Leaving the dormitory, we found a low hum of activity emanating from the common room. Stepping inside, the scent of roasting meat and freshly baked bread greeted us.

Finn was already halfway through a plate of steaming porridge, his chin dusted with flour. Across from him, Marcus and Caleb were deep in conversation, their voices low and serious.

Elyse sat by herself near the window, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on a leather-bound book filled with strange symbols.

And tucked away in a far corner sat Erin. She meticulously sliced an apple into bite-sized pieces with a small knife, her eyes fixed on some unseen point beyond the room.

Earlier that morning in the bath, I'd confided in Kass about the whole Erin situation, and now, seeing her across the room, a jolt of anxiety shot through me.

Kass shot me a look, a silent acknowledgment of my earlier words.

One noticeable absence hung in the air – Isaac. As usual, his place at the table remained empty.

He was likely in his chambers, the room furthest down the hall, engrossed in some experiment or meticulously mixing a salve. His quiet dedication to his comrades well-being was a constant, silent reassurance.

A wave of nervousness washed over me. We were the last ones down, and the weight of this morning's encounter with Erin still hung heavy in the air. But before I could overthink it, Kass nudged me forward with a grin.

We made our way to the table, weaving between figures already engrossed in their meals. A warm smile spread across Finn's face as he spotted us.

"Well, well, the ladies grace us with their presence at last," he boomed, his voice surprisingly loud for such a small frame. "Sleep well, did you?"

"Much better, thank you, Finn," I replied, returning his smile.

"The bath did wonders," Kass chimed in with a playful jab. "And thanks to a good scrubbing," she said with a wink, "we finally don't offend any delicate noses around here."

Finn threw back his head and laughed, a hearty sound that filled the room.

"Is that right? Well, I wouldn't say you offended any noses, but let's just say the air is a good deal fresher this morning."

Kass and I joined in the laughter, the tension easing a fraction. It felt good to share a light moment, a small act of normalcy.

Taking a seat next to Kass, I reached for a bowl and scooped myself a generous portion of porridge.

As we dug into our breakfast, the conversation flowed easily, filled with chatter about the day's plans and lighthearted teasing. There was a newfound sense of purpose in the air, and with full bellies and a shared resolve, we were ready to face whatever challenges awaited.

Across from me, Finn continued to attack his breakfast with his usual enthusiasm. While the shadows under his eyes spoke of restless nights, a now familiar spark flickered in his gaze. That glint – the one that usually preceded a mischievous prank – was a welcome sight.

Finn was supposedly someone who could pick any lock, decipher ancient texts, and escape with his life while simultaneously cracking a joke.

Taking a deep breath, I reached into the pocket of my tunic and slid my dad's cryptic message, the now very familiar paper across the wooden table. The sound of its descent echoed in the tense silence that had settled between us.

Finn's gaze flickered up from his half-eaten breakfast, and a playful grin stretched across his face.

"This," I croaked, pushing the paper across the table's wooden surface, "is what I found in the rubble of our shop."

Finn picked it up gingerly, his calloused fingers tracing the grid of numbers meticulous inscribed upon it.

Silence descended upon us, broken only by the rhythmic crackle of the dying fire in the corner. The weight of the unspoken hung heavy in the air. This wasn't just a piece of paper; it was a final act of love, a desperate plea from a father to his daughter on the precipice of an uncertain future.

"It's a code," I finally whispered, the word hanging heavy in the air. "My father, he left me a code. I just don’t know how to decipher it."

Finn gave a curt nod, his gaze still fixed on the cryptic message. He was supposed to be good, the best.

"A code, huh?" His voice was rough, laced with an unfamiliar frustration. "Numbers in a grid... coordinates, maybe? A reference system of some kind?" He trailed off, tracing the numbers with a finger, a deep concentration etched on his face.

