​I lie in my bed, listening to the bustling outside of my window. The sun hasn’t even risen over our border’s walls, and already the village is busy preparing for this year’s Trials. Despite the early morning, the heat of summer is already permeating through the pit that is our home. The hole that we live in, surrounded by high, curved walls for which our city is named—The Crater—makes the humidity lurk in our town, creating a thick layer of sweat that is permanently stuck to our bodies. I can almost smell the stench of the townspeople outside through the thin, torn drapery of my window. It makes my stomach turn.

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I prop myself up on one elbow, my hair sticking to the beads of sweat that have accumulated on my forehead overnight. There’s just enough light to see into my small loft, my sister still sleeping in the bed next to mine, curled up on her side. She looks so comfortable, not a bead of sweat staining her forehead or clothes. I’ve never been able to figure out how she does it, and I probably never will.

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Quietly, I swing my legs off the bed and into my soft-soled shoes. They’re worn out from years of use, but I don’t mind. They are exactly what I need today as I head out my door into the bustling stream of people.

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The Market is teeming with life. The vendors work hastily to set up their shops in time for the afternoon event, ensuring all their best wares are on display for the Pure and Soma visitors. These products would never be sold to an Untouched like me, or the rest of The Crater’s residence. We don’t deserve such luxuries. An Untouched like me is no more than an item, one that will eventually be used at the whims of the Soma and the Pure for their genetic gain. We are no more valued than the rats on the street.  

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My eyes aren’t used to the vivid colours streaming from their shops, with flaming reds, deep purples, and neon greens and pinks overwhelming my senses. It’s beautiful, but knowing the cause of this grand display has bile rising in my throat. How could they make such an awful thing into something so attractive?

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I force the thought out of my mind—it’s of no use to me now and it’s time for me to get to work. My fingers twitch into action as I make my way through the throng of people, my hands slipping in and out of pockets as I go. Everyone is too busy to notice someone like me walking around on a day like this. My task becomes hypnotic, my hands finding their place with an almost lazy perfection as I make my way from The Market to The Valley.

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Down the street, the crowd begins to thin as I move into the wealthier area of town. Here, I have to be much more cautious. Security officers fill the streets, and if I’m not careful, I could quickly lose a hand. Their uniforms are adorned in black and white, contrasting with the colourful array of merchandise flowing through the markets. They carry no weapons, as is customary in The Crater. They would have no need for them, regardless. The security personnel are Somas and with their genetic modifications, they have nothing to fear from us Untouched.

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I quickly grab a nearby stack of cloth from a wagon in the street, blending into the crowd as just another worker preparing for the day. I essentially become invisible to the Somas, as an Untouched should be. This is my routine, my hand reaching out under the cloth for a filled coin purse.

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What if this won’t be my routine after the Trials? What if I am chosen?

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The thought makes my hand stutter, and my finger catches on the loop of the coin purse, sending it scattering to the ground and spilling into the streets. I pause a moment, startled, my mouth agape. I haven’t dropped a lift since I was six, and doing it in this part of town could mean death.

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The stranger pivots to me, his piercing violet eyes meeting mine. My heart stops in my chest. He’s a Soma. His eyes flare in anger, and I bow my head low to the ground—an act of submission. Being an Untouched means you are nothing, I am nothing. And I’ve just been caught stealing from a Soma. The rest of the village stands still. I’m as good as dead, and they are waiting for the show.

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“Sir, I’m deeply sorry for my actions. My cloth caught on your belt. It won’t happen again,” I stutter out, my eyes staying fixed on the ground as I scoop up his coins and purse, handing them to him.

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His hand gently removes the purse from my grasp and slips it onto his belt. Without warning, his fingers curl under my chin, lifting it with a touch so sensitive it feels as if he’s composed of feathers. I slowly look up, my eyes meeting his. The swirling mix of silver and violet is intoxicating.  

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“What is your name?” he asks, the words slipping through his lips like silk.

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“Mikayla,” I say, my name sounding blunt and forced from my mouth. I curse at myself—why would I give him my real name?  

