Page 41 of The Phantom's Vice

The Code: Rule #11

Friendships (within and outside of the Sanctum) are strictly prohibited.

25 years ago…

“Light’s out!”Master claps twice, and the room goes deadly silent, any sign of joy previously in the room squashed by his entrance. There’s a faint rustling as all the Rooks dutifully slide under their tweed sheets, none of the ten-year-olds daring to disobey a direct command.

It’s been five years since I entered the Academy of Phantoms. Five years since my birther—mother is a term I now refuse to use—sold meto those masked men. Men I now know to be a class of masks called Reapers.

Unlike Phantoms, Reapers specialize in security and low-profile assassination. Their training is far less intense, meaning some of them are able to retain their humanity—which makes sense when I think back to that blond Reaper and how he seemed genuinely concerned for that child’s well-being. My well-being.

I can no longer recall the fear I felt on that day when they took me in front of the Madam. The way I felt like a bug under a microscope as she had those doctors poke and prod me for hours, trying to find my weak spot. The only feeling I possess now is hate. I’m consumed by it. I want to live in it—die in it if I must. An incredibly high possibility, considering only one of us in this room will make it out alive.

I clench my hands beneath the threadbare sheet, listening for when Master eventually closes the cabin door. The room is silent for a few more minutes like we’re expecting him to come back and ensure we’re well and truly asleep.

“What a fucking killjoy, am I right?”

The room bursts into quiet chuckles as the voice of my best friend Brenden breaks the silence. I sit up,causing the bunk to rattle and sway. Brenden lets out a little yelp at the sudden motion, and I chuckle beneath my breath with the rest of the boys.

“Not cool, Ghost. Not cool,” Brenden grumbles, swinging his arm over the side and trying to smack me. I grin at the use of my new name—the name Brenden gifted me last month. I’m still getting used to it, but it certainly has a better ring to it than P-1313. Or—even worse—Boy.

“Jesus. Sounded like there was an MIT in here. You’re such a bitch, Brenden.” Randy, one of the older Rooks, chuckles like he just made the joke of the century. Madams In Training, is what he’s referring to, and though the joke is in good fun, it makes my blood boil. How dare he talk about Brenden like that? Sure, he spooks easily, but that’s no reason to make fun of my friend.

I move to stand from my bunk, but something holds me back when I try to move. I look to the side, noticing Brendan’s hand on my shoulder.

“Relax, Ghost,” he mutters, that easygoing smile of his shining dimly in the moonlight-filled room. “We’ll get him back in the circle tomorrow.”

Right. The circle. Our first real test in the program.

I shudder, looking down at my palms.They were already mutilated before I entered the program, but after five years, they’re barely recognizable compared to the hands of my classmates. The angry red scar tissue is brittle and cracked in several places, leaking pus and blood from our dagger-handling lesson this morning. I memorize the faint blue lines of my veins peeking through the near-translucent skin, wondering if I have it in me to kill somebody. If I can truly kill one of my brothers.

One of the cruelest parts of our training is the camaraderie they purposely nurture in us. The way they instill teamwork and brotherhood, only to make us kill each other in the end. I don’t understand why, but Master assures us it’s to make us the best Masks possible in order to properly serve the Sanctum.

My eyes shoot to the side where Randy and his bunkmate, Matt, whisper. I would have no problem ending one of their lives, but… I look up at Brenden, who, unaware of the war going on in my mind, gives me another one of his charismatic smiles. I could never kill Brenden. If it came down to him and me, I… I would let him live.

Brenden is the good one. With his ginger hair, bright blue eyes, and sweet personality, no one expects him to make it through the program. That’swhy I’ve made it my mission to ensure he does, to protect him with my last breath. It’s the least I can do, though it pales in comparison to what he’s done for me—given me. A name of my own.

“Penny for your thoughts, Ghosty?”

I grin up at Brenden, my mind lighter just at the sight of his bright, carefree smile. “Your mom,” I say, falling into a fit of laughter as Brenden rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you. You better hope we don’t get paired up tomorrow,” he jokes with a wink.

I laugh with him, though my stomach tightens at the insinuation. I couldn’t bear to be in that circle with Brenden. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—ever hurt him.

I sigh, lying back on the straw pillow and closing my eyes. “We should get some rest,” I mutter, knocking twice on the slats above as our way of saying good night. Brenden knocks back, and I listen to the creaks and groans of the bunk as Brenden tries to get comfortable.

The rest of the brothers seem to have the same idea because soon after, a hush falls over the room—this time much more relaxed than when Master had ordered us to bed earlier.

I will sleep to take me, but like most nights, my mind refuses to turn off. I’m looking out of a train window as a thousand pictures flashin my mind, causing my heart to rush and my breath to quicken. Scattered snores fill the room now, though I’m barely aware as I run through the day my mo—the day she gave me to the Reapers. I want to know why she gave me up—what I did that was so terrible that she couldn’t live with me. I wasn’t a bad child. I was gentle and cheerful, and just wanted someone to love me.

With an angry huff, I shake off that line of thought and let the hatred swallow up every last feeling I possess. I try to bottle it up, to save it for tomorrow, but I know by the time the match takes place tomorrow, I still won’t have it in my heart to hurt my brothers.

I’m so fucking weak. I’m a failure—as a son, as a Phantom. Perhaps it will be a mercy if I’m the one to die tomorrow. If my end is swift and?—

“Ghost?”

I’m startled out of my dark thoughts by Brenden’s voice. He doesn’t sound normal, though. He sounds… panicked.

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