Change of Darkness (The Change Series Book 3) by Jacinta Jade (best new books to read txt) 📕

fast, and show strength to survive. Or perish. Quickly. Brutally.

For as soon as that male captive had sat down, a massive form had exploded up from the sand before them and, with shocking speed, had attacked and slammed the offending captive down to the ground, a sickening crunch accompanying the movement.

It was over before all the grains of sand had even stopped falling through the air.

The gracefulness with which the scarred body had risen and leapt towards Siray and all the others had been terrifying. Absolute power, no mercy, and lethal skill.

‘In the arena, I am your master, and the reason you will continue to exist. Or not.’

The casual tone Herrin used was more chilling to Siray than even his eyes.

‘And as your master, you will address me as such if I ask you a question or command you to do something.’

More soft steps. Was he still circling? The hairs on Siray’s neck rose.

‘Run.’

The cold voice came from behind them this time.

A moment of frozen fear, tense enough that Siray could hear the pause and smell the sudden sweat breaking out around her.

Then the panicked breaking of the group, all sixty-one of them, splitting, darting, as they began running away from that cold voice.

Siray sprinted off, staying within the main group, but not getting out in front or letting herself drift to the back. Not that there was safety in numbers in this place, but to stand out, to be noticed, came with its own risks. Staying with the group was a form of camouflage.

So they ran across the sand, and soon the group was forced to turn and follow along the outside edges of the arena which was similar in shape to a hexagon, the outline of the sandy space mirrored above in the domed roof.

Although, Siray reflected, the term ‘arena’ might be far too nice for this place.

Roughly circular, with high walls that had been smoothed down bordering its edges, the arena had no obvious escape save the tunnel that Siray and the other captives had been forced to enter through. And those smoothed stone walls made Siray wonder just how long this place had existed … and how many captives like her had faced this training—and survived.

After completing two laps of the arena, she was forced to focus back on the task at hand when the mumbles started.

‘How long do we have to run for?’

Half complaint, half question, the voice came from someone behind Siray. She didn’t know the speaker, so she didn’t even turn her head but kept running. Her thought that it was not a good idea to stand out included being the only person speaking in a group that had been instructed to run.

And that was another thing she was quickly learning here. Instructions were usually literal. The order to wait, meant wait as you are, and do not move.

And it especially meant do not sit.

Because the body of the male captive who had done so that morning still remained in the centre of the warm arena, forgotten by the guards but a stark reminder to Siray and the others of what happened when you didn’t follow orders exactly.

And that was another scary thought. It was still very early in the day. They had been woken at the first spark of dawn, and not even a span had passed yet.

In the centre of the arena, Siray could see the blocky form of Master Herrin turning to follow their progress as they ran around the circumference of the space.

By their fourth lap, a couple more people had joined in the mumbled conversation, but Siray, like the rest of her own unit, determinedly stayed silent. Ahead of her, the athletic form of Wexner ran on quietly, also ignoring the mutters beginning to rise up around him. Siray could only hope that Wexner’s unit would follow his example. Not that she didn’t understand why some of the others were grumbling—even though they also had to know by now the dangers of doing so. She knew that they, too, were still recuperating from the torturous march they had been forced to make from the Gonron Facility to this Faction city. Knew that their bodies, like hers, were already protesting loudly at such poor treatment so soon.

But unlike them, she was taking the warnings of Master Herrin and the other Faction guards far more seriously.

At least running laps around the arena gave her and her friends a chance to do as Baindan had suggested that morning—to observe and learn about their new prison. Around them, the walls of the arena rose up, its expanse easily twice the size of the field at the training camp where she had learned to Change. As such, each lap took some time to complete, even at a run.

At the eighth lap, someone finally gave up. And started walking.

Siray didn’t realise anyone had stopped until the group of runners she was in rounded one end of the arena and saw a person at the far end before them.

And a person some way beyond them.

Two people, she realised, had stopped running. And nothing had happened.

This realisation swept rapidly across the dispersed group of runners, and soon more of the captives began to slow to a jog, then to a walk, dropping back.

Despite wishing desperately that she, too, could walk, Siray kept going, sure that to stop running would bring on a punishment at some point. Looking around, she noted that most of the others still running with her were her own friends.

But it was on their fifteenth lap that Loce started to whine.

‘This is stupid … the others have stopped, and nothing has happened, so why can’t we?’

Siray stayed silent, unable to spare the air to reply, but from beside her, Baindan growled out a low response without turning his head. ‘Don’t do it, Loce. I wouldn’t take anything here at face value.’

Baindan might actually have been trying to speak without moving his lips.

Loce groaned, his head of pale hair drooping, but he obediently kept