Quickly, I roll to the side, and the throwing knife clatters against the hard, cold stone floor. I stand up and look around the cell. Some others have also skillfully avoided the morning wake-up call in the form of an unannounced attack by the adults, while others were not quick enough and are now writhing in pain or breathing their last breaths. No one rushes to their aid. None of the adults. And none of us either, because they would punish us cruelly for doing so. Those who are unable to keep themselves alive and overcome all challenges are of no use to the adults. And those who are of no use must die. And all those who defy this law must suffer torment themselves or share the same fate as those they wanted to help. Soon, those who do not survive the morning are forgotten and replaced by others during the course of the day. Others who also have no past or whose past no longer matters. No matter where they came from or who they were. As soon as they arrive here, they must obey the adults without question and constantly defy death or fall into its cold embrace.

At first, the screams of agony every morning were almost unbearable, but now they have become normal for me. So normal that I no longer pay any attention to them. All that matters to me is that I don't get hit and, above all, that my sister doesn't get hurt. She is now standing next to me, having been lying next to me in my sleep just a moment ago. Our senses are so sharp that we wake up when the adults even think about throwing a knife at us. Our instincts have saved our lives countless times, and they are also the reason why practically none of the other children can compete with us and why the adults always rely on our abilities. There is probably no one else who is sent on missions by the adults as often as we are. Even if that doesn't change how we are treated. We are still in the same cell as the others, still being woken up in the same way. We still have the same daily training routine. Hmm, the latter may not be entirely true. Our training is a little different from that of the others. We spend the first half of the day with them, but the rest of the day, we are put through the grinder by the adults. To put it mildly. 

A bell rings and the cell doors open. Everyone who is still able to do so rushes out. Those who are left behind or who are too slow are disposed of in the same way as those who will never be able to move again. Of course, my sister and I lead the crowd, and even older girls and boys stay behind us. As always, we hurry so that we can cover the considerable distance ahead of everyone else and secure our favorite spot in the assembly room. Since it is a cave, there are some elevations that give us a little space for ourselves. As always, the adults watch us with cold, emotionless stares as we climb up the wall and make ourselves comfortable there. Without wasting a second, we sit down shoulder to shoulder and put our heads together. These few minutes while we wait for the others are a real blessing every morning. We're not allowed to talk because that would get us in trouble with the adults, but even without words, we can enjoy being close to each other. Apart from bedtime in our cells and for a short time after our training in the second half of the day, we hardly have a moment of peace. And even bedtime can be interrupted at any time by throwing knives, other tests, or training sessions. Or whatever else the adults come up with. The same goes for mealtimes. Only now, until everyone is gathered, can we really enjoy our togetherness, even if it is under the watchful eyes of the adults.

"Good morning," my sister writes on my palm, and I return the greeting. We have adopted this form of communication so that we can communicate secretly with each other.

"How are you?" I ask her.

"Fine, since we're together. Otherwise, same as always. And you?" she replies.

"Just like you."

Although we have become relatively quick and precise at communicating in this way over time, we only have time for one of us to give a longer answer each morning. After all, by now, the others have arrived and spread out around the room. Even though there is no fixed seating arrangement, those who have been here longer always find themselves in the same places. After all, they are the fastest and can therefore choose their spots relatively freely.

After a few more minutes, the adults finally close the door to the room. Anyone still outside was too slow and will soon be forgotten, if they haven't been already.

"Good morning, blades of the Organization," we are greeted by the adults, just like every morning.

Even my sister and I, who have been here for as long as we can remember, know nothing about this so-called Organization, except that we kill on its behalf and that it always refers to itself as "the Organization." Admittedly, we don't know much else but our lives here, apart from the time we spend outside on missions. But even that has no further influence on our existence. We fulfill our role as blades of the Organization, as they call us, and in return, they let us live. Provided we don't die during training, on a mission, or during one of the wake-up calls or similar situations. We obey the adults without question. It's the only way my sister and I can guarantee our survival and each other's safety.

The next few minutes are spent with various adults telling us how important it is that we fulfill our duties, that the Organization has noble goals, and that we can take pride in being a part of it. We don't really listen, as we've heard it a thousand times before. If not more. Others, however, hang on every word, and I can see the fanaticism in them. They would love nothing more than to slit the throat of one of the Organization's assassination targets right now, without a doubt.

Suddenly, a knife flies toward my sister and me, much faster than the adults' knives from this morning, snapping us out of the trance we were in, enjoying each other's company. My sister immediately creates a small ice shield that freezes the knife as soon as it comes into contact with it. In the meantime, I have located the person who attacked us. It is one of the other children who has been here a little longer, but not as long as we have. The boy is older than us and has often sought confrontation with us. Probably because he can't stand that the adults praise us more than everyone else in their speeches, even though we are still so young. Still, it's surprising that he attacked us during the meeting. That means he has the adults' permission, and they want either us or him dead. Now that his surprise attack has failed, the decision has long been made. He's good. But he's not us.

My sister drops the frozen knife into her hand as she shapes the remaining ice into a wafer-thin needle, barely visible to the naked eye, and then shoots it at the boy. All this happens in less than a second, so he's still looking at us to see if his attempted assassination was successful. But this makes his eye an easy target for our retaliation, and a moment later, he grabs it in a desperate attempt to stop it from freezing. Too bad he doesn't notice that I've heated the thawed knife and coated it with fire magic. It cuts through his torso like butter and pierces his heart.