**ELARA**
We were led from the sunlit dock into the cavernous embrace of the Sterling Grand Hall. The sudden shift from the open sea air to the cool, still atmosphere inside was immediate and total. The cheerful chatter from the ferry died on our lips, absorbed by the sheer scale of the space. The floor was a vast expanse of polished white marble, so reflective it mirrored the vaulted ceiling high above, creating the dizzying illusion of walking on a sky made of stone. The walls were bare, save for the occasional, imposing portrait of a Sterling family ancestor, their painted eyes seeming to follow our every move. There were no decorations, no school banners, no welcome signs. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic click of our shoes on the floor, a hundred separate heartbeats echoing in the cathedral-like silence. It was a place designed to make you feel small, insignificant. A single part of a much larger, perfectly silent machine.
Ms. Vance, the woman from the dock, stood at the front of the hall before a long, obsidian-black table. Beside her, a single conveyor belt, thin and silver like a trail of liquid mercury, snaked from the table into a dark opening in the far wall.
"Welcome to Sterling Academy," she announced, her voice unnaturally amplified by the room's acoustics. "Your journey begins with your first commitment to the Sterling Protocol. Rule Number One: Severance. To embrace your future, you must release your past. When your name is called, you will approach the table, place all unauthorized personal effects into the provided receptacle, and state your student number for confirmation."
A ripple of nervous energy passed through the students. This was it. The part I'd read about in the handbook but hadn't fully comprehended until now. It wasn't just surrendering our phones; it was a ceremony. A ritual of detachment.
I glanced down at my worn leather bag. Inside was my phone, with its precious gallery of photos—my mom smiling on the porch, my dad in his workshop before the failure, the three of us on my sixteenth birthday, a brief, happy moment frozen in time. My battered copy of *One Hundred Years of Solitude*, a gift from my father, its margins filled with his scribbled notes. These were the fragments of my "Before." And I was about to give them up.
It's a necessary sacrifice, I told myself, my fingers tightening on the strap of my bag. A small price to pay for their future.
"Ames, Robert. Student number 734," Ms. Vance called out.
A boy from the front row walked forward. He looked pale as he placed his laptop and a stack of photos into a clear, sterile-looking box—the receptacle. He pushed it onto the conveyor belt. The belt hummed to life, carrying his past away until it disappeared into the dark hole in the wall. The box was identical to every other box, and the boy was now just another student, stripped of the things that made him uniquely him. I saw his shoulders slump as he walked back to his seat.
One by one, they were called. Laptops, e-readers, headphones, diaries, photographs—each a small, public funeral for a life left behind. The mood in the hall grew heavy and somber. Some girls cried silently, wiping away tears with the backs of their hands. Some boys stared straight ahead, their jaws tight. I remained impassive, my own resolve hardening. This was a test of discipline. I would not fail it.
"Sterling, Kaelen. Student number 001."
His name was called, and a strange tension filled the room. He walked to the front, his leather jacket a stark slash of black against all the white. His movements were slow, almost lazy, as if he were deliberately wasting everyone's time. He didn't have a bag or a laptop. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a single object: a worn, creased photograph, folded in half. He placed it in the center of the box, a lone island in an empty plastic sea. He didn't push it onto the belt. Instead, he looked up, his gaze sweeping over the students before it landed, with unnerving precision, on me.
His green eyes held no trace of the sarcastic amusement from the dock. They were dark and intense, and they held me captive. He was communicating something, a silent, forceful message that shot across the cavernous hall and struck me with the force of a physical blow. He wasn't just giving up a photo. He was making a point. His gaze was a challenge, a question: *You see? You're giving this up, too. Don't pretend you're not.*
I wanted to look away, to break the connection, but I couldn't. It felt as if he was seeing right through the disciplined, determined facade I had so carefully constructed, to the scared girl underneath who was terrified of what she was sacrificing.
