Chapter 9. Punishment Rites

They waited for dawn as though it were a judge, standing shoulder to shoulder while the courtyard filled with pale, merciless light. Frost clung stubbornly to the flagstones, catching in cracks and seams until each line glittered like a scar. This light offered no warmth—only clarity. It scraped shadows away, baring stains that could no longer be hidden. The air demanded witnesses, and every orphan answered, whether they wished to or not.

Ceremonial punishment had never been about justice. It was never meant to heal a wound or balance a crime. It was theatre, carved from flesh and ritual, a lesson repeated until it lived in bone. The courtyard had been designed for this purpose—stone wide enough to gather the children in half-circle rows, a post in the center blackened with history, steps for Matron’s entrance so she could rise above them all. Every detail insisted upon obedience. Every punishment needed spectacle.

Aeryn knew this long before Ryker pulled her from the do