Hope stepped into the dormitory, taking in his new living space.
It wasn't much.
The room was spacious but plain, designed for function rather than comfort.
Four separate beds were neatly arranged, one in each corner, with identical grey sheets and thin mattresses. Each bed had a small metallic locker beside it for personal belongings.
There were no decorations. No luxuries.
Just a mirror mounted on the opposite wall.
Hope's gaze flickered toward it before quickly looking away.
Cara had already left, but her words lingered in his mind.
"If you want to survive the Ashlands, make friends. It will be of help."
Hope scoffed.
Make friends?
He had spent his whole life alone, fighting for every scrap of food, avoiding unnecessary attachments.
And yet, here in this new environment, she was telling him he needed to trust others?
He shook his head and sat on the edge of his bed.
The mattress was thin but better than what he had in the outskirts.
For now, at least, this would be his home.
His fingers absentmindedly traced the fabric of the sheets as his mind wandered.
The other occupants weren't here yet.
Maybe they were out training. Maybe they hadn't arrived.
It didn't matter.
What mattered was that he had time to himself.
Or so he thought.
The Haunting Voice
A cold sensation crawled up his spine.
A whisper, so faint he almost dismissed it as his imagination, slithered into his ears.
"Oh, you think you can run away from me just by avoiding your reflection?"
Hope stiffened.
"I'm you. I'm in your head."
The voice was taunting, soaked with amusement.
A chill spread through his limbs.
Hope clenched his fists, willing his heartbeat to slow.
"No," he muttered under his breath. "You're not in my head. Fuck off."
He pressed his fingers against his temples, squeezing his eyes shut.
Ignore it.
It's not real.
It's not—
A sudden shift in the atmosphere made his skin prickle.
Hope's instincts flared—something was wrong.
Then he heard it.
A voice.
But this time, it wasn't in his head.
"Who are you talking to?"
Hope's eyes snapped open.
Three individuals stood at the entrance of the dormitory, their expressions ranging from confusion to unease.
One of them, a tall, muscular boy with dark skin and sharp features, had his arms crossed, staring at Hope like he had just grown a second head.
The second was leaner, with a calculating gaze and an unreadable expression, as if analyzing the situation before speaking.
The third was a girl, shorter than the others, with short, silver-streaked hair and a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes.
All three were looking at him like he was insane.
Hope's stomach twisted.
He had been so focused on fighting the voice in his head that he hadn't noticed them walk in.
And now?
Now they thought he was talking to himself.
Great.
Hope slowly exhaled, his mind scrambling for a response.
Whatever he said next could determine how these strangers saw him.
And in a place like this, perception meant everything.