I paused at the threshold of what could generously be called a dining room. A long wooden table dominated the space, scarred with knife marks and what looked suspiciously like bullet holes. Morning light filtered through dirty windows, illuminating dust particles that danced in the air like malevolent spirits.
The knife guy - Rafe - sat on the table itself rather than a chair, boots planted firmly on the bench below. He was flipping that butterfly knife with practiced precision, the metal catching the light with each rotation.
"Look who decided to join the land of the living," a blonde girl called out, not bothering to look up from whatever she was doing. "Thought maybe you offed yourself in the night. Wouldn't be the first."
The tall guy wearing all black exhaled a cloud of smoke by the window. He turned to face me, cigarette dangling from his lips. Cassian's eyes were calculating as they swept over me.
"Give him a break, Mercy," Cas said, his voice surprisingly gentle despite his intimidating appearance. "Kid watched his dad get gutted. Shows some fucking respect."
I felt my jaw tighten. "I don't need your pity."
"Good," said the girl with blonde hair. "Because you won't get any in this shithole."
She wore heavy black eyeliner and an inverted cross necklace that seemed designed specifically to offend.
The shortest of the boys - I recalled him as Nico - snorted from where he sat aggressively stabbing what might have been scrambled eggs. "Fresh meat doesn't know what he's in for."
He stood up, abandoning his breakfast, and stalked toward me. Despite being at least a year younger and several inches shorter, there was something primal in his movement that set off warning bells in my head. One of his eyes was covered with an eyepatch, the visible one burning with intensity.
"What's the matter, new boy?" he taunted, getting in my face. "Scared?"
I didn't back up. "No."
"You fucking should be."
He shoved me, hard, testing my boundaries. I stumbled back a step before catching myself. My fists clenched automatically.
Something shifted in the room, a sudden stillness falling as everyone watched to see what I would do. This was a test - I understood that instinctively.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. "Touch me again, and we'll see who should be scared."
Nico's face split into a manic grin that didn't reach his eye. "Oh, I like this one. He's got teeth."
Before things could escalate, an athletic girl with curly black hair stepped between us. "Enough, Nico. Save it for training."
"Whatever you say, Val," Nico replied with a mocking bow, but he backed off.
"Sit," Val said to me, not unkindly. "Eat something before all the edible stuff is gone."
I took a seat at the far end of the table, away from most of them. A lanky guy with glasses pushed a plate of toast in my direction. He had multiple devices spread out in front of him instead of food.
"I'm Ezra," he said, not looking up from what appeared to be a custom - built tablet. "The tech guy. Don't touch my stuff and we'll get along fine."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I replied dryly.
"Morning ritual," said a voice to my left. I turned to see a guy with wild blond hair and circular gold - rimmed glasses. "Ezra threatens, Nico postures, Rafe and Mercy act like an asshole, and Cas watches like he's cataloging everyone's weaknesses for future reference."
His smile was slightly too wide, his energy barely contained as he bounced his leg under the table. A lighter flicked open and closed in his hand.
"You're Felix," I said, remembering the name.
"Felix 'Flint' Ashford, at your chemical service," he replied with a theatrical bow from his seated position. "Pyromaniac, chemist, and the reason why we're not allowed to use the east wing bathroom anymore."
"I told you not to flush that shit," Mercy groaned.
"It was a simple miscalculation!" Felix protested. "How was I supposed to know it would eat through the pipes?"
The set of identical twins sat across from us, silver hair catching the light. One was chewing gum with deliberate slowness, while the other shuffled a deck of cards with one hand. I couldn't tell which was which.
There was another boy at the table, silent and observant, wearing dark teal. He nodded at me once but didn't speak. Silas.
Val took a seat across from me, her posture military - straight. "Since no one's bothering with the orientation, I'll give you the rundown. I'm Valeria Cruz, but everyone calls me Val."
She gestured to the rest of the table. "You've met most of the boys. The quiet one in teal is Silas. As for the girls, you know me now, and that's Mercy. The redhead over there is Lily, and Nyx is..." she looked around. "Well, Nyx appears when she wants to. You'll meet her eventually."
I noticed a conspicuous absence. "And the goth girl?"
