle of other villagers—but the faint brush of intention, like a shadow sliding along the edge of the platform. She didn’t dare look, fearing what she might see. Yet she couldn’t ignore it either.

The masked man remained where he had been. His eyes followed her across the stage, never blinking. He spoke briefly with the elder again, low enough for only Everleigh to hear the faintest undertone of words she couldn’t make out. And then he stepped back, just enough to disappear partially behind the columns of the platform.

Her pulse quickened. Who is he? The thought repeated in her mind, unrelenting. The other girls chattered nervously behind her, unaware of his presence. Everleigh had the strange and unsettling sense that he was waiting for something—for her.

The elder unrolled the scroll and began calling names in a methodical tone. Girls moved up one by one, stepping forward to receive instructions, their expressions a mix of pride, fear, and wonder. The crowd watched with polite silence, some holding their breath, some muttering softly.

Everleigh scanned the platform, her eyes flicking toward every corner, every shadow. But Rowan was nowhere to be seen. The absence gnawed at her chest. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. She could not let fear consume her.

When the elder raised his hand to quiet the whispers, she felt herself drawn back into the gravity of the moment. She adjusted her dress, ran a finger along the ribbon at her waist, and squared her shoulders.

I am here. I will not hide.

Then the elder’s gaze swept over the crowd, landing squarely on her. His voice rang out again, louder this time, carrying across the square:

“Everleigh.”

The name rolled through the air like a signal, sharp and impossible to ignore. Every eye turned toward her, including the masked man’s. His gaze did not waver. The intensity in his posture made her stomach twist. Something about the way he watched her felt like both a warning and a promise, a question she could not answer and a command she could not ignore.

Everleigh’s feet moved almost on their own as she took a deep breath and stepped forward. Each step carried the weight of the unknown. Each movement was a declaration: she would face this, even without Rowan at her side, even under the scrutiny of strangers, even with the strange, unsettling eyes of the masked man following her every move.

She climbed the final step to the platform. The elder nodded, gesturing for her to stand in the marked spot. The crowd’s hum faded into the background as her senses sharpened, focusing on every detail—the glint of sunlight on the cobblestones, the rustle of silk dresses behind her, the faint scent of rosewater drifting from some unseen vendor, and the masked man’s unwavering stare.

Her pulse was loud, and she could feel it in her throat, in her fingertips, in the tips of her toes. She was alone, yet every eye in the square was on her. And among them, one gaze stood apart, piercing through every other distraction.

Everleigh swallowed. She would meet this moment. She had no choice.

Her name had been called. The world held its breath with her.