CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: SHUTTING DOWN

         SHUTTING DOWN 

   The training field looked the same as it had the first day, wide, open, ringed by trees, packed dirt underfoot, weapons resting on wooden racks like they were waiting for volunteers.

Nothing about it had changed.

Or maybe I had not changed at all, and that was going to be a problem.

Daniel walked beside me, not too close, not too far. He had learned that distance over the past few days. Close enough to escort me, far enough not to feel like he was hovering.

“You’re quiet today,” he said.

“I’m always quiet.

He glanced at me sideways. “You talk.”

“Only when necessary.”

He smiled a little. “You know, warriors talk too.”

“That explains a lot about you.”

That earned a short laugh, which I appreciated more than I let on. It made the walk easier,like I was walking lightly.

The field was already active when we arrived. Pairs sparring. Someone shouting instructions. The sound of bodies hitting the ground, not violently, but with intent.

My chest tightened.

I did not stop walking. I did not slow down. I kept my breathing steady because that was something I had learned years ago.

Do not give them a reason to notice.

Daniel stopped at the edge of the field. “Today’s going to be more intense.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He hesitated. “If it gets too much, you can say something.”

“I know.”

He searched my face like he was looking for cracks. He did not find any because I did not let them show.

The trainer, Rafe, waved us over. He had the posture of someone who believed pain was educational.

“Emily,” he said, nodding once. “You ready to push further today?”

“Yes,” I answered automatically.

That word had never failed me before.

He gestured toward the center. “You’ll rotate through partners. Defense first. Then offense.”

My fingers curled slightly. I let them relax.

Defense. Offense.

I told myself this was different. That this was not my old pack. That these people were not the same ones who had smiled while they hurt me.

My body did not listen.

The first partner stepped forward. A woman, older than me, calm expression, eyes alert.

“Name’s Talia,” she said. “We’ll go slow.”

“Thank you.”

We squared off.

Rafe barked instructions. “Block. Redirect. Again.”

Talia moved. I blocked. It worked.

“Good,” Rafe said.

Something loosened in my chest.

Again.

She came faster. I reacted slower. Her arm clipped my shoulder.

“Reset,” Rafe snapped.

It was fine. It was normal. People got hit in training.

I told myself that while my heart began to beat faster.

Another rotation.

Another partner.

A man this time. Taller. Broader. He smiled, friendly enough.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t break you.”

I laughed because that was what I was supposed to do.

We started.

He moved quickly. I raised my arm. Too late. I stumbled back.

“Again,” Rafe said.

We went again.

The ground felt unsteady under my feet, even though it was solid. My hands felt disconnected from my arms. Like they belonged to someone else.

“Focus,” Rafe barked.

I was focusing.

That was the problem.

A shout from another ring made me flinch.

Someone laughed nearby, loud and sharp, and suddenly it was not the training field anymore.

It was dirt and dust and too many eyes.

It was voices saying, “Hold her still,” and, “This is for your own good,” and, “If you don’t awaken now, it’s your fault.”

My partner lunged.

I froze.

Not consciously. Not deliberately.

My body simply stopped responding.

I felt the impact distantly, like it happened to someone else. I hit the ground, breath knocked out of me, staring up at the sky.

“Emily,” Daniel’s voice cut through. “Hey. Stop.”

Rafe swore under his breath. “Get up.”

I did not move.

My ears rang. The sky blurred. My hands felt numb.

Daniel crouched beside me. “Emily, look at me.”

I looked at him.

Everything felt muted, like someone had turned the volume down on the world.

“You’re safe,” he said. “Training stops now.”

Rafe frowned. “She needs to push through.”

Daniel stood sharply. “No.”

There was something in his voice that made Rafe step back.

Daniel helped me up. His hand was steady.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The answer came out even, calm, believable.

Inside, something was closing.

The walk back to the mansion felt longer than usual. I answered Daniel’s questions automatically. Yes, I was fine. Yes, I just needed rest. No, it was not a big deal.

He walked me to my door.

“Emily,” he said carefully. “What happened out there wasn’t weakness.”

I nodded. “I know.”

He hesitated. “If you want to talk, I’m around.”

“Thank you.”

He left.

I closed the door.

Then I locked it.

The sound of the lock clicking into place felt like relief.

I leaned against the door and slid down until I was sitting on the floor.

The room felt too quiet. Too empty. Too large.

My breathing slowed, then slowed too much. My thoughts drifted, edges softening.

This was familiar.

The shutting down. The pulling inward. The way my mind tucked itself somewhere unreachable so nothing could touch it.

I did not cry. I did not panic.

I simply stopped.

I stayed there for a long time, not moving, not thinking, not feeling.

When I finally stood, it was only to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head, like fabric could

keep the past out.

I did not go back outside.

I did not answer when someone knocked later.

I stayed where I was, wrapped in silence, because silence had never hurt me the way people had.