A few knowing glances were exchanged around the table. Rafe made a whipping sound.
"Vesper Lane," Val said. "She keeps to herself in the mornings. You'll see her at training."
"Speaking of which," Cas interrupted, stubbing out his cigarette on the windowsill, "we should go over the rules before Ash gets himself killed on day one."
"There are rules here?" I asked, surprised that this chaotic place had any structure.
"Not the kind written in a handbook," Val said, leaning forward. "But if you want to survive, listen up."
The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly, everyone's attention focusing. Even Ezra looked up from his devices.
"Rule one," Val began, her voice taking on a drill - sergeant quality. "Don't go out alone after dark."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because the things that can find you in the dark make that knife - wielding fucker who killed your dad look like a goddamn teddy bear," Rafe said bluntly.
I flinched at the reference to my father, but before I could respond, Val continued.
"Rule two: Don't talk to anyone who doesn't remember your name."
This one confused me. "What does that mean?"
It was Mercy who answered, her voice flat. "It means if someone has to ask who you are more than once in the same conversation, you're not really there for them anymore. Or at least, not all of you is."
A chill ran down my spine at her words.
"Rule three," Val continued. "Don't trust reflections."
"Mirrors lie," Lily piped up from further down the table, her blood - red hair falling over one eye. "They show what wants to be seen, not what's really there."
"This is bullshit," I said, pushing my untouched toast away. "You're all fucking with me."
"I wish we were," Felix said, his manic energy suddenly subdued. "God, I really wish we were."
Silas made a series of quick hand gestures that I couldn't interpret.
"He says your dad knew the rules," Ezra translated. "That's why he sent you here."
My chest tightened at the mention of my father again. "What do any of you know about my dad?"
"Only that he was smart enough to figure out what was hunting him," Cas said, taking a seat at the head of the table. "Not smart enough to escape it, but smart enough to save you."
"And what exactly was hunting him?" I demanded.
The room went silent. Glances were exchanged, weighted with meaning I couldn't yet decipher.
It was a new voice that answered, clear and precise, from the doorway.
"The same thing that's hunting all of us."
Vesper Lane stood there.
"We have swords class in ten minutes," she announced to the room. "Yoshida doesn't tolerate tardiness."
"Swords?" I repeated, certain I'd misheard.
"Katanas, specifically," Mercy clarified, standing and stretching. "Yoshida's obsessed with them. Says they're the perfect balance of offense and defense."
"I don't know how to use a sword," I said, feeling increasingly unmoored.
"You will," Vesper stated, not a suggestion but a fact. "Or you'll die. That's how it works here."
The matter-of-fact way she said it sent a chill through me.
"This is insane," I muttered.
"No, it's Tuesday," Felix chirped, his manic energy returning. "Insanity is more of a Friday vibe around here."
Everyone began filing out of the dining room, heading toward what I assumed was the training area. I remained seated, trying to process everything.
"Coming, Cross?" Vesper asked, pausing at the door.
"Why should I?" I challenged. "This isn't my world. Swords and rules about mirrors and - whatever the hell all this is."
She considered me for a moment, her gaze penetrating.
"Your father sent you here to survive, not to mourn," she said finally. "What do you think he'd want you to do right now?"
The words hit me like a physical blow. Before I could respond, she turned and walked away, clearly expecting me to follow.
I did.
- - -
The training room was a converted gymnasium, the floor lined with tatami mats. Racks of weapons lined the walls - not just katanas, but knives, staffs, and things I couldn't even name. It looked like an armory designed by someone with a fetish for Japanese feudal warfare.
An older Japanese man stood in the center of the room, his posture impeccable. Despite his age, evident in his gray - streaked hair and lined face, there was a deadliness to his stillness that commanded respect.
"Swordmaster Yoshida," Vesper whispered to me. "Former Yakuza enforcer. Don't ask about the missing fingers."
I hadn't noticed until she mentioned it, but his left hand was indeed missing two fingers.
We lined up in front of him, the other orphans falling into positions that spoke of long practice. I stood awkwardly at the end, feeling conspicuously out of place.
Yoshida's eyes swept over us, pausing momentarily on me.
