Butter scraped against dry bread, the sound grating against my already raw nerves. Across the table, Marcus and Caleb were deep in conversation, their hushed tones punctuated by grunts and map slaps. I pretended to be engrossed in my breakfast, a meager offering of stale bread and watery porridge, but my ears perked up at every snatched word.

"Two carriages," Marcus muttered, tracing a finger along the worn parchment. "Escort of no more than five, maybe less."

Caleb sighed, a deep rumble in his chest. "Too risky. We're still not at full strength. Elyse is barely walking, and I wouldn't trust myself in a fight yet."

They debated for a moment longer, weighing the risks and rewards. Finally, Caleb made the call. "Let it pass. They probably won't have anything vital anyway."

Disappointment gnawed at me. It was a small shipment, a drop in the bucket compared to the resources the king desperately needed. But it was a chance. A chance to prove myself.

The memory of Razorback Gorge flickered in my mind. The way I'd orchestrated the rockslide, taking down dozens of soldiers with a single, well-timed maneuver. Taking down five men seemed almost insignificant by comparison.

A spark ignited in my chest, a reckless mix of ambition and guilt. I pictured Caleb's face, etched with worry and exhaustion. I could ease that burden, show him I wasn't just a liability, a tagalong. I could be an asset.

Later, in the war room, I surreptitiously studied the map, tracing the route Marcus had mentioned. It wasn't far, a two hour journey at most.

Tonight. I would venture out tonight.

This wouldn't be a grand assault, no elaborate traps or daring escapes. Just a quick infiltration, a touch of poison in their water canteens, and a swift withdrawal. Delay, disrupt, return a hero.

My palms grew slick, a cold sweat betraying the nervous excitement bubbling through me. This plan was risky, foolhardy even. But the thought of Caleb's begrudging respect, of finally being seen as an equal, fueled my resolve. Tonight, I wouldn't be the girl who needed rescuing, who he would hesitate to trust with his darkest secrets. Tonight, I would be the one saving the day.

Sleep, a fragile pretense, cloaked me as I lay beside the others. The rhythmic snores of Kass and the faint glow of the dying fire were the lullaby that lulled them into slumber. But for me, it was a waiting game, anticipation humming beneath my skin.

As soon as the night deepened and their breaths settled into a steady rhythm, I rose. Every creak of the floorboard felt amplified, a potential alarm shattering the silence. Moving with practiced stealth, I shed my sleepwear and donned the familiar comfort of my fighting leathers.

From a hidden pouch, I retrieved a vial – the hemlock poison, courtesy of Isaac's vast collection. A silent prayer escaped my lips; a plea to use this volatile concoction for good, not harm. Then, the map. Tucked beneath my mattress where prying eyes wouldn't find it, it unfolded with the rustle of aged paper.

The route to the supply convoy etched itself into my memory once again. I knew how long they'd travel, their estimated stops for breaks and water. Tonight, the moon was a fickle ally, casting shadows in erratic patterns. But the map, memorized and ingrained, was my compass.

Carefully, I navigated the dense forest, sticking to the inky cover of the trees. The air grew colder as I ventured further from the warmth of the base, but the fire of my mission fueled me. Reaching the pinpointed location – Whispering Falls, as the map whimsically named it – my heart thudded against my ribs.

Five figures sprawled around a small fire, their faces obscured by darkness. Relief washed over me; the intel was correct. No one stood guard, a reckless lapse in vigilance. My plan, it seemed, was unfolding with unsettling ease.

I inched closer, the shadows clinging to me like a second skin. By the carriages, a haphazardly stacked pile of supplies included their water canteens.

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I took a deep breath, channeling the lessons Marcus had drilled into me during hunting practice. Quiet steps, body low, using every bit of cover - that's how you stalk your prey.

Except tonight, my prey wasn't a deer, but five unsuspecting soldiers guarding the supply convoy. As I crept closer, the acrid scent of woodsmoke mingled with the tang of sweat and leather, a tangible reminder of their presence. My gaze darted from the flickering fire to the silhouettes sprawled on the ground, their rhythmic snores a discordant lullaby in the quiet forest.

Suddenly, a figure stirred. My breath hitched in my throat. A soldier, broad-shouldered and bearded, mumbled something in his sleep and shifted. Panic clawed at me, but muscle memory took over. I disappeared behind a massive, moss-covered rock, my heart hammering a frantic counterpoint to the crackling fire.

Time stretched, each second an agonizing eternity. Finally, the soldier settled back, his snores resuming their steady rhythm. Relief washed over me, weak and fleeting, but enough to allow me to continue. Inching forward once again, I kept my body low, using the uneven terrain and the shadows cast by the trees to my advantage. The firelight danced on the worn leather of their boots and the glint of their weapons, sending shivers down my spine.

A surge of adrenaline masked the tremor in my hands as I uncorked the vial. A single drop into each canteen. Just enough to delay, not incapacitate.

A pang of guilt pricked at me as I stole one last glance at the sleeping soldiers. They looked so young, so innocent in the flickering firelight. Their faces, pale and peaceful in sleep, were devoid of the hardened lines I’d come to associate with the King’s soldiers. Were they just boys, barely out of their villages, thrust into this brutal conflict?

