Chapter 5: The Bunk Room Truce

The return to COP Titan was a miserable trek. The mud had caked onto our boots, making every step feel like we were dragging anchors. When we finally broke the threshold of the plywood barracks, the air was thick with the smell of wet wool and exhausted men.

I sat on my cot, my hands trembling as I reached for a towel. The makeup was gone—completely washed away—and for the first time, I didn't reach for the compact to hide. I felt the weight of nineteen stares.

"Hey."

I looked up. Standing there was a scrawny kid I hadn't seen before. He had a lopsided grin and a pack that looked like it was wearing him.

"I'm Moreno, but everyone calls me Stitch," he said, dropping his gear on the empty cot next to mine. He looked at my face, his eyes landing on the white patches around my jaw. "Whoa, that’s cool. It looks like lightning. My brother back in El Paso has that. He says it’s because he’s part ghost."

A few of the guys snickered, but it wasn't the jagged, mean laugh I was used to. It was just... a laugh.

"I'm Coraline," I said, my voice raspy.

"Nice to meet you, Ghost," Stitch chirped, already digging into a bag of beef jerky.

Across the room, Thorne slammed his locker door shut. The metal echoed like a gunshot. He didn't say a word, but the look he gave Stitch was pure venom. The power dynamic in the room had shifted an inch, and Thorne hated it.