Ms. Vance cleared her throat, a sharp, impatient sound. Kaelen's lips curved into a faint, humorless smirk. He finally pushed the box onto the belt and watched it glide away, his eyes never leaving mine. He walked back to his place, and the invisible string connecting us snapped. I could finally breathe again, but my chest felt tight, the air thin and cold. I hated him for it. I hated him for making me feel doubt.
"Vance, Elara. Student number 735."
My turn. I stood, my legs feeling strangely stiff. I walked to the front, my footsteps the only sound in the hall. I emptied my bag into the receptacle. My phone. My book. A small silver locket from my grandmother. Each item felt heavier in my hand than it should have.
My gaze fell on my Ten-Year Life Map. It wasn't a digital device. It was just paper and leather. According to Rule 78 of the Protocol, analog organizational tools were not only permitted but encouraged. It was safe. Still, a wave of fear washed over me. This planner was more than just a schedule; it was my armor.
I placed it back in my bag and pushed the box onto the belt.
"735," I stated, my voice clear and steady.
I watched the box disappear into the wall. A chapter of my life, gone. I felt a pang of loss, sharp and unexpected, but I buried it deep. It was done. I turned and walked back to my seat, pointedly avoiding Kaelen Sterling's gaze.
After the last student had surrendered their past, we were led out of the Grand Hall and into a different wing of the academy. The dormitories. If the hall was a place of imposing grandeur, this was a place of sterile minimalism. The hallways were identical: white walls, gray doors, and soft, recessed lighting that cast no shadows. Our names and student numbers were displayed on small digital screens beside each door.
"Vance, E. and Corwin, L. Room 217," a gray-uniformed guide said, gesturing to a door on our left. I gave him a grateful nod and slid the key card into the slot. The door slid open silently.
The room was as clean and impersonal as the hallway. Two beds, two desks, two closets, all built from the same pale wood and brushed steel. It looked like a room from a catalog, a space designed to be occupied but never truly lived in. The large window at the far end of the room looked out onto a perfectly manicured courtyard.
A girl with bright, inquisitive eyes and a cascade of blonde curls was already unpacking. She turned when I entered, her face breaking into a wide, welcoming smile.
"You must be Elara! I'm Lena. Roommate!" she chirped, her voice a burst of color in the monochrome room. She bounced on her heels and pulled me into a quick, enthusiastic hug. "Isn't this place amazing? I still can't believe I'm here."
Her energy was infectious, and I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. "It's… impressive," I agreed. At least my roommate was a true believer. We could help each other stay focused.
"Impressive? It's perfect!" Lena gushed, her hands fluttering as she spoke. "Did you read all of the Protocol handbook? I've already memorized the first fifty rules. Rule number three is my favorite: 'A Sterling mind is an orderly mind.' I love that. It's so true, isn't it?"
"I… suppose so," I said, walking over to my side of the room. It was a perfect mirror image of hers.
"I was so worried I'd get a roommate who was, you know, a rule-bender," she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Like that Kaelen Sterling. Can you believe he got a demerit before he even stepped off the dock? He's going to be expelled by midterm, I bet."
I just nodded, not wanting to discuss him. I started to unpack my own bag, pulling out the few sets of uniforms and the carefully folded clothes I'd brought. I placed my Ten-Year Life Map on my desk, the leather a dark, comforting shape on the sterile white surface.
"Ooh, is that your planner?" Lena asked, her eyes wide with admiration. "That's so great! Rule 78, right? 'Proper planning prevents poor performance.'"
I couldn't help but smile. "That's the one."
"We're going to get along so well," she said, clapping her hands together. She walked over to the window, gazing out at the perfect courtyard. "It's everything they promised and more. A perfect future, all laid out for us. You just have to follow the rules and let go of everything else."
She turned back to me, her smile bright and unwavering. "It's for the best, you know."
Her words were meant to be reassuring, but a sudden chill ran down my spine, cold and sharp. Kaelen Sterling's intense gaze flashed in my mind.
Lena's smile didn't falter as she added, in that same cheerful, confident voice:
"They say you forget everything from Before after a while."