The question hung heavy in the air, a stark counterpoint to the pounding of my own heart. Almost, I felt a flicker of sympathy for them. Almost. But then the memory of Caleb, his face gaunt and drawn from his recent injuries, flashed in my mind. And the faces of countless others who had suffered under the King’s tyranny.

This wasn't a war fought by righteous heroes and bloodthirsty villains. It was a messy, tangled web of desperation and duty. They had made their choice – to serve a king who choked the life out of his own people. And I had made mine – to fight for a future where freedom wasn't a luxury but a birthright.

My heart, once pounding with anticipation, now thumped with a different rhythm - a calculated gamble, a step towards proving myself.

A nervous tremor snaked through me as I crouched behind a gnarled oak, the night air suddenly thick with the weight of my own heartbeat. I had to wait for them to wake, for them to reach for the tainted water. Every rustle of leaves, every hoot of an owl sent my nerves into a frenzy.

But patience wasn't in the cards tonight.

A gravelly voice, mere inches from my ear, shattered the silence. "You dropped something."

My breath hitched in my throat. A strangled shriek escaped my lips as I spun around, coming face-to-face with a King's soldier. Moonlight glinted off his cruel smile and the polished surface of the map he dangled in front of me. My map. I must have fumbled it in my haste. He must have been awake the entire time, a silent observer to my deceit.

Panic clawed at my throat. The soldier lunged, his sword flashing a deadly silver in the moonlight. Adrenaline surged, and I launched myself back in a desperate dodge. The blade whistled past my ear, the sting of displaced air a searing reminder of how close I'd come to oblivion.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Flight replaced fight. I couldn't stay. The pounding of his boots against the forest floor sounded like a relentless drumbeat as he gave chase, his enraged shouts tearing through the night. Fear was a hot poker branding my insides, but it also fueled my desperate sprint. My lungs burned, legs screaming in protest, but I couldn't stop. He couldn't follow me back to the base. They were all at risk.

Thinking fast, I abandoned the path ahead, veering sharply into the dense undergrowth. Thorns snagged at my clothes, branches whipped at my face, but I pressed on. My pursuer, a bull in a china shop, roared in frustration behind me. The forest, once a silent accomplice, became a labyrinthine obstacle course. I weaved through towering pines, leaped over fallen logs, using the dense foliage to my advantage.

Every few seconds, I'd glance back, a frantic search for the glint of his armor or the telltale plume of dust from his boots. The distance, if there was any, was negligible. But maybe, just maybe, this desperate zig-zagging would buy me enough time. Enough time to shake him off, to reach the base, warn the others.

My lungs burned, pleading for mercy, but I dared not stop. A clearing materialized ahead, a sliver of hope, but the soldier was almost upon me. He roared again, closer now, the stench of sweat and fear mixing with the earthy dampness.

In a surge of adrenaline, I reached into the hidden compartment in my shoulder pads. My fingers grasped the hilt of the tiny dagger, a last resort against overwhelming odds. With a flick of my wrist, I launched the blade in his direction. It was a desperate, foolish act, born of terror. The dagger arced through the air, glinting faintly in the moonlight, before thudding harmlessly into the trunk of a nearby tree.

The miss only enraged the guard further. He bellowed a sound that was half roar, half curse, and his charge redoubled in fervor. The clearing, once an escape route, now transformed into a terrifying cul-de-sac. I had nowhere left to run.

I tripped. My ankle screamed in protest as I tumbled forward, scraping hard against a rough-barked log. A choked sob escaped me as I scrambled to my feet, but it was too late. His hand, rough and calloused, clamped onto my shoulder.

Suddenly, the earth beneath his feet gave way. A yelp of surprise tore from his throat as he disappeared from sight with a crash. Relief flooded through me, momentary and sweet. Then the net. My foot snagged on a hidden tripwire, and before I could react, the ground vanished, replaced by a suffocating mesh that entangled me from head to toe.

I hung upside down, trapped, the world a dizzying blur. Through the gaps in the leaves, I saw the soldier struggling in a similar trap, his face contorted with rage and frustration. A twisted version of a laugh bubbled up from my throat. We were both caught, predator and prey, tangled in the same unseen snare.

Who had set these traps? Had he alerted the other soldiers? Panic clawed at me. Then, a flash of movement from the soldier's pit caught my eye.

Finn.

He shouldn't have been here. I hadn't told anyone about my plan, wanting the victory – the small act of defiance against the king – to be mine alone. But there he was, a whirlwind of fury and leather, his usually bright eyes narrowed with a cold anger I'd never seen before.

He moved with a surprising grace, disarming the soldier with a single, calculated blow to the head. The soldier crumpled soundlessly, unconscious. Relief washed over me, fleeting and bittersweet.

Then came the yelling.

Finn, the ever-bravado-filled, wisecracking boy, was yelling. Screaming, frankly. His small frame vibrated with fury, his voice surprisingly loud for his stature.

"Seven devils, Kira!" he roared, his voice cracking with barely controlled rage. "What were you thinking? A solo mission? In the middle of the night? Completely unprepared? No word to anyone?"