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“Mikayla,” he croons. “What an interesting name for an Untouched. Almost pretty.” His hand snakes up my chin and wraps itself around my jaw tightly, squeezing until pain begins to shoot up my jaw and into my temples. His eyes glow with a smug arrogance—he’s enjoying himself. 

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Soma officers approach, taking in the situation with grave amusement. I say nothing as his grip starts to become uncomfortably tight, his nails digging into the upper part of my jaw until I’m certain blood begins to flow. Still, I remain silent. Humility or escape are my only options, and neither have great odds.

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His eyes scan my face, then work their way down my body. The coldness of his stare brings a chill to my spine. I feel small under his gaze, wanting to pull myself inward or run, anything to escape his stare, but I do not move. I will not.

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“How old are you?” he purrs.

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My stomach pitches at the tone of his voice. “I just turned seventeen this month, sir,” I stammer.

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His eyes glow with sudden amusement. “How wonderful! This will be your first year in the Trials, then?” he says with glee.

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I can feel the blood drain from my face, making me dizzy. “The months have not been chosen yet,” my voice croaks out, barely a whisper.

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“Oh, yes. Of course, you may be so unlucky as to not be chosen,” he tuts.

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“Yes, it would be a great shame,” I say, my eyes searching his for some glint of sympathy. I find none.

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“That it would. You know, it is a privilege to be chosen for the Trials. To give your body to the great discoveries of genetics. Just think of the power you could help us wield.” His words glide intoxicatingly over one another, every villager’s gaze now turning in his direction. The other Somas glance over, a knowing smile creeping across their faces.

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My eyes go wide—he’s an Allure.

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He can feel my body stiffen, and it makes his smile shift into a disturbing grin.

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“Now, why don’t you tell me the truth, you little thief?” he lulls.

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My thoughts become scattered and foggy, his breath mingling into my senses. Allures are a sub-race of Somas and Pures. They are master manipulators, able to release pheromones that manipulate the biochemistry of those around them. Some even say that the more powerful Pures can control your mind completely.

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“I…I was…” My mouth moves against my will, forming words that will surely get me killed.

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Suddenly, a loud crack echoes through the plaza. The Soma’s hand slips from my chin, dropping me to the ground with a heavy thump. I can see his eyes searching in annoyance as the Soma officers spring into action, pushing the Untouched out of the way and into their merchant stalls. Another loud crack sounds through the plaza and the Allure leaps back, landing hard as a spark soars over my head and explodes into brilliant colours. Fireworks?

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A strong hand scoops under my elbow and drags me forward. I don’t stop to ask questions as we barrel through the calamity of sweat-ridden bodies, all scrambling for safety. The hand holds me tightly, expertly weaving us both through the crowd. Another loud crack echoes around me, and a sudden force throws me back, the hand slipping from my arm. I turn, desperately trying to find the other Untouched, but in front of me is only chaos. Through the sea of faces, I see the Allure making his way through the crowd. The panicked people part in bizarre patterns as he manipulates them out of his way, his eyes focused on me.  

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Spinning, I launch myself headlong into the crowd. Another crack explodes above. My mind races as I push my way toward the path I’ve taken so many times before, but it’s impossible. My small frame is being tossed back and forth by the sea of bodies around me, and I can’t even see where I am. The bodies once again begin to part as the Allure makes his way toward me.

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Suddenly, a hand grasps my shoulder hard and tugs, the force yanking me off my feet. My body spins around, and my hands ball into fists, flying forward in hopes of landing on their mark. They do. My hand connects with the person’s stomach, and a low groan escapes their mouth, but they don’t let go. I wind up for another swing when I look into the face of the person holding me. It’s Coup.

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“Come on, this way!” he says, and drags me forward once again. Moments later, we burst from The Market and into The Valley.

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I lean down to catch my breath and look up to see Coup standing over me, worry etched on his face. I stand up, wrapping him in a hug.

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For a moment, he holds on, then laughs. “Ugh, let go of me, you’re all sweaty.”

