The metallic hum of the ventilation system droned in the background as Jaxon lay on his mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was a luxury he rarely had in this place, and tonight was no different. The quarters were silent except for the occasional rustling of feet, the soft breathing of children lost in exhaustion.

  Yet Jaxon was awake, his mind replaying the events of the day.

  Something about Holt felt… off.

  He’d noticed it earlier, but he said nothing.

  Across from him, Holt sat up on his cot, arms draped over his knees, staring at the floor. The dim overhead light cast shadows over his face, making his expression unreadable.

  Holt had switched bunks after the second month, asking the boy next to Jaxon—a quiet kid named Sali—if they could trade spots. The boy had agreed quickly, maybe because he wanted nothing to do with Jaxon.

  Jaxon shifted slightly. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  Holt exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his blond hair. He always did that when he was tense.

  “Yeah.” A pause. “Just in thought.”

  Jaxon narrowed his eyes. Holt wasn’t one to brood—not like this. Something was bothering him. Before Jaxon could ask, the door to the quarters slid open with a sharp hiss.

  A few children lifted their heads, eyes narrowing at the figure stepping inside.

  Lucian.

  Jaxon tensed.

  Lucian strode in like he owned the place, two of his usual lackeys flanking him. He wasn’t the biggest or strongest child, but he carried himself like he was. Confidence—or arrogance—rolled off him in waves. His sharp eyes scanned the bunks until they landed on Jaxon and Holt.

  A slow smirk spread across his face.

  Jaxon sat up fully. “What do you want?”

  Lucian ignored him, turning his gaze to Holt. “Didn’t see you at the mess hall,” he said smoothly. His voice was casual, but there was something underneath it—something calculated.

  Holt shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.”

  Lucian tilted his head slightly, as if considering the answer. Then he smiled. “That’s not good. You need to eat. Keep your strength up.”

  Jaxon frowned. This wasn’t normal. Lucian picked fights all the time, but this was different. This felt deliberate.

  Holt met his gaze evenly. “I’ll survive.”

  Lucian chuckled, stepping closer. “Of course you will. But it’s funny, isn’t it? How you and Jaxon over here are always together. Like brothers.” He paused. “Or something else.”

  His lackeys laughed. “You saying they’re fucking, Lucian?” one of them said.

  A few children stirred uncomfortably. Some turned their heads, pretending not to hear. Others watched with quiet curiosity, sensing the shift in the air.

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  Jaxon clenched his fists beneath his blanket. “What’s your point?”

  Lucian smirked. “No point. Just an observation.”

  Then, as if losing interest, he turned and walked toward the door. His lackeys followed, their footsteps echoing in the quiet barracks.

  Jaxon exhaled, but he didn’t relax.

  Holt stared at the door long after Lucian had left, his jaw clenched.

  “He’s probably planning something,” Jaxon muttered.

  Holt nodded once. “Yeah.”

  Morning came too soon.

  The klaxons blared, signaling the start of another brutal day. Jaxon rose immediately, his body moving on instinct. Months of training had conditioned him to obey the sound.

  Their schedule never changed—wake up, drills, lectures, sleep. Repeat.

  Drills were relentless. The instructors pushed them through sprints, endurance tests, exercises that left them gasping for breath. The facility had no room for weakness.

  By the time they finished, the children were drenched in sweat, their bodies aching. They were given exactly 15 minutes to eat at the mess hall before heading to lectures.

  Jaxon and Holt walked side by side as they made their way down the metal corridors.

  Then—it happened.

  Holt took a step forward, then suddenly—his body gave out.

  Jaxon barely had time to react before Holt collapsed onto the cold steel floor.

  For a second, everything slowed. The sound of boots against metal faded. The chatter of children heading to class disappeared.

  Then—

  “Holt?” Jaxon dropped to his knees beside him. “Hey—can you hear me?”

  Holt’s body was trembling. Not from exhaustion. Not from fatigue. Something was wrong.

  His fingers twitched violently, curling against the ground. His breathing came in short, uneven gasps. His eyes—usually sharp, usually aware—were glazed over, unfocused.

  More children stopped. Murmurs spread. Some hesitated, watching. Others took a step back.

  Jaxon’s mind raced. What the hell is happening?

  Then he noticed—Holt’s hands.

  His fingertips were trembling uncontrollably, his muscles spasming beneath his skin. His breaths came faster, shallower.

  Jaxon looked up—and saw him.

  Lucian.

  He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching.

  He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t confused. He was just there, smiling.

  Jaxon’s blood ran cold.

  Rage surged through him. He started to rise, fists clenched, but before he could move—

  A sharp voice cut through the tension.

  “Instructor approaching!”

  The crowd scattered.

  Jaxon barely had time to react before a firm hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.

  It was Instructor Fischer.

  Jaxon sat through the rest of the day in a haze.

  He went to the lecture, sat through discussions of tactics and Imperium ranks, but he wasn’t really there. His mind was on Holt. On what Lucian had done.

  Holt was still out cold in his bunk when Jaxon returned. His breaths were steadier now, but his face was pale, his fingers still twitching slightly.

  Jaxon clenched his jaw. Whatever Lucian had done, he would pay for it.

  That night, long after lights out, he made his move.

  He slipped out of bed without a sound. Years of sneaking, thanks to his father’s surveillance, had taught him how to be silent.

  Lucian’s bunk was near the far end of the barracks. His lackeys—Marek and Orion—slept nearby. But Jaxon wasn’t here for them.

  Just Lucian.

  Jaxon stepped closer, his heart pounding. He could hear Lucian’s slow, even breathing. Peaceful. Like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Jaxon clenched his jaw.

  Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed Lucian by the throat.

  Lucian jolted awake with a choked gasp, eyes wide as Jaxon pinned him down.

  The other children stirred but didn’t move. Some watched from their bunks, too afraid to interfere. Others simply turned over, pretending to be asleep.

  Jaxon leaned in, his voice low, dangerous.

  “Your problem was with me.”

  “You didn’t have to go after Holt.”

  “Don’t lie, I know you did it.”

  Lucian’s lips curled into a smirk, even as Jaxon’s grip tightened. “Do you?” His voice was hoarse but taunting. “Can you prove it?”

  Jaxon’s fingers twitched. He could end this right now. A sharp twist, a single blow—more pressure.

  But then a thought slashed through his rage.

  Why was he having such dark thoughts?

  He was still a kid.

  Slowly, Jaxon let go, stepping back.

  Lucian coughed, rubbing his neck, his smirk never fading.

  “Smart choice,” he rasped. “But you know this isn’t over.”

  Jaxon’s eyes burned with quiet fury. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I’ll kill you if you come close to my friend again.”

  Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.