Shame prickled across my skin. I'd never seen him so angry. Each accusation was a blow, chipping away at the fragile sense of accomplishment I'd clung to. The net dug into my flesh, but it was the sting of his words that truly hurt.

"I-I thought..." I stammered, voice choked with a mixture of fear and disappointment.

"You thought!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "That's the problem, Kira! You think too much! You think you're so smart, but really, you’re just stupid!"

Stupid. The word echoed in my mind, a hollow counterpoint to the pounding of my heart. I'd wanted to prove myself, to show them I wasn't just the little tagalong anymore, that I could handle things. I'd envisioned a triumphant return, Finn maybe even a little impressed. Instead, shame burned hot in my cheeks.

"Don't you see?" he continued, voice dropping to a tense whisper. "You weren't just risking yourself. You were risking all of us. If something had gone wrong... which it did–" He trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air. "He had your map. He would have been able to find our base!"

I hadn't meant to get caught, hadn't meant to put everyone in danger. I just wanted to feel like I mattered, that I contributed.

I spun on Finn, my voice trembling. "I was just trying to help! I knew I could do it!"

"Help?" Finn exploded, throwing the map on the ground. "This isn't some game, Kira! Don't you get it? We fight, we bleed, we survive – together! You could have gotten yourself killed!"

Tears pricked at my eyes, blurring his furious expression. "But I didn't! Look, the soldier… I almost–"

"Almost doesn't matter!" Finn cut me off, his voice dropping to a low growl. "This reckless stunt could have gotten you captured, tortured, or worse! And for what? A measly two-day delay? We could have figured something else out, together!"

His words stung worse than any slap. Together. That was the point, wasn't it? The frustration that had been simmering inside me boiled over.

"Together? You and Marcus get to go on all these important missions on your own, while I'm stuck in our quarters cleaning weapons and preparing dinner! Caleb doesn’t even trust me with debriefing his last mission! I want to contribute too, Finn! I'm tired of feeling like a useless kid!"

Finn's face softened a fraction. He ran a hand through his hair, his anger receding as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. "It's not about being useless," he said, his voice quieter now. "We all have different strengths. You're a brilliant strategist, Kira. But strategy is useless without teamwork. We rely on each other, watch each other's backs. That's how we survive."

Finn took a shuddering breath, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Good thing Elyse is keeping tabs on you," he muttered, his voice strained. "Made me follow you." He sighed, shaking his head. "I don't even want to cut you down right now. Give me five minutes to calm down or I will do something stupid."

The walk back was a silent slog. Shame gnawed at me, a dull ache that mirrored the throbbing in my ankle. Finn marched ahead, a rigid silhouette against the moonlit trees. We moved like wraiths, leaving the unconscious soldier behind in his tangled prison. The forest, once alive with the sounds of the night, seemed to hold its breath, mirroring the heavy silence between us.

An hour ticked by, marked only by the crunch of leaves under our boots. I ached to break the oppressive quiet, to offer some semblance of an apology, but the words stuck in my throat. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a simple "sorry."

A scoff cut through the stillness. Finn hadn't stopped walking, but I could practically hear the eye roll that accompanied the sound. "You better mean that, Kira," he finally said, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of softening. "Because I'm not saving your ass again. You mess up like this, you face the consequences. Understood?"

I bit my lip, guilt twisting in my gut. "Understood," I whispered back, my voice hoarse from disuse.

He snorted, a sound that was almost a laugh. "Good. And you better not breathe a word of this to Caleb. He'll have your head for target practice. Make you do five hundred sit-ups for starters, then dangle you from the highest tree branch by your ankles."

A flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of my lips. A joke. A bad joke, sure, but a joke nonetheless. It was the first sign of his usual bravado returning, and a sliver of hope bloomed in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for forgiveness, a chance to prove myself worthy of their trust, even if it meant a lifetime of sit-ups.

"Five hundred?" I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "That's cruel."

Finn stopped short, turning to face me. A faint smile played on his lips, moonlight glinting in his eyes. "Maybe," he conceded. "But hey, at least you'd have killer abs."

And with that, he started walking again, a hint of a swagger returning to his step. Relief washed over me, mingled with a renewed determination. I wouldn't let him down again. I wouldn't let any of them down.

We stumbled back into the base just as the first sliver of dawn peeked over the horizon. Exhaustion hung heavy on me, a physical manifestation of the emotional rollercoaster I'd just been on. Finn shot me a look that could only be described as a weary warning – "don't do anything stupid" – before we parted ways near our respective dormitories.

Falling into bed, I yearned for the oblivion of sleep. But my mind, still buzzing from the adrenaline and the weight of Finn's words, refused to shut down. Images of the sleeping soldiers, the frantic chase through the woods, and Finn's furious face flickered behind my closed eyelids.

Sleep eluded me. With a frustrated groan, I threw off the covers and padded over to the window. The sky was painted in soft hues of pink and orange, casting long shadows across the training grounds. A cool breeze brushed through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth.

The tension in my body refused to ease. I needed to move, to do something, anything, to quiet the churning thoughts in my head.