The city inside the Walls was shifting.
Banners bearing the Council's insignia—black and silver, shaped like a broken sun—hung from the rooftops. Loudspeakers crackled with static as soldiers moved through the streets, clearing space in the central square. The Hall loomed in the distance, casting its long shadow over the crowd gathering below.
The Offering was coming.
And everyone knew it.
Mallory stood by the window of her family's shelter, watching the movement outside. Her fingers drummed against the windowsill, restless. She could feel it in her bones—like a storm building behind her ribs.
She turned away from the window, grabbed her jacket, and slipped out before her father could stop her.
The trading market was alive with noise and motion.
Vendors shouted over one another, offering salvaged tech, dried food, and hand-forged weapons. Children darted between stalls. Soldiers watched from the edges, silent and still.
Mallory moved through the crowd, her hood up, eyes scanning the faces. She didn't know what she was looking for—maybe a distraction. Maybe a reason to believe she wouldn't be chosen.
But deep down, she already knew.
She was going.
She always was.
She turned a corner near the weapons stalls—and collided with someone.
Hard.
She stumbled back, hand instinctively going to her crossbow. The figure she'd bumped into was tall, lean, wearing a dark hooded jacket and a black mask that covered the lower half of his face. A sword was strapped across his back—sleek, curved, and clearly well-maintained.
Their eyes met.
His were sharp, pale gray, and wide with surprise.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he blinked, took a step back—and turned away without a word, disappearing into the crowd like smoke.
Mallory stood there, heart racing.
Who was that?
She didn't know. But something about him felt… familiar. Or maybe just important.
She shook it off and turned toward the weapons stall.
The vendor was an older woman with a scar across her cheek and a sharp eye for quality.
"You're back," she said. "Looking for something quieter this time?"
Mallory nodded. "Something lighter. Faster."
The woman reached beneath the counter and pulled out a compact crossbow—sleek, black, with a reinforced grip and a collapsible frame.
"Built it myself," she said. "Won't jam. Won't miss."
Mallory tested the weight. It felt right.
"I'll take it."
Back home, the sun was beginning to set. The city glowed in shades of rust and gold. Mallory stood in front of the mirror in the small washroom, scissors in hand.
She stared at her reflection—long blonde hair tangled from the wind, dirt smudged across her cheek, eyes too old for seventeen.
She took a breath.
And began to cut.
Strand by strand, her hair fell to the floor. When she was done, it barely brushed her shoulders. Lighter. Sharper. Like shedding a skin.
She looked at herself again.
Not a child.
Not a soldier.
Something in between.
She strapped the new crossbow to her back, tied her hair, and stepped outside.
Tomorrow, the names would be called.
And she would be ready.
The morning came heavy with silence.
No market stalls opened. No children played in the alleys. No soldiers barked orders in the streets. The entire city inside the Walls held its breath.
It was the Day of the Offering.
Mallory sat at the edge of her cot, fully dressed, her new crossbow resting beside her. Her freshly cut hair clung to her damp neck. She hadn't slept. Neither had her parents.
Elira sat at the table, hands clasped tightly, lips moving in silent prayer. Corin stood by the window, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He hadn't spoken to Mallory since the night before.
Outside, the loudspeakers crackled to life.
"Citizens of Walls. Today, we honor the Twelfth Offering. Twelve of our youth, chosen to serve the city. To protect it. To survive beyond the Walls."
The voice was cold. Measured. It belonged to Commander Voss, the Council's mouthpiece.
"The names have been drawn. The first: Elias Thorn."
Somewhere in the city, a family broke.
"Second: Rhea Solen."
Another name. Another silence.
"Third: Mallory Devlin."
The world stopped.
Elira gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "No… no, not her…"
Corin turned sharply. "No. This is a mistake."
Mallory didn't move.
"Fourth: Dread Halden."
The name echoed faintly in her mind, but she barely registered it.
Elira was crying now, her shoulders shaking. "They can't take her. She's not—she's not ready—"
"She's more than ready," Corin snapped, his voice cracking. "But that doesn't mean I'll let them—"
Mallory stood.
Both parents turned to her.
"I knew," she said softly. "I knew it would be me."
Corin stepped forward. "You don't have to go. We can hide you. We can—"
"No," she said. "If I run, they'll take someone else. Someone who won't survive."
Elira reached for her, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Mallory…"
Mallory hugged her tightly. "I'll come back. I promise."
Corin stood frozen, fists clenched. "You shouldn't have to do this."
"I do," she said. "Because no one else will."
A knock at the door.
Three soldiers stood outside, rifles slung, expressions blank.
"Mallory Devlin," one said. "You've been summoned."
She nodded, stepped out, and didn't look back.
Across the city, twelve homes were visited. Twelve teenagers were taken from their families. Some went in silence. Others screamed. Some parents begged. Others cursed the Council.
But none of it mattered.
The Offering was law.
The twelve stood in a line before the Hall.
The plaza was empty, save for the soldiers and the towering black spire that loomed above them. The Hall's surface reflected nothing. It absorbed light, sound, hope.
Mallory stood near the center, her crossbow strapped to her back, her eyes scanning the others.
To her left: a tall boy with dark hair and a sword on his back. He didn't look at her, but she could feel the tension in his stance.
To her right: a girl with silver hair and a black facemask, if she remembered correctly. Her eyes were unreadable.
Further down the line, the red-haired boy with too much energy and a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Twelve of them.
Twelve Offerings.
The Hall's doors began to open with a deep, mechanical groan.
And the darkness inside welcomed them.