Remnant

I don't move. I don't breathe.

The television screen flickers in front of me, casting a cold

glow over the small apartment. The same broadcast plays

outside, projected onto the towering buildings, echoing

through the streets like a ghostly chant.

"The time has come. The chosen will enter The Trials. They

will prove their strength, their loyalty, their worth."

The voice is flat. Lifeless. It's meant to sound official, but it

only makes my skin crawl.

I stare at the screen, my hands balled into fists in my lap. My

mother sits beside me, stiff as stone. My father stands by the

window, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. My little brother,

Micah, sits on the floor with his knees tucked to his chest,

his breath coming out in short, panicked bursts.

I don't look at them. I can't.

The Selection is always the same. Twenty-four names. One