Kael did not sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt it again—that pressure, that invisible weight pressing inward instead of down, like the world was leaning closer to listen to him breathe. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks until they rearranged themselves into shapes that almost meant something.
Freezer.
The word echoed in his skull with a cadence too deliberate to be accidental.
He'd grown up hearing whispers. Every city had them. Stories traded in low voices after dungeon breaches or Hunter funerals. About Unrankables who were "taken somewhere." About people who came back different—or didn't come back at all.
Officially, the Freezer didn't exist.
Officially, Unrankables were given "specialized guidance."
Officially, nothing ever went wrong.
Kael turned onto his side and clenched his fists. The warmth in his palms flared in response, a low, responsive heat that made his skin prickle.
I didn't ask for this.
A soft knock came at his door.
"Kael?" His father's voice. Careful. Measured.
Kael sat up. "Yeah."
The door opened just enough for his father to slip inside. He didn't turn on the light. He never did, during these late talks. Instead, he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere past Kael's shoulder.
"They came by," his father said.
Kael's stomach dropped. "Who?"
"The Ministry liaison. Two hours ago."
Of course they had.
"They were very polite," his father continued. "Too polite."
Kael didn't respond. He already knew what that meant.
"They congratulated us," his father said quietly. "Said you were 'exceptional.' Said the country needs boys like you."
The heat in Kael's chest sharpened, no longer passive. It felt compressed now, like something being held down too hard.
"What else?" Kael asked.
His father hesitated.
"They asked about your mother's medical records," he said. "And Mira's school schedule."
The words landed heavier than any threat could have.
Kael swung his legs off the bed. "Why?"
His father finally looked at him then. There was anger there. And fear. The kind that didn't know where to go.
"They didn't say," he replied. "They didn't have to."
Silence stretched between them.
Kael understood something then, with a clarity that made his vision go sharp at the edges.
The Freezer wasn't an offer.
It was leverage.
The facility wasn't listed on any public map.
Kael noticed that immediately.
They drove for nearly an hour, past the edges of the city and into a stretch of land so aggressively normal it felt engineered. Flat roads. Identical trees. No signage except a single, unmarked checkpoint manned by soldiers who didn't wear insignia.
The car windows darkened automatically as they passed through.
"Security protocol," the driver said without inflection.
Kael watched his reflection fade from the glass.
Erasing me already, he thought.
The building rose out of the ground like it had been grown rather than constructed. Pale metal. No windows. Smooth surfaces broken only by narrow vents that exhaled mist into the air.
Cold mist.
The temperature dropped the moment Kael stepped out of the vehicle.
Not enough to hurt. Enough to notice.
Inside, the halls were bright and quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that existed because sound wasn't allowed to linger.
Kael was led into a conference room with a single long table and three people waiting.
Two he didn't recognize.
The third was the woman from the evaluation center.
"Mr. Rynn," she said, standing. "Thank you for coming."
He didn't bother correcting her. "You already came to my house."
Her smile didn't flicker. "We like to be thorough."
He sat.
A tablet slid across the table toward him. Lines of text scrolled past—clauses, contingencies, behavioral expectations.
Compliance agreements.
Operational secrecy.
Psychological monitoring.
Kael stopped scrolling.
"What happens if I refuse?" he asked.
One of the other officials—a man with steel-gray hair and eyes that never blinked—answered.
"You continue living your life," he said. "Under observation."
Kael looked at him. "And my family?"
The man tilted his head slightly. "Will be protected."
The word landed wrong.
"From what?" Kael pressed.
The woman interjected smoothly. "From uncertainty."
Kael laughed once, sharp and humorless. "That's not an answer."
"No," she agreed. "It isn't."
He leaned back in his chair, pulse steady despite the anger curling in his gut. "You said this program was about training."
"It is," the gray-haired man replied.
"And the rumors?" Kael asked. "About people breaking. About Unrankables not coming back the same."
The woman's gaze softened. Just a fraction.
"Power," she said, "has a cost. The Freezer exists to make sure that cost is paid safely. Controlled. For you—and for everyone else."
Kael stared at her.
Liar.
Not because he had proof.
Because the fire in his chest recoiled at her words like they were poison.
"What makes me different?" he asked quietly.
The room stilled.
The gray-haired man folded his hands. "You didn't register."
Kael's breath hitched.
"Most Unrankables," the man continued, "exist outside the system because they fall beneath it. Their abilities are too weak to quantify."
"And me?"
The woman met his eyes. "You exist outside it because it cannot measure you."
Silence.
"Your flame," she said carefully, "does not behave like fire should."
Kael thought of the casting circle cracking. Of the white heat coiled under his skin.
"What does it behave like?" he asked.
The woman didn't answer.
Instead, she tapped the tablet.
A new page appeared.
PROGRAM DESIGNATION: FREEZER
OBJECTIVE: ADAPTIVE CONDITIONING FOR UNRANKABLE ASSETS
Assets.
Kael signed.
Not because he believed them.
But because the alternative wasn't freedom.
The descent took nine minutes.
That was how long the elevator ran, straight down, without a single jolt or sound. The digital floor indicator ticked steadily lower, past numbers that didn't correspond to anything Kael had ever seen.
When the doors opened, cold rolled over him like a physical thing.
Not freezing.
Preserving.
The Freezer was vast. White floors. White walls. Rows of identical doors stretching into the distance, each marked with a number and a red light above the frame.
Some lights were green.
Some were dark.
Kael's escort stopped in front of a door labeled F-117.
"This will be your quarters," the woman said. "Orientation begins in six hours."
Kael looked past her. "How many of us are there?"
She hesitated.
"Enough."
The door slid open.
The room inside was simple. Bed. Desk. Sink. No windows. The air hummed faintly, vibrating against his skin in a way that made his teeth ache.
As the door closed behind him, Kael felt it fully for the first time.
The cold.
Not the temperature.
The absence.
The warmth in his chest flared violently in response, as if something inside him had just realized it was under threat.
Kael staggered, bracing himself against the desk.
His reflection in the polished surface wavered.
For a moment—just a moment—he thought he saw someone else looking back at him.
Not broken.
Not afraid.
Burning.
He inhaled sharply.
Somewhere deep in the Freezer, mechanisms shifted.
And far above, a government that believed it was buying time made its first mistake.