The cafeteria was buzzing again, not from tension this time—but from gossip.
"Did you hear?" one cadet whispered over his cereal. "Two seniors sparred so hard, they cracked the west arena floor."
"No way. That floor's reinforced six times over."
"They say Yuno broke it with one punch. One."
Caleb stirred his oatmeal with mechanical disinterest. He sat across from Riley, who was balancing a tiny teacup on the back of her spoon like she was defusing a bomb.
"Please stop," he muttered.
"Shh. I'm concentrating," Riley said, tongue out slightly as she tried to lift the spoon without toppling the cup. "This is peak breakfast performance."
"Why not just drink it from the cup?"
"Because then I'd be normal."
"You're never normal."
She winked. "Exactly."
The spoon flipped. The tea splashed. The table was baptized. Riley gasped like someone had insulted her ancestors.
Caleb handed her a napkin. "A moment of silence for your great plan."
"I will rebuild," she declared solemnly.
Their laughter faded into a comfortable silence, the first real one Caleb had felt in days. He realized how much he needed it. Needed her. Her ridiculousness grounded him—reminded him that not everything had to be shadows and voices.
But the day didn't stay light.
It never did.
Training today wasn't in the usual arena. Jian led them into a corridor few of them had walked before—one marked "Section K."
Caleb glanced at Riley, who frowned. "Section K is used for psyche conditioning," she whispered.
"Is that as creepy as it sounds?"
"Oh, definitely."
Jian opened a thick door that hissed as it swung out. Inside was a narrow room with curved glass walls. It looked like a cross between a therapy office and an isolation chamber. One chair. One table. One monitor on the far wall.
"You'll go in one at a time," Jian said. "This isn't a physical challenge. It's a trigger test."
"A what?" someone asked.
"You'll be shown Rift-induced illusions," Jian replied. "They're tailored to what the Rift senses in you. Weakness, trauma, memory. Your job is to stay grounded."
A nervous murmur rippled through the group.
"Riley, you're up first," Jian called.
Riley rolled her eyes. "Of course I am."
Caleb watched her step inside, the door sealing behind her. Through the glass, he could see her sit in the chair. The monitor flashed. Her posture stiffened. Then she leaned forward, frozen.
He clenched his fists. "Is she okay?"
Jian didn't answer.
After five minutes, the door hissed open again. Riley stepped out, face pale but eyes sharp.
"What happened?" Caleb asked as she passed him.
She didn't answer at first.
Then she said, "It showed me something that felt real. Something I forgot I remembered."
Then she added, "Don't fall for it. Whatever you see—it's not truth. Just reflection."
Caleb's turn came two names later.
The door closed behind him with a click that sounded far too final.
He sat.
The monitor blinked on.
Static. Then—an image.
His childhood home.
His mother standing in the kitchen, her back turned, humming a lullaby he hadn't heard in years.
"Caleb," she said, not turning. "You left the door open again. You let it in."
He stood, instinctively.
"I—what?"
She turned.
Her eyes were black, swirling with Rift-smoke. Her smile stretched too wide.
"You let it in, Caleb. You brought it home."
The walls began to crack. The floor pulsed like a heartbeat.
He backed up. "This isn't real. This isn't real."
The illusion didn't care.
The house around him caught fire—slow, creeping flames licking up childhood memories.
He closed his eyes.
Breathed.
"I'm in a test room. Section K. This is an illusion. You're not my mother."
When he opened his eyes again, the fire was gone. The room was back.
So was Jian, standing behind the glass, nodding once.
The door opened.
He stepped out, heart thudding, sweat clinging to his spine.
Riley met him at the end of the hallway. She held out a wrapped candy bar.
"You passed."
He blinked. "Is that a reward?"
"No, I just figured you needed chocolate."
"…Thanks."
"You saw your mom, didn't you?" she said softly.
He nodded.
"Yeah. That's how the Rift gets you. Makes it personal."
They walked back in silence.
Not the heavy kind.
The kind shared by people who had seen something raw and real—and come out still walking.
Barely.