Thorne, Vance, and the rest of the recruits returned to their sleeping quarters, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The air was thick with the exhaustion that clung to each of them, a weight that seemed to grow heavier with every step. The stealth techniques assessment had taken its toll, both physically and mentally, and Thorne felt completely lost on what time it was.

After the assessment, the trainers had given them their next directive: they were to fend for themselves—find food, clothes, and clean up so that they would be presentable for the next class. It was a test of their survival skills, a challenge they would have to complete before the next class tomorrow morning.

Thorne and Vance had spent the better part of the day scouring the base, their search taking them through the labyrinthine tunnels and dimly lit chambers. The layout of the base, once overwhelming and disorienting, was slowly becoming more familiar with each turn they took. But there was still so much they didn't know, so many places they hadn't yet explored.

At one point, they had come across a large door, different from the others they had encountered. It was guarded by two older cousins, their expressions stern and unyielding. When Thorne and Vance had approached, the guards had blocked their path, telling them in no uncertain terms that fresh recruits were not allowed beyond the door.

The two of them had scurried back, Vance casting curious glances over his shoulder as they retreated. As they moved away, Vance began to speculate wildly about what could be behind the door, his voice a mix of excitement and apprehension. Thorne listened in silence, his own thoughts drifting to the possibility of what lay beyond, but he knew better than to dwell on it. There were more immediate concerns to focus on.

Their search continued, and as they revisited familiar tunnels and classrooms, the base gradually became less daunting. The twists and turns that had once felt like an endless maze were now starting to make sense, and with each step, Thorne felt a growing sense of control. They might not know every corner of this place, but they were beginning to understand its rhythms, its patterns.

Eventually, they found a small, unassuming door tucked away in a shadowed alcove. It led into a utility closet, cluttered with various items haphazardly stacked and stored. Among the dusty shelves and forgotten tools, they discovered a stash of clothes—simple black pants and shirts, similar to what all the recruits wore. The clothing was rough and utilitarian, nothing special, but it was exactly what they needed.

Vance rummaged through the pile, muttering complaints under his breath as he searched for something that would fit. "Great," he grumbled, holding up a pair of pants that were clearly too long for him. "I'll have to roll these up a dozen times just to keep from tripping over them."

Thorne couldn't help but smirk at Vance's frustration, though his own mood was far from light. He found a pair of leather moccasins among the clothes and slipped them on, the familiar feel of the soft leather against his feet grounding him in a way he hadn't expected. It wasn't much, but in a place that seemed determined to strip away every part of who he was, it felt like reclaiming a small piece of himself.

With their new clothes in hand, they made their way back to the sleeping quarters. The room was mostly deserted, though a few recruits had already returned, their faces drawn and tired. Thorne and Vance quickly resumed their places next to the red-haired girl, who still lay unconscious on Thorne's bed. The worry that had gnawed at him earlier returned, but there was little he could do now except wait.

Before too long, Vance's soft snores filled the air, the boy having succumbed to the exhaustion that had been pulling at them all day. Thorne, however, remained awake, his eyes fixed on the dark ceiling above. The events of the day replayed in his mind, each moment sharp and vivid, refusing to let him rest.

He couldn't allow himself to sleep. Not yet. He was afraid that the moment he closed his eyes someone would attack. So Thorne kept watch, his body tense and alert, refusing to let his eyes close even as fatigue threatened to drag him under.

At some point during the long night, exhaustion finally overtook Thorne, and his eyelids grew heavy. He had fought sleep for as long as he could, but eventually, the strain of the day caught up with him. His head nodded forward, and his body slumped against the wall as sleep claimed him.

But it wasn't long before he was jerked awake by movement nearby. His eyes snapped open, and instinctively, his hand flew to the daggers tucked at the waist of his new pants. His heart pounded in his chest as he quickly scanned the room, every muscle in his body tense and ready for action.

His eyes rounded in surprise when he saw the red-haired girl shuffling in the bed, grimacing as she held her bruised side. She was awake, blinking groggily as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

Thorne hesitated for a moment, then asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

The girl jolted in surprise at the sound of his voice, her eyes widening as she looked over at him. The room was quiet, the other recruits fast asleep, their bodies spent from the grueling day. The girl seemed confused, her gaze darting around the room before settling back on Thorne.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with confusion and fear.

Thorne hesitated, reluctant to tell her everything. He didn't want to mention the blood, the violence, or the death that had followed her unconsciousness. "You were attacked," he said quietly, choosing his words carefully. "We found you and brought you here."

