The conversation with Billy played out in my mind repeatedly over the next few weeks. We had spoken again most nights since but that initial conversation had been the important one. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure I was being tested. The problem was that I couldn't be sure if I had gotten the correct answers. More importantly, I wasn't sure if Billy—or perhaps anyone he worked with—were worth getting the correct answer for.

My relationship with Billy had drastically changed as far as I was concerned. It might have seemed like everything was normal to the outside observer. We still spoke most nights, still laughed at each other's jokes, and he was still giving me advice.

Everything appeared friendly enough.

For me though, it felt like we were both balancing on a knife edge.

I was plagued by paranoia. Questioning every word he said like it would be a clue to his agenda. He knew too much to not be involved somehow—I just didn't know what side he fell on. There was an equal chance he was a friend and an ally as there was he was an enemy and a spy. There wasn't any way I could ask him either.

I thought about asking him a question that only someone involved would know. It seemed like the obvious way out of the situation but I couldn't think of anything that wouldn't confirm it was a rebel plot. Any question I knew the answer to would implicate me and others should Billy be a spy, and if I asked a question I couldn't confirm the answer to, he could easily lie. On the flipside, if I did ask a revealing question, and he did turn out to be a rebel, then he could kill me for being a security risk.

He had given me information that you could argue would only come from someone who was an ally. There had been tips to survive prison life, knowledge about Grian and The Whallowhackers, and if he was to be believed, he was making sure Amir didn't bother me. If I took that at face value, I could believe he was a friend. My paranoia was telling me the opposite. Rebellions were a long game, and having someone spend a month or two befriending a prisoner to get information was nothing. If they were committed to the cause, everything that had happened so far was trivial.

These questions plagued my nights as I tried to think of a way to solve them. My inclination was to cut off contact with Billy and hope that meant I would be left alone. The issue with that was twofold. Firstly, I actually quite liked Billy. He was good to talk to and the prison was lonely. I missed my friends and the nightly talks gave me something to distract from those feelings. On nights where Billy was busy, I would default to testing my magic. I couldn't cut myself without a way to get rid of the blood so I was usually breaking my bones to see how quickly they'd heal. It was cool to see it work but I was getting used to it after doing it so often and my thoughts would drift to what Morgana and Dillon might be up to. So I'd sit there, in my cell, in pain, thinking about what my friends were doing with their freedom. It was incredibly depressing.

The second potential problem with cutting Billy out was his response. Regardless of what side he fell onto, I knew he was monitoring me. If I was to cut off contact this early, he might determine that I was a threat that needed to be dealt with, and that was something I couldn't see my way out of. The only route I could see as an option was to continue as normal whilst keeping my head under the radar. It was a sensible plan that I honestly think would have worked if it wasn't for that prick Amir.

The workshop was abuzz when I arrived that morning. I'd graduated from beginner to novice and they put me in the smithy making nails. My times had drastically improved and I was no longer the bottom of the group. The chip on my shoulder hadn't gone though, so I was still trying to improve each day. Not that people let that get in the way of their banter. Tom and the boys still acted like everything I created was a second away from falling apart, and each time I finished a box, they'd act like I took days. Despite the jokes, it was nice to be able to work alongside them all. They were currently on a smithy rotation so we were able to talk whilst we worked which helped the days fly by.

"Choked on his own vomit from what I heard," H was telling the lads as I set up my station.

"I heard it was actually his blood, and it was coming out of every hole," Gerry added, contorting his face and using his fingers to demonstrate blood spray patterns.

"What's this?" I asked.

"No Shoes got found dead this morning. His celly said he choked on his own sick after taking something," H told me.

'Celly' was short for cellmate but I had no idea what or who 'No Shoes' was.

"I'm telling you, Coleman is four doors down and he says No Shoes was covered in blood," Carl countered.

"Who's No Shoes?"