A flicker of recognition sparked in his eyes. "The first row of numbers is in ascending order. It's a book cipher," he said finally. "The numbers should correspond to words in a specific book, a key." Disappointment washed over me. Coordinates, I had desperately hoped. My best guess for days, shattered.

"So no coordinates then?" I asked, the question heavy in the air.

He shook his head. "No, the message is hidden within a book. But…" he hesitated, "until we find the right book, these numbers are just gibberish."

A fist clenched around my heart. My father's shop, the one that had been our entire life, was gone, reduced to smoldering ash. Hundreds of books, each one a potential key, were lost in the flames. The thought of sifting through the charred remains, an impossible feat, felt like drowning in despair.

Then, a jolt shot through me, a memory bursting forth like a dam breaking. The delivery to Willow Creek. The seemingly random assortment of books Father had insisted on having delivered before everything went to hell. It couldn't be a coincidence. One of them had to be the key, the answer to this cryptic message.

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My breath hitched. We had to go back. We had to find Abernathy, my father’s friend. The books had to be with him.

"Kass," I blurted out, the urgency bubbling over, "the books! The ones we delivered to Willow Creek, they might be the key!"

Understanding flickered across her face. "The random assortment? You think one of them holds the cipher code?"

I nodded fervently. It all made a horrifying kind of sense. My father wouldn't have sent random books. There had to be a reason.

She ran a hand through her hair, worry creasing her brow. "It's worth a shot. We have to at least try." But then her voice dropped, a grim reality settling in. "But going back to Willow Creek is… dangerous. The soldiers are probably scouring the whole kingdom for us, for Abernathy, for anyone connected to your father, anyone who might be a rebel."

Her words were a bucket of cold water. She was right. We were fresh faces on every wanted poster, branded as traitors. Stepping foot in Willow Creek would be like walking into a lion's den.

"You're right," I conceded, the fire in my gut dampened by a wave of caution. "We can't just waltz back in. Maybe a few weeks, lay low, let things settle down a bit before we even think about showing our faces."

Kass nodded, a flicker of relief in her eyes. "Agreed. For now, we lay low. But we don't give up. We find Abernathy, we find that book, and we crack this code."

A small spark of hope rekindled within me. We had a plan, a maybe, a glimmer of a chance. And that, in this desperate situation, was all we had.

All the while, Marcus and Caleb remained focused on their hushed conversation. Their brows were furrowed in concentration as they traced a crude map etched onto a worn piece of leather. Every so often, a word like "distraction," "north wall," or "patrol schedule" drifted across the table.

Kass and I exchanged a glance, a silent question hanging in the air. Finally, Kass, ever the bold one, spoke up.

"Mind if we know what the grand plan is, gentlemen?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of playful curiosity.

Marcus glanced up, his eyes guarded for a moment before softening slightly. He inclined his head towards the leather map.

"Thinking about infiltrating the Black Keep,“ he said in a low voice. "Caleb has been gleaning some information about the patrols and weak points in the defenses."

Caleb met our eyes for a fleeting moment. A flicker of something akin to excitement sparked in his dark eyes before he quickly returned his attention to the map.

The weight of their words settled on us. Infiltration. The very word sent a thrill of fear and a surge of adrenaline coursing through me. This was it, then. The beginning of something real, something dangerous. We exchanged another glance, this time filled with a mix of apprehension and determination. With a deep breath, I leaned forward, eager to hear more about this daring plan.

"...distraction at the west gate," Marcus muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Should buy us enough time to—"

Caleb cut him off with a sharp shake of his head.

"Too risky. They'll have guards everywhere. We need a more... subtle approach."

Suddenly, the silence was broken by a voice as sharp as the glint of Erin's knife. She hadn't spoken a word the entire breakfast, but now her piercing eyes were fixed on the two men, her tone laced with a quiet confidence.

"A distraction at the gate won't work," she said, her voice surprisingly melodic for such a hardened individual. "The castle will be on high alert. We need to get in... unseen."