"New student," he said, his accent light but present. "Step forward."
I did, fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
"Your name?"
"Ash Cross."
"Detective Cross's son," he nodded, surprising me with the recognition. "Your father was a skilled man. Determined. He came here sometimes, to train."
The revelation stunned me. My father had been here? Trained here?
"I - I didn't know," I admitted.
"There is much you do not know," Yoshida replied. "That will change, or you will die. There is no middle ground at Blackthorn."
He walked to a rack of katanas and selected one, testing its weight with practiced ease before bringing it to me.
"This was your father's," he said, offering the weapon.
I stared at the sheathed sword, unable to reconcile this with the man who had raised me - the one who made pancakes on Sundays and helped me with my math homework.
"I don't understand," I said, not taking it. "My dad was a detective. He carried a gun, not a sword."
"He was many things," Yoshida said simply. "As you will be, if you survive."
Reluctantly, I took the katana. It was heavier than I expected, the lacquered scabbard cool against my palm.
"Unsheathe it," Yoshida instructed.
I pulled the blade free, the metal catching the light with a whisper. The sword felt alien in my hand, yet somehow not entirely unfamiliar.
"Your stance is wrong," Yoshida observed. "But your grip is instinctively correct. Interesting."
He circled me slowly, making minor adjustments to my posture with firm touches.
"Combat is the purest form of therapy," he said. "It reveals who you truly are when everything else is stripped away."
"I'm not here for therapy," I replied.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "No one is. Yet everyone receives it nonetheless."
He stepped back and addressed the entire class. "Pair off for drills. Cross, you will work with me today."
The others dispersed across the mats. I watched as Rafe squared off against Nico, their movements already fluid and deadly. Vesper paired with Val, their contrasting styles - Vesper's cold precision against Val's military discipline - creating a fascinating dynamic.
"Focus, Cross," Yoshida snapped, drawing my attention back. "You will have time to admire Vesper Lane later."
Heat rushed to my face. "I wasn't - "
"First stance," he interrupted, demonstrating. "Like this."
For the next hour, he drilled me mercilessly, correcting every imperfection in my form with either a sharp word or a rap of his wooden practice sword against my knuckles. By the end, my arms burned, and sweat soaked through my shirt.
"You have potential," Yoshida concluded as the session wound down. "Your reflexes are good. Your discipline is not."
"Sorry to disappoint," I muttered, massaging my bruised knuckles.
"I did not say I was disappointed," he replied. "Merely that you have work to do. As do we all."
The others were finishing their drills, some already putting away their weapons. Mercy approached me, twirling her practice sword with casual expertise.
"Not bad for a first - timer," she said. "Most newbies end up bleeding."
"The day's not over yet," I replied dryly.
She laughed, a genuine sound that briefly transformed her cynical features. "True. Don't worry, we all go through 'combat therapy' daily here. You'll catch up."
"Why?" I asked, the question that had been burning in my mind since breakfast. "Why do you all need to learn to fight like this?"
The laughter died on her lips. Around us, conversations faltered as my question hung in the air.
Vesper appeared at my side, her practice session with Val concluded. Her proximity made me inexplicably nervous.
"The world forgot us, Ash," she said quietly, her eyes meeting mine with unflinching intensity. "That doesn't mean it stopped wanting us dead."
A heavy silence followed her words, broken only by the sound of Yoshida closing the weapons cabinet with a definitive click.
"Class dismissed," he announced. "Cross, maintain your father's blade. It is yours now."
I looked down at the katana in my hands - my father's secret, my inheritance. I reattached the scabbard, the weight of it symbolic of the burden I'd taken on without understanding it.
As we filed out of the training room, Felix fell into step beside me.
"Cheer up, Cross," he said, his energy somehow undimmed despite the intense training. "If it makes you feel any better, the sword training isn't even the weirdest part of your day."
"What is?" I asked, already dreading the answer.
His grin widened to manic proportions. "Mercy's Exorcism 101. That's tomorrow's first class."
"You're joking."
"God, I wish I was," he replied, echoing his words from breakfast. "But hey, at least you get to learn how to banish the spirits of the damned before lunch. Makes algebra seem pretty fucking tame by comparison, right?"