Morning came without orders.

  That alone was wrong.

  Usually, guards arrived before the sun fully rose—boots, shouting, chains. But that day, the corridors remained silent. No doors opened. No numbers were called.

  An hour passed.

  Samye sat on the edge of the bunk, his body tense, his eyes fixed on Aren.

  Slowly, Aren stirred.

  A quiet groan escaped his lips as his eyes fluttered open. Pain twisted his face immediately. He tried to move—and failed.

  “Aren,” Samye whispered urgently, kneeling beside him. “Don’t move. Please.”

  Aren swallowed hard. His throat was dry, his voice barely there.

  “They… didn’t finish,” he said.

  Samye’s breath caught.

  “What do you mean?”

  Aren turned his head slightly, avoiding Samye’s eyes.

  “They framed me,” he whispered. “Said I tried to run. I didn’t. I swear.”

  Samye clenched his fists.

  “I know.”

  Aren continued, each word costing him strength.

  “They said the beating was just the start. The punishment isn’t over yet.”

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  Samye froze.

  “What punishment?”

  Aren’s hands trembled.

  “They’re taking something today,” he said quietly. “A part of me. They said it’s the rule.”

  The words crushed the air from Samye’s lungs.

  His heart began to race violently. Cold spread through his chest, down his arms, into his fingers. His hands started shaking uncontrollably.

  “No,” Samye whispered. “No… they can’t.”

  Aren tried to smile—but it broke halfway.

  “I didn’t want to scare you,” he said. “But I didn’t want you to hear it from them either.”

  Samye’s mind spiraled.

  Fear wrapped around him so tightly he could barely breathe. His heart pounded faster and faster as Aren spoke—describing the torture, the screams, the way the guards laughed as if it were entertainment.

  And still, it wasn’t over.

  Samye stood up suddenly.

  “I’ll get you out,” he said.

  Aren looked at him in shock.

  “How?”

  Samye didn’t answer immediately.

  His mind was already racing.

  He imagined routes. Timings. Blind spots. Guard rotations. Weapons. Numbers.

  Nothing worked.

  Too many guards.

  Too many cameras.

  Too many ability users.

  Even if he fought—he would lose.

  And if he lost, Aren would suffer even more.

  Still, Samye couldn’t accept doing nothing.

  He paced the cell like a trapped animal, breathing hard.

  Think.

  Move.

  Do something.

  Time slipped through his fingers.

  The sound of boots echoed down the corridor.

  Samye’s heart dropped.

  The guards had come.

  Aren grabbed Samye’s arm weakly. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Please. They’ll kill you.”

  Samye looked down at him.

  “I won’t let them take you like this.”

  The cell door opened.

  Two guards stepped inside.

  “Time’s up,” one of them said lazily. “The kid’s coming with us.”

  Samye moved without thinking.

  He lunged forward and struck the nearest guard with everything he had. The man went down hard, crashing into the wall.

  For a split second—

  Hope flared.

  Then the second guard reacted.

  A baton slammed into Samye’s side. Another blow struck his head. Hands grabbed him from behind. More guards flooded in.

  Samye fought desperately, but it was over before it began.

  He was thrown to the ground, pinned, beaten until his vision blurred.

  Aren screamed his name.

  “Take him too,” one guard growled. “He needs a reminder.”

  Samye was dragged up by the arms, blood dripping from his mouth.

  As they pulled Aren away, Samye locked eyes with him one last time.

  “I’m sorry,” Samye whispered.

  The doors closed.

  And the corridor swallowed them whole.