Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 54

Her Obsession.

Not Enough.

The hours crawled My world stayed dark, damp, and suffocating under the hood, every breath laced with the stench of mildew and rust. My shoulders ached from being locked in place, my wrists raw under the cuffs. Then came the sound I’d been waiting for, the mechanical groan and click of locks disengaging in sequence. One after another, the cages opened. Free time. An hour for the little ghosts to stretch their legs, wash off in the corner showers, maybe whisper a word to someone they trusted, before the next round of training broke whatever comfort they found. Footsteps padded closer, small, hesitant. I felt the faintest brush of fingers at the edge of my hood, trying to tug it up.

“Stop My voice came low, firm.

The hands froze.

“Don’t touch me,” I murmured, shifting my head just enough for the kid to know I meant it. “If the guards see you, I’m not the one they’ll hurt. And they’ll burt you worse just to prove a point.”

Silence. Then, after a long beat, the sound of those bare feet retreating across the concrete. I exhaled slowly, letting the darkness press back in. Protecting them meant keeping them away from me, for now. The hour passed in a slow, grinding rhythm of shuffling feet, hushed voices, and the hiss of the showers in the corner. I counted heartbeats under the hood, every tick of time dragging me closer to the inevitable. The siren blared, short, sharp, and ugly. Free time was over. Metal doors slammed, boots stomped. Guards barked orders, their voices cutting through the stale air.

“Line up!”

Chains rattled at my wrists as someone unlocked the chair restraints. My arms screamed from being pinned so long, but I didn’t flinch. A fist gripped the back of my hood and yanked me upright.

“She’s with them,” Yakov’s voice snapped from somewhere behind. “Ghost trains too.”

The guards shoved me toward the open floor where the kids stood in two neat lines, heads high, eyes forward. My legs were heavy from hours of stillness, every step a raw pull against old and new injuries. The hood came off, and the light stabbed at my eyes.

“Today,” Yakov announced, his voice a predator’s purr, “we remind the Ghosts what they are. No exceptions.”

And then the training began. The yard was just as I remembered, high concrete walls topped with barbed wire, dirt packed so hard it might as well have been stone. A square of sky overhead, washed–out and cold. They herded us into the center, the “fresh blood” on one side, older ghosts on the other. Naomi stood among them, her hair tied back, her stance loose but sharp. She looked stronger than I’d seen her in weeks, clear–eyed, breathing steady.

When Yakov called our names, she stepped forward without hesitation. I did too, though my body protested every move.

“Pairings,” Yakov ordered. “Older ghost teaches younger how to bleed.” His gaze cut over us like a blade. “Or they’ll both bleed for me.”

Naomi’s eyes flicked to mine, no apology there, no softness. She knew the rules. There was no room for hesitation, no mercy. The whistle blew. She moved first, sharp and fast, aiming for my ribs where she knew I was weakest. I blocked high, but my arm shook under the impact.

“Don’t hold back,” I told her under my breath, circling.

Her jaw tightened. “I wasn’t planning to ”

The second strike came low, sweeping my legs. I hit the dirt hard, the breath knocked out of me, but I got back up.

If she didn’t give it her all, we’d both pay. And if I didn’t fight back, I wouldn’t survive this place. Naomi came at me again, fast, quicker than the others because she knew me, knew my tells. She aimed high for my shoulder, the one still aching from the rebar. I pivoted, let the hit glance off, and drove my elbow into her ribs. Not full force, never full force, but enough to make her grunt and back up two steps. The dit crunched under my boots as we circled. My breathing was already ragged, my ribs screaming with every inhale. The cold from earlier still clung to my muscles, making them sluggish. She feinted left, then her fist snapped out right, catching my jaw. My head whipped to the side, a burst of white in my vision.

“Better,” she muttered, already closing the gap.

I swung low, catching her thigh, then followed with a palm strike to her chest. She stumbled back, just for a moment, and the smallest flicker of approval crossed her face before she shut it down. But every movement sent pain spiraling through my body, tearing at wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal. My

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7:25 pm D

Not Enough

shoulder burned like it was on fire. Blood trickled warm down my side from a split stitch. She swept my leg again, and this time I didn’t have the speed to dodge. I hit the ground hard, the impact rattling my already fractured ribs.

“Up.” she hissed, and it wasn’t kindness, it was an order.

I pushed to my knees, forcing myself to stand. The yard swam in my vision, the world narrowing to her face and the guards watching us like hawks. Naomi’s next strike was clean, brutal, a hook to the side of my head. My knees buckled. I managed one last desperate swing toward her midsection, but it lacked power, and she caught my wrist, twisting it until I hit the dirt again. I stayed down this time, chest heaving, blood in my mouth. The whistle blew.

Yakey’s voice cut across the yard. “Better. But not enough.”

His eyes flicked from me to Naomi, cold and calculating, like we were pieces of equipment that needed repairs.

“Not enough,” he repeated, his voice carrying in the silence. “You’re both out of practice. Rusted. That won’t do.”

Two guards moved in, grabbing us before I’d fully caught my breath. My ribs screamed as one of them jerked me upright.

“We’ll work that out of you,” Yakov said. “Pairs training clearly isn’t enough. You need motivation.”

My stomach tightened. I already knew where this was going.

“You’ll fight every ghost in the yard,” he went on, “one after the other, until you can’t stand. No breaks. No water. No mercy.”

A murmur ran through the crowd of older ghosts, anticipation.

“And when you drop,” Yakov added, “the other keeps going alone. Whoever lasts longer eats tonight. The loser gets the basement.”

Naomi’s jaw tightened beside me, her eyes locked forward. We both understood the stakes, fighting to win didn’t mean hurting each other now. It meant surviving long enough to avoid what waited in the dark and I was certain in my condition right now that I’d be the one laying with the monsters tonight.

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