Max woke to light.
Not the sterile, white glare of containment. Not the hum of cameras tucked behind black glass. This light was softer, golden, bleeding through curtains that looked like they belonged to a home.
For a second, he thought he was dreaming.
The bed beneath him wasn't a slab bolted to the floor. It was soft. Sheets clean, a pillow that gave beneath his weight. A desk sat in the corner, untouched. A wardrobe with folded clothes waited. And there, beyond the window, rooftops and a slice of sky stretched out — real sky.
It was almost enough to trick him into believing.
Almost.
Max swung his legs over the side of the bed. Carpet met his boots. Comfortable, normal. He didn't buy it. Nothing in the Wing was normal unless it served a purpose.
The knock came sharp at the door.
"Briefing. Ten minutes," Justice's voice cut through.
Max stood without answering.
The briefing room felt halfway between containment and comfort. A long table dominated the space. Screens glowed against the far wall. Folders waited in stacks, black-stamped. Chairs were padded, but the air was still cold.
The others were already there.
Elias sat nearest the front, his back straight, folder already open in front of him. He looked like a man who'd been born ready to obey orders. Cael leaned back in his chair, pale eyes skimming through documents at a speed that made Max wonder if he actually read them. Imani poured herself tea from a small pot, every movement steady, deliberate. And Sera lounged with her boots on the table, a pen spinning in her fingers, grin sharp.
Justice stood at the head of the table, crimson hair catching the light, arms folded. His presence made the room feel smaller.
"Sit."
Max dropped into a chair.
Justice slid a stack of folders across the table. Inside each was a neatly folded school uniform — pressed shirts, stiff jackets, clean ties.
"You'll wear these from first bell to last," Justice said. "Uniforms keep you consistent. Consistency keeps you unnoticed."
Sera groaned, pulling hers out. "What, no room for fashion sense? Guess I'll suffer."
Cael didn't look up from his file. "Attention defeats the mission."
Sera flicked the pen at him without looking. He caught it midair, eyes still on the page.
Justice ignored them both. "You're posing as transfer students. Integration requires more than a uniform. Each of you has been assigned an address near the school. Apartments. Ordinary. Stocked with clothing, food, and records. Civilians will see what they're meant to see. Nothing more."
Imani's brow furrowed gently. "How long?"
Justice's answer came without pause. "As long as it takes."
Elias nodded once, calm. "Suspicion grows if transfers vanish too quickly. It makes sense."
Max looked at the uniform in his hands. The fabric felt strange between his fingers. Softer than the coarse training clothes he'd worn in Unit Twelve. He thought of the fake file they'd handed him. Fake parents. Fake hobbies. Now fake clothes, fake home.
They weren't just asking him to act. They were asking him to live it.
Justice's eyes swept across the table, sharp as glass. "You will not commute from the Wing. You will not return here until the mission is complete. From the moment you step into that school, you live as students. Every word, every gesture is a test. If you burn, you expose us all."
His gaze landed squarely on Max.
"You understand."
Max's jaw flexed. "I understand."
Justice's tone stayed flat. "Good."
He flicked a hand toward the screens. The layout of the school filled the wall — classrooms, courtyards, staff rooms, gyms. Names hovered as tags across the blueprint, shifting with student schedules.
"The Vice hides inside," Justice said. "Student, teacher, staff — it doesn't matter. It will blend. It may not even realize what it is yet. That's why you will observe first, identify second. Containment comes last."
Imani set her cup down. "And if it spreads?"
Justice's eyes didn't soften. "Then we end it."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Justice placed one last folder on the table in front of Max. "Your address is closest to the school. That was deliberate."
Max opened it. Photos of a narrow apartment stared back at him: a bed, a desk, a kitchen too clean to be real. Curtains drawn. He turned the page — fake bills, fake utilities, a fake part-time job. A life someone had written for him, complete and seamless.
He shut it. "Convincing."
Justice's voice was iron. "It has to be."
By evening, they were relocated.
The apartments weren't lavish. Plain walls, plain furniture, the kind of cleanliness that only existed when nobody actually lived there. But each space looked lived-in enough to fool a neighbor. Books stacked on shelves. Shoes by the door. Photos framed with smiling strangers.
Max dropped his bag on the bed. He stood at the window for a long time, watching the street below. Students passed with backpacks, couples walked dogs, a man closed up a small shop on the corner. Normal. All of it normal.
He wasn't fooled.
On the desk sat the uniform. Crisp, pressed, waiting. Next to it lay the folder with his false name stamped across the top.
He sat down. Opened it. Read it again.
It wasn't his life. But tomorrow, it had to be.
Justice's voice from the briefing echoed in his head.
This isn't about combat. It's about restraint.
Max leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in months, there were no cameras above him. No hum of containment glass. Just silence.
He wasn't sure if it felt like freedom. Or like the leash had only gotten tighter.
The knock came again. Softer this time.
Max turned from the window, half expecting Justice's voice. Instead, it was Imani standing in the hall, holding a paper bag in one hand.
"They stocked the kitchens," she said. "Thought you might not have noticed."
Max frowned. "I noticed."
Imani's smile was small, patient. She set the bag on his desk without asking to enter further. "Eat. It'll help you blend in better if you don't look like you haven't slept or eaten in weeks."
He didn't thank her. She didn't wait for it. She left as quietly as she came.
When the door shut, Max opened the bag. Packaged bread. Instant noodles. An apple. Normal things. He stared at the apple longer than he should have before setting it aside.
Hours passed.
The others stayed in their own rooms, preparing in their own ways. Elias was probably memorizing every detail of his file until it was etched in stone. Cael would be dissecting schedules until he found every weakness in the cover story. Sera might have been throwing her folder across the room just to see how far it bounced. And Imani… she'd probably be studying until she could walk into class tomorrow and smile like she belonged there.
Max lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep didn't come easy.
The voice whispered in the quiet.
They'll see you. They'll smell the fire on you. The Vice will know you before you know it.
He rolled onto his side, ignoring it.
Morning hit too soon.
The alarm buzzed at six. Max rose without hesitation, dragging on the crisp uniform. The fabric felt stiff, too clean, but when he looked in the mirror he almost didn't recognize himself. Not the boy in chains. Not the fighter on the rooftop. Just another transfer student, collar straight, tie crooked.
He hated it.
A knock at the door pulled him from the mirror. This time, Elias. His voice carried steady. "Time."
Max grabbed his bag, stepped into the hall. The others were already waiting, uniforms sharp, folders tucked away.
Sera whistled low. "Look at that. The fire hazard scrubs up."
Cael's pale gaze cut sideways. "He still stands out."
"Everyone stands out on their first day," Imani said, calm as ever. "The trick is to make it look intentional."
Justice appeared at the end of the hall, crimson hair catching the early light. He didn't waste words. "Move."
The van waited outside. Not the armored transport from the Wing — just a nondescript civilian vehicle, tinted windows, quiet engine. They climbed in, the hum of tires carrying them toward the gates of the school.
Justice sat in the front, back turned. His voice carried steady over the low rumble of the road.
"From this point forward, you are not operatives. You are not Blessed. You are not cursed. You are students. That's all anyone can see. Fail that, and you fail everything."
No one spoke.
Through the glass, Max caught sight of the school rising ahead. Gates tall and wide, students already streaming in. Ordinary kids, ordinary laughter. A world he didn't belong to.
Justice's final words landed heavy.
"Blend. Observe. And remember — the Vice is already watching."
The van slowed. The gates loomed closer.
The mission had begun.