Erin's statement hung heavy in the air, the clatter of breakfast utensils momentarily silenced.

Marcus, his jaw clenched, shot her a skeptical glance.

"Unseen? Easier said than done, rogue. That castle's a fortress."

A flicker of a smile played on Erin's lips, fleeting but sharp.

"Perhaps," she countered, "but fortresses have weaknesses. Tunnels, forgotten passages, poorly guarded corners. I know the castle's layout better than most."

Kass leaned forward. "You've been inside the castle? How?"

Erin's smile vanished, replaced by a steely glint in her eyes.

"Let's just say," she said finally, "I've had... opportunities."

The weight of her unspoken past hung in the air for a moment. Then Caleb's voice cut through the tension. "Alright," he conceded, "tell us what you know."

A slow smile spread across Erin's face, a rare glimpse into the depths of her character. Placing the remaining apple core down with a quiet thud, she began to speak. Her voice, usually sharp and clipped, softened as she described the castle's hidden passageways, forgotten tunnels, and the routines of the guards. She spoke of weaknesses in the outer wall, a blind spot in the north gate's patrol schedule, and a hidden service entrance rarely used.

As Erin spoke, Marcus and Caleb exchanged glances, their initial skepticism slowly melting away. Notes were scribbled, brows furrowed in concentration. The plan they'd been struggling with was taking shape, morphing into something more daring, more precise. With each detail Erin revealed, a spark of hope flickered in their eyes.

A new worry tugged at me. "But Erin," I interjected, "how do you know all this? How can we be sure—"

Erin's gaze met mine, a flicker of understanding passing between us.

"Trust," she said simply, her voice firm, "is a luxury we can't afford right now. But results? Results speak for themselves."

The weight of her words settled in my stomach. Trust. It was a fragile thing, especially in a group forged in rebellion and shrouded in secrecy. But she was right. In this fight, blind faith might be a liability, but inaction was a death sentence.

A tense silence followed, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and the rhythmic clinking of spoons against bowls. My gaze swept across the table, taking in the determined faces of my newfound companions.

There was Finn, his careless exterior masking a wellspring of unwavering loyalty. Marcus, his stoicism a facade for a fierce protective streak.

Caleb, his eyes gleaming with a newfound strategic light. Then there was Erin. An enigma wrapped in leather and steel.

At the window, Elyse, a silent observer with a book of secrets clutched in her hand. And working away in the other room, sat Isaac, the healer. He was a vital part of the team, his knowledge of herbs and salves a silent reassurance in the face of coming dangers.

Beside me, I felt the encouraging presence of Kass. Not quiet by any stretch, she was a whirlwind of fiery red hair and a booming laugh that could rival the crackle of the fire. Though built more like a warrior than a scholar, her hands, strong and calloused, were as adept at wielding a hammer as they were wielding a knife. A mischievous glint danced in her eyes, a silent challenge to anyone who dared to underestimate her.

A small, wry smile touched my lips. Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. Just a few days ago, I'd been buried in scrolls and leather-bound tomes, my world confined to the crisp scent of parchment and the comforting weight of a book on my lap. Now, here I was, surrounded by these battle-hardened individuals, tasked with a mission that could very well turn us all into footnotes in some dusty history book.

We were a motley crew, bound by a shared purpose and a desperate hope. And Erin's plan, as audacious as it was, offered a glimmer of hope we couldn't ignore. It was a gamble, yes, a perilous dance with danger. But with each passing moment, a sense of resolve solidified within me. We were in this together, and backing down wasn't an option.

The air crackled with tension as Erin finished outlining the final details. A surge of determination coursed through me, and I glanced at Kass, a silent question hanging in the air. Her expression mirrored my own – a mix of fear and unwavering resolve. In a synchronized move, we pushed back our bowls and stood.

"We want in," I declared, my voice surprisingly steady.

A chorus of surprised gasps filled the room.

Erin's face hardened.