Chapter 9: Evaluation Week

Noah left his phone on his bedroom desk like he was setting down a piece of himself.

It felt wrong to walk out of the house without it.

It felt worse to realize how fast he’d gotten used to carrying a tracking device.

Mara picked him up two streets over in a car he didn’t recognize.

No small talk.

No explanation.

They drove west until the ocean smell faded and the trees thickened. The roads narrowed into the kind of back-country curves that made you lose your sense of direction on purpose.

The safehouse was a low building tucked behind a stand of pines, the windows shaded, the driveway gravel. It looked like a place that hosted youth retreats.

It felt like a place built to keep stories from leaving.

Mara parked and cut the engine.

“Masking,” she said.

Noah swallowed. He focused.

The technique settled over him like a tight jacket.

MASKING: ACTIVE FOCUS: DRAINING

“Good,” Mara said. “Now remember: quiet doesn’t mean weak. Quiet means hard to measure.”

Noah nodded once.

Inside, the air smelled like coffee and dry carpet. A lobby opened into a larger common room where several teenagers sat in spaced-out clusters, pretending not to stare at each other.

Candidates.

Noah’s stomach clenched.

He’d been the only one for weeks.

Now he was a number.

Mara touched his elbow once, brief. “Don’t isolate.”

Noah looked at her.

“That’s an order?” he asked.

“It’s advice,” Mara said. “Take it.”

She walked off toward a hallway lined with closed doors.

Noah stood there a moment, feeling the room’s attention brush against him.

Masking kept him quiet. It didn’t make him invisible.

He forced himself to move.

He found a seat at the edge of a group and sat with his hands flat on his thighs, breathing slow.

Across the room, someone looked up from their phone-less hands and met his gaze.

Jules.

He was taller than Noah had pictured, with tired eyes and a jaw always braced for impact. He wore a plain hoodie and sneakers like he’d come straight from a summer job.

Jules stood and crossed the room.

“Noah?” he asked.

Noah stood too, because standing felt safer than being approached.

“Jules,” Noah said.

Jules’ mouth twitched. “Weird seeing you in 3D.”

Noah let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. “Yeah.”

Jules stuck out a hand.

Noah shook it.

Jules’ grip was firm, steady. Not a challenge.

“You okay?” Jules asked, low.

Noah hesitated.

Okay meant normal.

Okay meant safe.

“I don’t know,” Noah said.

Jules nodded like that was an answer he respected. “Same.”

Someone called names from the hallway.

The first trial set began.

The evaluation gym was larger than the safehouse garage, with clean mats and mirrored walls that made Noah feel doubled.

Observers lined the far side of the room—adults in neutral clothes, clipboards in hand, faces arranged into professional boredom.

Noah’s neck prickled.

Masking tightened around him.

FOCUS: DRAINING

The drills were familiar: movement patterns, balance work, breath under strain. Everything Mara had built into him, only now the room was full of people waiting for him to make a mistake.

Noah moved anyway.

He kept his breath quiet.

He kept his focus on a fixed point in the mirror—his own shoulders—making sure nothing in him flinched louder than the drill required.