I slipped back into the barracks on the first floor with all the exaggerated care of a man who’d survived an evening far too interesting for his own cardiac health and was now determined—absolutely determined—to avoid even the faintest whisper of further complications.
The hallway behind me had been suspiciously quiet, the sort of silence that made me wonder if the universe was briefly distracted with someone else’s disaster long enough to grant me a five-minute window of undeserved mercy.
I took it, of course—because when the universe hands you anything that isn’t an immediate punishment, you grab it before it remembers who you are.
I eased open the door with the delicacy of a surgeon picking shrapnel out of a royal backside, only to be greeted by the barracks’ signature bouquet: warm bodies, old linens, metal hinges that squeaked when the temperature changed by half a degree, and that persistent undertone of "too many people sleeping in one room and pretending everything is normal."
The grandfather clock at the far end ticked with that melodramatic, self-important gravity only clocks older than several political dynasties can manage. Each tock echoed through the dark like a slow, judgmental sigh.
I tiptoed across the floorboards as though auditioning for the role of "Sneakiest Cartoon Character Alive," shoulders tucked, elbows hugged close, toes gliding across the planks with theatrical delicacy.
My body had spent so long dodging Iskanda’s blows that moving quietly felt like an instinct, which was almost funny in a very "my life is absurd" kind of way.
I made it all the way to my bunk, fingers just curling around the first rung of the ladder, when a low snort rumbled from below like some irritated beast.
Brutus lay sprawled across the bottom bunk, one massive arm draped off the side, eyes glinting up at me with a look that was half "I’ve been waiting for you" and half "I knew you’d try to sneak in like this."
His lips curled into that smug, sleepy grin of his as he muttered, "You finally crawl back from your royal beating, huh?"
His voice was raspy from sleep and too deep for a whisper, which meant it vibrated up the ladder like he was trying to shake me off.
I shushed him immediately, looking around like some guilty raccoon caught rummaging through a pantry after midnight, and hissed, "I wasn’t crawling anywhere. And it wasn’t a beating. It was training."
Brutus’s eyebrow rose so high I worried it might detach from his face and wander off to live a better life. "Right..."
I wrinkled my nose at him, muttering, "Go to sleep, you doofus."
He chuckled—a deep, rolling, chest-rumbling chuckle that said he absolutely loved this. "Aye, aye, boss," he murmured, turning over. And then, within seconds, a massive snore thundered out of him with the volume and sincerity of a dying walrus.
I gave him an unamused look he couldn’t see, then climbed the rest of the ladder and plopped face-first onto my bed. I didn’t even bother to cover myself at first. I merely rolled over before laying there, arms spread out, staring at the ceiling beams as if they might offer me a medal for surviving today’s round of mayhem.
The room stretched out beneath me in soft gradients of shadow, all of it settling into that heavy, late-night quiet that falls after a day spent breaking bodies and spirits in the name of discipline.
To my left, across a narrow aisle of bunks, Mia slept curled in Freya’s arms, the two tucked together so neatly they looked like they’d been sculpted that way.
Freya’s hair draped across Mia’s shoulder like a protective vine, and Mia’s face—thankfully cleaned of tears and grime—was the calmest I’d seen it all day.
On my right, the rest of the crew lay in various chaotic sleeping positions: arms dangling off bunks, one leg hanging dramatically into the aisle, someone’s blanket wadded into a pillow that looked like it had been punched into cooperation.
A soft chorus of snores and breathing filled the room like a badly tuned orchestra, strangely comforting in its own messy sort of way.
Across from me, Elvina slept on her top bunk, posture elegant even in unconsciousness, her smug little face fixed into the exact expression she always wore—like she was above everyone even in her dreams.
She had her arm draped over her forehead in a dramatic swoop that suggested she’d fallen asleep thinking something pretentious.
I sighed, pushing her existence out of my mind as the grandfather clock at the end of the room chimed softly. The heavy brass pendulum swung in slow arcs, each tick rolling across the room like a lazy drumbeat.
