#emily

She had learned everyone’s name, sure… but she still didn’t really know anything about them.

Just as she opened her mouth to thank those who participated, a sharp tone rang through the space.

Chairs scraped in near unison as the Exorcists rose, grabbing their helmets and filing out of the cafeteria in clean, orderly lines.

By the time Emily blinked, nearly all of them had left. 

Well… that hadn’t gone quite as planned.

Sighing, she turned around, only to realize someone was still there.

Rift hadn’t moved.

She stood exactly where Emily had left her almost an hour ago, posture straight, wings held neatly at her back and hands at her sides.

Emily hesitated. “…Rift?”

“Awaiting dismissal, ma’am.”

Emily blinked. “Oh, no. You don’t…” she faltered. “You’re allowed to go, if you want to. You don’t need my permission for that.”

Rift tilted her head, just slightly. “Clarify permitted action.”

Emily opened her mouth, then stopped.

How do you even begin to answer that?

“I mean… You can decide. For yourself.” She exhaled softly. “You don’t have to wait for me to tell you what to do.”

Another pause.

“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

Emily blinked, caught off guard. “Yes, of course.”

“I want to do my job,” Rift said flatly. “My job is to follow your directives.”

That’s… not what she meant at all.

“…Okay,” Emily said gently, shifting her approach. “Then… could you show me where everyone went? And once that’s done, you’re… dismissed.”

Rift straightened, the shift immediate. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

The hallway beyond the cafeteria wasn’t anything special. Emily really didn’t expect much, anyways. But she still hated how much space surrounded them, yet and how little of it was being used.

Rift walked half a step ahead, posture straight, pace steady and unhurried. Not once did she look back to check if Emily was following.

“This way, ma’am,” she said, turning down a corridor sharply.

Emily followed, her gaze drifting along the stretch of identical doors lining either side of the hall.

Each one was the same smooth white, unmarked except for a small silver plaque.

“Are these… rooms?” Emily asked.

“Barrack units,” Rift replied.

Emily slowed slightly, glancing at one of the plaques as they passed.

B-12… Privates 39–41

Her chest tightened, just a little. “They’re assigned by number?”

“Correct, ma’am.”

“…Can we look inside one?” Emily asked.

Rift stopped, looking at her new General with narrowed eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

She stepped forward and opened the nearest door without knocking.

Emily hesitated only a second before stepping in.

The room was painfully neat.

Three beds lined the walls, evenly spaced, each one made with perfectly folded white blankets. At the foot of each bed sat a storage unit, closed and identical. There were no personal items, at least from what she could see.

No pictures, no clutter, no signs that anyone had ever lived there.

Emily took a few reluctant steps further, her gaze moving from one side of the empty room to the other.

“They all look like this?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Emily’s fingers twitched at her sides. “Where do they keep their things?”

“Issued items are stored in assigned compartments,” Rift answered.

Emily glanced at the storage units.

“…And anything else?”

“Clarify.”

Emily opened her mouth, then closed it.

What else would there be? Photos? Books? Something small and insignificant, just because they liked it?

Of course not.

She gave a small motion of her hand. “…Never mind.”

Turning in place, she took one last look at the room. “…Thank you.”

Rift gave a short nod as Emily passed her, the door sliding shut behind them.

They continued down the corridor. The further they walked, the fewer doors there seemed to be, and numbered plaques shifted from silver to gold.

Emily thought the spacing between rooms widened, too.

“So… the higher ranks have larger quarters?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

That made… sense, she supposed. But she still didn’t like it.

At the very end of the corridor, set slightly apart from the others, stood a single door.

It was different.

Larger than the rest. Nicer, too, polished to a shine, with intricate detailing of spears carved along its frame. A silver plaque was fixed at eye level, centered perfectly.

Emily slowed as they approached it, her gaze catching on the engraving.

A-1,General Adam.

For a moment, she just stared at it.

“General’s quarters,” Rift stated.

Emily swallowed. “My room… right.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She was the new General, so of course she would take the previous one’s space… metaphorically and physically. She knew that the moment she said she would take the army into her wings.

But the feeling still twisted her gut.

She drew in a breath, then turned to Rift. “Thank you for showing me around. I know it’s late, and you’re probably tired. You’re… dismissed.”

The word felt wrong on her tongue.

Rift raised her hand to her halo in salute, perfectly angled forward and flat. “Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

Then she turned and walked away without hesitation.

For a moment, Emily just stood there.

Everything here was awful.

The interior was awful.

The rules were awful.

The atmosphere was just… awful.

And she was going to fix it.

She had to.

For all of these poor souls.

…But first, she needed rest.

Stepping inside and closing the door, her wings drew in close to her back.

It was huge.

Larger than four of the barrack rooms combined, open and carfully designed. Soft light spilled in from a large window set into the far wall, framed in gold. Intricate patterns curled along the walls and ceiling, delicate filigree etched into almost every surface.

A proper bed stood to one side raised slightly on a platform, far nicer than the cots she had just seen. A desk rested near the window, accompanied by a comfortable looking chair. Massive shelves lined one of th walls, some still displaying objects.

It was… beautiful.

Or, at least it had been.

The shelves had been ransacked. Whatever had once been neatly arranged there had been dragged off, left torn apart and flung to the ground. Papers were strewn across the floor, some shredded, others crumpled into balls and tossed aside.

One frame sat shattered at her feet, glass cracked inward, the image inside torn.

She couldn’t even tell what it had been of.

Near the bed, something heavier had been thrown, hard enough to dent the wooden floor beneath it. It looked like it had once been a string instrument, maybe a guitar, reduced to nothing but splintered wood and torn metal strings.

One wall wore the worst of it.

Deep, uneven marks carved through the stone, jagged and violent, like something had struck it over and over again without restraint.

Looking closer, a wave of nausea came over her.

Faint golden drops had seeped into the stone, dried into each sharp crack and mark.

Her stomach felt as if it had turned inside out.

Oh, god.

It was so…. violent.