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I pull away, and give him a playful shove. Coup is a year older than me, but we’ve been friends since I can remember. When we were just ten and eleven, both of our parents were conscripted for duty in the Pure’s war with the neighbouring Pure kingdom. We looked out for each other. Coup’s parents and my mother were listed as Essential Forces, extending their military service indefinitely, which is lucky in our world. My father was killed in action, a story most of the Untouched know all too well. My sister did her best for me by landing a necessary service job, exempting her from both the Trial and war service. She did her best to teach me her trade, but I could never get the hang of it. Coup was the only one who seemed to understand.

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We always talked about leaving this place, escaping for something better. Then, last year, Coup’s birthday month was selected for the Trial. I thought I would die, right there and then. I was forced to sit and watch—as is Crater law—as he ran like a rat through the deadly maze. Coup was one of the rare lucky ones.

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The memory makes my eyes start to sting, and I quickly turn away from him.

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“Hey Mal, it’s okay,” he says, his hand softly rubbing my back.

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“No, I know,” I say, trying to brighten my voice. I don’t want to turn around, for fear that I’ll start to cry. The thought makes my cheeks redden in shame. “I was just thinking about the Trial.”

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His hands grab my shoulders and turn me to face him. His expression is kind, but there’s a darkness in his eyes. “Mal, you’re going to be alright. I’ve taught you everything I learned from last year. Besides, you don’t even know if our month will be chosen.”

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I stand up straighter, pushing the tears from my eyes.

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“I know,” I say with a sigh. I pause, wanting to change the subject. Coup is my best friend, but I don’t handle public displays of emotion well. It makes you seem weak.

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Coup senses my discomfort, and a wry smile plays on his face. “So, what did you think of the fireworks show?” he asks.

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My eyes grow wide. “That was you?”

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“Let’s just say, you owe me.” He laughs, and I give him a small shove, laughing with him.

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Our moment is cut short by a screeching sound as the monitors speckled throughout The Crater spark to life, and a Soma announcer appears on the screen.

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“Attention, citizens. As you know, today is the grand day of this year’s Trials!” They pause as applause emanates from the screen, though the town is dead silent.

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“Yes, it is very exciting. As you know, the Trials are the greatest achievement of our Kingdom, allowing ten of our young citizens to participate in the betterment of the future and become our Gifted!”

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I scoff, and Coup shakes his head. He knows better than I how wrong these Trials are. They usually have upward of forty chosen, with the winners of the Trials being those who come within the top ten. The contestants are aware of their placement during the Trial, but have little control over where they place. If you go too slow, the tests of the maze will kill you, but too fast, and you risk finishing in the top ten. Once the tenth person has crossed the finish line, the trials are over. Anyone left is returned home to work or be conscripted if necessary. The Gifted become test subjects, their genes spliced and manipulated in the search for genetic perfection.

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“Now, our Trial selection will begin. This year, a special guest will be selecting the month ballots.”

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The newscaster moves away, and the person who walks on screen greets us with a warm smile. My throat closes, and Coup’s eyes grow wide beside me.

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It’s the Allure from The Market.

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“Hello, everyone. I must say, your town brings a lot of excitement. How about we bring some more with this year’s Chosen!” his voice rings out. I think I’m going to puke.

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He plunges his hand into the bowl and pulls out a fine slip of black paper. Turning it to the camera, he displays the gold calligraphy.

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“January,” he states, then rips the paper. It sparks into brilliant wisps of gold and red, then disappears. A fancy trick for dramatic effect.

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Coup and I both let out a sigh of relief. We both share the same birth month—August. The Allure puts his hand back into the bowl and pulls out another slip.

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“May,” he says, holding up the paper showing the beautiful, deadly writing before it burns into nothing.

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Coup and I hold our breath as the Allure once again reaches into the bowl.

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“And the final month.” He pauses. For a moment, he looks disappointed. His eyes seem to darken, and then he tears the paper in two. I can hear the murmurs floating through the city, a collective state of confusion.

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“Oh, silly me, I just get so caught up in the theatrics. The final month is August,” he declares. A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Good luck to all participants, and a special good luck to Mikayla. I look forward to seeing you all in top form.”

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Coup grabs hold of my shoulders as my knees buckle under me. We’re officially in this year’s Trial, and it’s all my fault.