Her stomach growled loudly, interrupting the moment, and the girl's cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Thorne blinked, then slapped his forehead as he realized what she must be feeling. "Oh right, you must be hungry!" he exclaimed, forgetting himself for a moment. His voice echoed in the quiet room, and he quickly turned red as well, feeling strangely off-balance in front of her.

The girl's expression softened at his sudden outburst, but the awkwardness between them hung in the air. To cover his embarrassment, Thorne reached down to the floor, his hand brushing against a small pebble. He picked it up and, with unerring accuracy, tossed it across the room, hitting Vance squarely on the head.

Vance jolted awake, flustered and blinking rapidly as he looked around in confusion. "What? What?" he mumbled, his voice loud in the stillness.

"Keep it down," Thorne whispered harshly, glancing nervously at the sleeping recruits around them.

Vance blinked again, rubbing the spot on his head where the pebble had hit him. He turned to Thorne with a scowl, but then he noticed the red-haired girl, now awake and watching them both. His expression shifted from annoyance to surprise. "Oh, you're awake," he said, his voice softening. "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

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The girl answered his questions quietly, still clearly disoriented, but her voice was stronger now. Thorne listened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her movements. There was something strained about the way she held herself, and she seemed to be favoring her left arm.

Finally, Thorne interrupted their exchange. "Vance, give her the bag," he said, nodding toward the small bag of food they had taken from her earlier.

Vance's face twisted into a reluctant grimace. "But—" he began, then caught Thorne's sharp look. With a sigh, he begrudgingly handed the bag to the girl, muttering under his breath. "Fine."

The girl hesitated for a moment, then opened the bag and all but devoured its contents, stuffing pastry after pastry into her mouth with a ravenous hunger. Thorne watched her carefully, noting every pained movement, every wince as she shifted in the bed.

Vance licked his lips as he watched her eat, then leaned closer, his voice a low whisper. "Can I have one?" he asked, eyeing the remaining pastries with a hopeful look.

Thorne shot him a disapproving glare. "Vance, she needs it more than you."

Vance threw his hands up in protest. "Hey, it's the least she could do! After all, we did save her life."

The girl, catching the tension between them, looked up with a frown. After a moment of hesitation, she offered each of them a pastry. Vance snatched his eagerly, stuffing it into his mouth with a satisfied grin. Thorne, on the other hand, was reluctant. He didn't want to take more from her, but the rumble of his empty stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since throwing up earlier. With a sigh, he accepted the pastry and began to eat, the food settling heavily in his stomach.

As they ate, Vance moaned appreciatively, savoring the taste. "Where did you even find this?" he asked between bites.

The girl looked at them both, her expression serious. "Do you remember the circular room with all the bridges above? I found a staircase there, and it led to another floor. I followed some older recruits and found their resting area. There was a pantry with all kinds of food. I gathered what I could and slipped out."

Vance smirked, nodding in approval. "A true spy, if I've ever seen one."

The girl laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "Not good enough, apparently," she said, her voice growing quieter. "The next thing I knew, I was attacked. I didn't even see them coming…" Her voice trailed off, and she fell silent, her eyes downcast.

After a moment, she looked up again, her expression softening. "Thank you," she said, her voice sincere as she glanced between the two boys. She hesitated, her gaze lingering on Thorne, as if searching for something. "I… I don't know your name."

"Thorne," he replied quietly, his tone measured.

The girl nodded slowly, as if committing it to memory. "I'm Rielle," she said, her voice still a bit shaky, but there was strength in it. "Thank you, Thorne. Thank you, both of you."

Vance grinned, waving off the thanks with an exaggerated flourish. "You're welcome! Although, you should thank this guy," he said, pointing at Thorne. "He did most of the murdering. I just gave commentary during the fight."

Thorne shot Vance a warning glare, but Rielle only nodded again, her eyes locked on Thorne.

They ate in silence, the quiet only broken by the soft sounds of chewing and the occasional rustle of the nearly empty bag. Rielle offered one more pastry, which Thorne accepted reluctantly, and it quickly disappeared. As she chewed, her gaze fell on the broken bow resting on the floor beside the bed. Her expression darkened, and she muttered an oath under her breath.

Vance looked up, noticing her glare. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said, nodding toward the broken bow. "It was already like that when we found you. Be thankful it was the only thing broken." He flashed her a big smile, while Thorne rolled his eyes at Vance's attempt at levity.

Rielle's face tightened, and her eyes scanned the room, filled with a simmering anger. "That bitch," she muttered, her voice low and venomous.

