The first thing I noticed was the smell of earth. Damp, rich soil. It filled my nose, heavy and suffocating, like I had been buried alive. My head pounded in time with my racing heart, a dull, rhythmic ache that made it hard to think.
And then came the noise.
A metallic screech, loud and grating, like gears grinding together. The sound rattled through my skull, vibrating in my bones. My stomach lurched as the floor beneath me shifted, jerking upward.
I sucked in a breath—oil, rust, something metallic. Blood?
Panic swelled in my chest as I blinked into the darkness surrounding me. The walls of the small, metal cage pressed in too tightly, suffocating me. My fingers ran along the cold steel, searching for a way out, but all I found were unyielding walls and my own frantic heartbeat.
Where was I?
More importantly—who was I?
The thought hit me like a slap, knocking the air from my lungs. My mind was empty, a blank slate where memories should have been. No name. No past. Just me, trapped in this moving prison with no way out.
A sudden jolt knocked me sideways, sending me sprawling onto the floor. The air smelled even stronger of metal now, like the walls themselves were closing in. The movement slowed, then—
BANG.
Light exploded from above, blinding and brutal. I squeezed my eyes shut against it, but the damage was already done. Shapes moved in the brightness, silhouetted against the sky, voices rising in confusion.
"What the—?"
"Are you kidding me?"
"Bloody hell..."
My heart hammered as I tried to focus, squinting against the glare. I could make out faces now—boys, all of them, staring down at me like I was some kind of freak. I barely had time to register their wide eyes before strong hands grabbed my arms, hauling me up. My legs wobbled beneath me, weak and useless, but that wasn't what made my stomach twist.
It was their faces.
They weren't just surprised. They were shocked.
No, worse than that. Terrified.
I swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. "Where am I?"
No one answered right away. The boys were still frozen, their eyes darting between each other like they were waiting for someone else to speak.
Finally, one of them stepped forward. Blond, tall, and dressed in a dirt-stained shirt. His brown eyes flickered with something softer than the rest of them—concern, maybe. Or pity.
"Shuck me," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Then, louder, he said, "Welcome to the Glade, Greenie." His British accent was thick, almost comforting in a way. Almost.
I stared at him, pulse racing. "The what?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he glanced at the others, rubbing a hand over his face like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"The Glade," he repeated. "And you're the first girl to ever come through that Box."
Silence settled over us, heavy and unspoken. I felt their stares pressing into me, burning with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.
The first girl?
I had no memories, no clue who I was, and no idea where I had just been dumped. But somehow, I had already broken one of their rules.
And by the way they were looking at me—like I was an impossible puzzle, a problem they had no idea how to solve—I had a sinking feeling that being here was about to get a whole lot worse.