"Danny "No Shoes" Evans. He got caught by the guards after a shoeless run through town." Tom replied.

"Ah. No shoes. I get it. So what, he died after taking some drugs? That's a shame."

"It's more than that!" H said, getting closer and loudly whispering. "It was an experimental drug. Nobody knows what it was or where it came from, only that it's messed No Shoes up."

"The warden purged the dealers who were responsible last time. I bet he does the same again."

"Last time?" I asked.

"Yeah," H replied, still loudly whispering. "A few years ago someone tried to brew their own concoctions so they could muscle in on the drug market. They did a huge batch and instead of testing it, they sent it straight out. It ended up killing three people and the warden had them and anyone else involved killed. It was brutal."

"I bet that's why only one person died this time. Everyone knows No Shoes would do anything to get high. He was an ideal test subject. One that people wouldn't miss if it went wrong." Gerry added.

"Whoever sold it to him is gonna get it still. I'm telling ya, the warden won't let it go," Tom told him with a shake of his head. "He can't be letting things like this go, even if it seems small."

"That's Joey done then," H said with a knowing look.

"Joey?!" Gerry exclaimed. "There's no way it was Joey. The man's thicker than the outer walls."

H held his hands up, "That's just what I heard."

"There's no way Joey was able to brew a drug. I'd be surprised if that lad can even boil a pan of water," Gerry scoffed.

"Is someone using him then?" I said. "If he's as dim as you say, then he'd make an ideal fall guy."

H snapped his fingers and pointed at me. "Exactly! At least someone is thinking." He smiled, pleased at having someone back up his point before the smile slowly faded.

"Cruel fuckers have set Joey up. They're gonna make an example of him for this."

"Who do ya think is actually behind it then?" Tom asked.

"I think someone's looking to make moves into the market. Disrupting the current flow if you get me," H replied.

"Interesting," I nodded thoughtfully. "Someone who doesn't currently have a share in the business but wants to…"

"That's right, kid," H responded, looking proud of himself for his theory.

"Who is it though? Who has the expertise to brew something?" Tom asked insistently.

H shrugged. "Could be anyone, couldn't it? It's not like they actually pulled it off."

The rest of the day was filled with gossiping, making it hard to concentrate on the work. Each hour would bring with it another person coming to tell us what they thought had gone on. A lot of it was the same story with a slight different twist but the rumours were coming from every angle. Some were convinced it was a targeted attack because No Shoes had disrespected someone, others thought that it was a coverup and he'd actually been shivved. There was even one guy who was convinced No Shoes had actually escaped and he'd killed an unidentified person to cover his tracks. It's morbid to say because it was about a man's death but honestly, it was entertaining. I didn't know No Shoes, I didn't know any dealers, and I didn't know anyone that might be involved, so all of this felt like drama that didn't really affect my life. At least that's what I thought before Roach and Pete cornered me.

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"The boss wants a word with you," Roach told me, an inch away from my face. I tried to take a step back only to find Pete is behind me, his massive stature blocking any potential retreat with a glare on his face that makes me tense up. I turn back to Roach and see there's a grim smile on his face. "It's not a request."

I comply with their request and follow Roach out of the workshop, heading toward the showers. As we walk, I try to pry out who their boss is and what they want with me, but my questions are met with silence—or Pete's increasingly aggressive shoves.

"In here," Pete says with a gesture as we arrive. The showers are usually empty at this time of day, meaning no interruptions. A knot tightens in my stomach and I start second-guessing my decision to follow them without resistance. If they plan to kill me, this is the perfect place to do it. No witnesses. Though the same is true if I fight back. I could use my powers here and as long as I finished them off, nobody would be able to report on me.

I step into the room, the slap of feet echoing against the wet tile. Rounding the corner, I spot Amir. He's pacing and gnawing at his nails, a wild expression on his face. He sees me and his face smooths over, a mask slipping into place. It's too late though, I've seen through it. I know there's a barely contained rage in him, I saw it the last time we spoke and it's only amplified with the panic he's clearly feeling. My heart begins pumping as I think of ways to escape this increasingly worrying situation.