Vance and Thorne exchanged a glance, with Vance raising a playful eyebrow. Thorne merely shrugged in response. Rielle's gaze locked onto someone sleeping on the other side of the room, her eyes narrowing into daggers. "I'll skin her alive, that little treacherous bitch!" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with fury.

Vance made a small sound of understanding and smirked at Thorne. "You two are alike," he remarked with a grin. "Both of you have serious anger issues."

Thorne shot him a glare, but Vance raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, just saying," Vance added, his tone light, though there was a hint of truth behind his words.

Rielle, ignoring their exchange, picked up her broken bow with careful hands, her anger only seeming to intensify as her gaze once again zeroed in on the sleeping form across the room. Vance, clearly impatient, scooted closer to the bed, his curiosity piqued. "Come on, spill it," he urged, leaning in eagerly. "It sounds like an interesting story, and I really need a good bedtime story."

Rielle frowned, her eyes still fixed on her target like a predator stalking its prey. "That girl," she said, nodding toward the other side of the room. Thorne followed her gaze and saw the girl who had run away during the earlier confrontation, now curled up and sleeping soundly. "I'm sure she was the one who made the others attack me. I hadn't seen the other two before, but I know her," Rielle continued, her voice edged with bitterness. "Most of my life, actually."

Thorne listened closely, noting the tension in her voice. He could tell this wasn't just about the broken bow or even the attack itself—there was a deeper history here, one that Rielle was reluctant to share but too angry to keep to herself.

"They recruited us at the same time," Rielle explained, her tone growing more intense. "We did odd jobs, spying in the Grey Quarter." Thorne's mind flicked back to the one time he had visited the Grey Quarter, a grim and desolate place where the sick were sent to keep their diseases from spreading. It was like a small city within the city, a place of suffering and despair. He remembered the feeling of dread that had hung over him as he followed Jonah there for a deal—a place he had been more than happy to leave behind.

"We were never friends," Rielle continued, her voice steady but cold. "We knew of each other, but that was it. A few months back, a woman came—a trainer from the Family—informing us that she would prepare us for the trial. It was me, her, and another girl named Lira. The two of them became fast friends, but with me… not so much."

Thorne listened intently, sensing that this story was more than just an explanation—it was a confession, a release of the anger and betrayal that had been festering within Rielle for a long time.

"Our trainer was fair," Rielle said, her tone tinged with a hint of pride. "She didn't tolerate their shenanigans and showed clear favoritism toward me. I was focused and eager to learn. When we discovered my affinity for the bow, the trainer doubled down on my training, spending more time with me than with the others. They were jealous, always plotting to undermine me."

Rielle paused, her grip tightening on the broken bow. "When the time came for the trial, I was in a group with Lira. Instead of working together, she did everything in her power to get me killed. And when we found ourselves facing each other in the cage… I didn't hesitate."

Her voice wavered for a moment, but she quickly steadied herself. "The other girl, Sera, was furious. All day she had been whispering that she would make me pay. She was determined to see me fall."

For the first time since she started talking, Rielle turned to Thorne, her eyes filled with a mix of accusation and desperation. "You didn't kill her," she said, her voice trembling slightly, as if she was holding back a flood of emotions.

Thorne was taken aback by her reaction, completely unprepared for the sudden shift in her demeanor. His mouth opened and closed several times as he struggled to find the right words, but nothing came. He was left flabbergasted, unsure of how to respond.

Vance, sensing the tension, quickly cut in with a glare at Rielle. "Cut him some slack," he said firmly. "He's already killed for you. What more do you want?"

Rielle pinched the bridge of her nose, her expression softening. "Sorry," she muttered, her voice thick with regret. "You're right. I just… I don't know what to think anymore."

Vance chuckled softly, the tension easing slightly. "Yeah, that makes three of us," he said, leaning back against the wall.

Silence fell over them again, each lost in their own thoughts. After a while, it was Thorne who broke the quiet. "We better sleep," he said, his voice calm and measured. "Who knows how much time we have until they come back to take us."

The other two nodded in agreement, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with them. Rielle lay back down, clutching her broken bow close to her chest, while Vance sprawled out on the floor beside her, his earlier energy drained away.

As they settled in, the room grew quiet once more, and Thorne allowed himself to relax, his mind drifting as sleep began to pull at him. Just as he was about to slip into unconsciousness, he heard Vance mutter under his breath, a faint smile in his voice. "I knew it would be a good bedtime story."

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