Midnight.
The perfect time for bad decisions.
Right on cue, metal clanged somewhere within the walls. Not loud enough to wake anyone, but just loud enough to make me jolt upright like a startled cat.
I leaned over the side of my bunk, squinting at the nearest vent. A few seconds passed before a muffled curse echoed from behind the grate—several, actually, strung together like someone pulling taut a string of firecrackers.
Then Dunny’s dusty head popped out like some sort of disgruntled goblin emerging from a cave. His blond hair was sticking out in every direction, tangled with dust and cobwebs, and his cheeks were smeared with grime in a way that suggested the vents had been actively fighting against him.
"Dunny!" I whisper-hissed.
His eyes lit up instantly—big, bright, and relieved—as though he’d been half expecting to emerge in the wrong room or fall into a laundry chute.
He wriggled free of the vent with all the grace of a newborn fawn and clattered onto the floor with a soft thump.
Before he could even think about stepping on the nearest pair of shoes, I reached down, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him up onto my bunk. He scrambled his legs up behind me, and almost instantly we ducked under my blanket like two kids hiding from an imaginary monster.
"Was anyone following you?" I whispered. Dunny shook his head, then immediately wavered, "N-N-no... I mean yes—wait, no..."
I stared at him, unimpressed. "Dunny. Were. You. Followed?"
He swallowed, eyes darting around as if the vents themselves might accuse him. "No. I’m sure. Pretty sure. Very sure. Mostly sure..."
I resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. "Fine. Did anyone see you leave?"
"N-no," he said, then winced and added, "I don’t think so? I was quiet! Quiet-ish."
I groaned so quietly it sounded like a sigh, then let the matter drop. There was no use interrogating him when he answered questions like someone spinning a roulette wheel.
"Well?" I whispered, leaning closer. "What did you find?"
Dunny perked up immediately, shoulders straightening as though he’d been waiting his whole life to be asked that question.
"Everything! I watched Iskanda the whole day like you told me to. She woke up really early and stretched for thirty-two minutes, which is weird because I didn’t know stretching could take that long and—"
"Dunny," I cut in gently, "something useful."
He blinked, thinking hard enough that his nose scrunched. "Right. Um. Okay. She spent a long time with this necklace thing? The one with the ruby in it."
My heart skipped. "What was she doing with it?"
"She kept tinkering with it," he said, miming odd little gestures with his fingers. "And writing notes. Lots of notes. In the second floor’s main library."
A sharp, satisfied grin tugged at my lips. "Perfect," I whispered. "Anything else?"
Dunny shook his head. I reached out and pinched his cheek once in praise, earning a tiny squeak from him. "Good work. Now go back before anyone notices you’re missing."
He puffed his chest slightly at the compliment, which made me snort quietly, then wriggled out of the blankets and scampered back toward the vent.
He hoisted himself up with a struggle, shoved the grate aside, and slipped inside before pulling it back into place with a soft click. The wall swallowed him whole, then fell silent again.
I sighed, letting my head flop back onto the pillow, exhaustion seeping into me like ink through wet parchment. My eyes drifted shut—just for a second, I told myself. Just to breathe.
And then a faint rustling cut through the quiet. My eyes snapped open. Slowly, carefully, I lifted my head and peered through the dark.
Elvina was sitting up.
Her posture was rigid, tense in a way that didn’t match someone waking from a dream. Her eyes flicked around the room, sharp and nervous, scanning for movement. Her fingers curled tightly around something in her hand. She took a deep breath, then moved.
Silently.
Smoothly.
Suspiciously.
She slipped off her bunk without a sound, landing with the effortless grace of someone who’d practiced sneaking far more than they’d ever admit.
She tugged on her shoes before padding across the barrack, each step deliberate, making just enough effort to look casual while absolutely failing at it. Then she cracked the door open and vanished into the hall.
I stared after her, wide awake now, a grin stretching across my face.
"Well then, let’s see what you’re up to."