"Ah! Brandon, good of you to join me," he says, his voice laced with fake civility that makes my skin crawl. My certainty grows that Amir is a madman. I've met people like him before as a kid. Men and women who hid their danger beneath a veneer of politeness. They're ones you have to tiptoe around if you're unable to spring the trap of their anger on your own terms.

"Roach didn't give me much of a choice," I glance back and see that he's followed me into the room, but Pete hasn't. He's likely stationed at the door, making sure we aren't disturbed.

Amir lets out a mirthless chuckle, as if he's amused. "After our last conversation I expected you to reach out… You of course did not." a flash of anger in his eyes before he smothers it. He's insulted but wants to pretend he isn't for some reason. The problem for him is that he's unable to truly hide his emotions.

"I didn't see any reason to," I reply simply, holding his gaze.

He gives me a thin smile. "That is a shame. Unfortunately I can no longer allow you to come to the correct conclusion on your own." His voice sharpens. "You see, the vial you gave me was FUCKING POISON!"

He screams the last words, spittle flying. Behind me, Roach shifts but doesn't move to attack. It clicks into place and I realise he's responsible for the death of No Shoes.

"You gave him the vial? A vial with a black liquid you knew nothing about? Are you stupid?" I ask incredulously, and without any sense of irony knowing that I had in fact stolen it without knowing anything about it.

The insult seems to shock the outburst out of Amir. He reels it in, trying once again to project an air of calm.

"No, Brandon, I am not stupid. I just did not anticipate that you would try to poison me."

"You took the vial, remember, I didn't give it to you."

"You let me take it, knowing it was poison." His voice tightens, anger seeping in again. That's when I decide it's time to make him snap.

I shrug my shoulders. "That's on you for being stupid."

"No!" He shouts, fists clenching before he forces a breath to steady himself. But he's shaking, I can see it. He's barely holding on. "No," he repeats, exhaling shakily. "You got me into this mess, and now you're going to make up for it."

"No I won't."

"It's not a request, Brandon. You have damaged my reputation so you are going to make it up to me whether you like it or not."

I shake my head. "I don't think so"

He acts like he doesn't hear me. "You'll work with Roach and Pete in the workshop. You'll craft weapons. That's how you'll make it up to me."

I take the opportunity to look back at Roach, this time shifting my body so that I will be able to react better when the fighting starts. "Nah,", I say casually, "I've already told you I'm not doing anything for you. If that's all you wanted to talk about, I'm gonna head off." I give him a polite smile. I know someone like him will find it infuriating and just like that, the dam breaks.

"You insolent prick! Do you know who you're talking to?!" He screams in my face, hands up, stepping into my space. "You think you can—" I smack him in the jaw and hear it crack. He goes straight to the ground with a wail. That'll teach him for screaming at me.

Roach is slow on the uptake, his eyes wide in shock as I launch myself at him. He barely gets a guard up. It's flimsy, useless. I break through instantly and have free reign on his head. I make the most of it. A punch—one. Another—two. And then an elbow to finish the job. Roach crumples. He never stood a chance with his poor response and the hard wall doubling up the damage from my blows.

Amir lies on the floor, cradling his jaw, his eyes burning with fury. Unfortunate. That look tells me he's going to want revenge. His type only back down after an overwhelming display of power and it's clear that wasn't enough. The real problem? I don't see a way out of this without killing him. I could put him down hard, leave him broken, but that would only deepen his grudge. He'd see it, quite rightly, as me kicking him whilst he was down.

I hesitate too long, and Pete charges in.

Time's up.

I drive my foot into Amir's face, knocking him out cold.

Pete lets out a roar and rushes me. He slams into me like a battering ram, driving me into the wall. Tiles crack behind me. My ribs scream in protest. scramble to break free, shifting my weight, trying to slip from his hold—but he's too strong. He doesn't throw punches like I expect. Instead, he drives me harder against the wall, pressing in with brute force.

My breath vanishes. He's trying to crush me.

His face is twisted with rage, snot dripping, spit foaming between clenched teeth.I throw punches at him but he barely reacts. I feel a rib snap and I know I have to activate my healing. There's no choice if I want to live. The other two are out cold and I have to hope Pete won't notice. Even with the healing, I don't know how long I'll be able to last like this. My late night sessions have helped improve my mana control, and my capacity feels like it has increased since I was first testing, but this is a lot to go through.

He's crushing me to death. Squashing me with his monumental size and monstrous strength. I can't move him with his weight on me and he's shrugging off my punches like they're nothing. My mana is running out fast. Panic tries to take root in my mind but I resist. I have magic. I can't die here. Not like this.

A confused look crosses his face. I think he's realised that I should be dead, or at the very least dying by now. Maybe he's done this before. Maybe I'm giving something away. I'm not sure either way. This is my chance. Looking into his eyes has reminded me they exist - and they're vulnerable. I jam my thumbs into his them and he yelps in pain.

Finally reacting, he raises his body slightly so he can bat my hands away. That's all the opening I need. I put my grappling lessons to good use, slipping out from underneath him and wrapping myself around one of his arms. First, I'll break this lumps arm, then I'll move onto every other appendage he has.

Unfortunately for me, Pete disagrees. He gets up with a roar and swings me into the wall. Tiles crack. Stars appear in my eyes. I don't let go. Instead, I dig my feet deeper into his armpit and pull. He doesn't like that.

I'm an annoyance to be swatted so he swings me again. He reaches the apex of his swing and the pressure is too much. There's a pop and a scream. Suddenly I'm flung rather than smashed. I hit the wall with less power this time and release my hold. Pete stumbles back, clutching his dislocated arm, howling in pain.

"Not nice is it?" I ask, a grim smile on my face. His eyes blaze with pure rage. I instantly regret taunting him.

He charges, wild and furious. A bull seeing red. I've seen performers enrage animals at summer fairs, luring them into reckless attacks before sidestepping at the last second. I channel them. At the last moment, I roll aside. Pete swings his injured arm instinctively, and pain contorts his face as the movement goes too wide.

I'm on my feet in an instant, now at his weaker side. I kick at his leg, but he tanks it like it's nothing. Before I can reset, he advances, forcing me back - until my spine meets cold tile.

Not good.

I've backed myself into a corner. The only way out is through Pete, and from the look in his eyes, he knows it. This oaf can't stop me though. I'm magic.

I give him my cockiest smirk, lower my centre of gravity, and spread my hands wide. "Are you ready, big boy?"

He smiles, glee shining in his eyes as he spreads his arms to make himself wider. He hasn't fixed his arm so I wait for the flinch–

There it is.

I make out as if I'm going that way, to his weaker side. He buys it like a chump. I'm practically laughing as I side step around him. Now that I'm free I can just run. Find a friendly face. Even a guard would do.

Suddenly my dreams come crashing down as my legs are suddenly higher than my head. The floor is somehow rising to meet my face. He's tripped me. The bastard has tripped me.

Desperately, I try to crawl away. My fingers have blood on them from somewhere. They're preventing me from getting a grip on the floor. I claw and strain but he's on me. His weight is on my back. His hand is gripping my hair. He's trying to yank my head off.

I call on my mana preemptively but it's no use. I'm spent. I'd pushed it further than I ever had before whilst he was trying to crush me and now I've got nothing left. It's a surprise I've even had the energy to fight this much given the usual draining effect. I put it down to adrenaline. Not that it'll do me much good now.

My neck muscles pull taught. Whimpers escape my throat. This is the end. All of my miserable life only to be killed on the floor of a prison shower.

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