Let’s just say, sleep and relaxation weren’t in the books. I arrived, threw my clothes off, and barely hit the bed before the Lieutenant walked in, banging on the bed frame like usual. I swear I had only closed my eyes for a second.

Next thing I knew, I was in the warehouse, panting my ass off. I had come last in every single set, doing even worse than yesterday. By the end, I could barely manage a pushup, and the Lieutenant spent the entire time glaring daggers at me.

Finally, she dismissed us to our rooms. As soon as I entered, I collapsed onto the mat and stared up at the ceiling. Funny thing about finks—we’re supposed to be three times stronger, faster, and tougher than the average man, but we still need just as much sleep. I think it’s utter bullshit.

Maybe ten minutes later, I heard the door open and close. I sighed, sitting up, then gave the great, the wonderful, mock salute from the floor.

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” I asked, my words dripping with exhaustion. I didn’t even bother opening my eyes.

“You will stand.” Colonel Walker said.

I pushed myself up, standing as quickly as I could. “And why are you here?” I asked, not bothering with a salute. I’d salute the Lieutenant, but I wasn’t really taken with the Colonel yet.

He studied me, eyes dragging up and down like he was scanning for flaws. The silence stretched—ten seconds, twenty, maybe a whole damn minute—before he finally spoke.

"I need a full statement on the crimes committed by the Lieutenants who assaulted you and Lieutenant Zenzele. This room is being recorded. Just recount everything in detail—exactly as it happened." He spoke carefully, each word deliberate. "Begin when you're ready."

I hesitated. Something about his voice felt off. Too measured. Too empty, like every emotion had been stripped away and a decision had already been made. Like a man on the other side of a gun.

So, I told him. In detail. I emphasized what they did to the Lieutenant more than myself—because that, at least, got a reaction out of him. His eyes narrowed to slits, and for a moment, I saw nothing but rage.

Then, just as fast as it came, it was gone. His expression smoothed out, like someone wiping away spilled ink.

When I finished, he just stared at me. Then, finally—

“Are you even training?” His voice was sharp, almost disgusted. “Why the fuck were you lying down when I got here?”

“Why the fuck is it any of your business?” I shot back, remembering the vow I’d made what felt like a lifetime ago.

His expression darkened instantly. He tapped his left shoulder, and his tattoo glowed, the image of a man rolling a boulder up a hill floating in the air in front of him.

Then he stepped forward.

Until he was just an arm’s length away.

He didn’t immediately slam my face into the floor, which was a plus, but the look he gave me was pure hate.

"I shall delete this part of the video," Colonel Walker said, voice cold. "Why are you being difficult?"

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "I'm pretty sure you're going to do something all of us sleeveless want done to those bastard Lieutenants. But I don’t like your tone. Leave me to my business, and I’ll leave you to greet the Lieutenant in your underwear. Sound like a deal?"

His face twisted into something cruel, as he lifted his arm up and pointed a finger straight at my forehead, saying, “Do yo—”

And then the door swung open.

"Sir! I request permission to speak with the Sleeveless privately, sir!" The Lieutenant shouted, giving a textbook salute as her words echoed throughout the room.

The Colonel didn't move.

His glare stayed locked on me, his whole body coiled like he was still debating whether to put me through the floor anyway.

Then, finally, he lowered his hand. He turned, walking toward the door, saying, "Train your recruits better, Lieutenant. I expect better discipline from them."

His voice was steady, but his eyes lingered on Zenzele just a second too long when he passed her, like he couldn't drag them away, before shaking his head and slamming the door.

For five whole seconds, Zenzele didn’t move. Then, slowly, she turned to me, her face unreadable.

Then she exploded.

"First, you don’t honor your promise," she snapped, her gaze flicking to a random spot in the room—a silent reminder that we couldn't speak openly about me breaking out. "Second, you disrespected a Colonel, Boris. A Colonel! And you were recorded! Are you insane? Do you have any idea how incredibly stupid that was?"

Something in my chest tightened. My arms crossed again, my pulse pounding in my ears. "You act like I—"

"And look at your damn eyes, Boris!" she cut me off, stepping forward, her voice rising. You need to sleep, for fuck’s sake! Look at yourself!"

I felt something curl in my stomach—hot, defensive, ugly. I stepped toward her. "I'm fine. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll tell you the sam—"

"You will tell me NOTHING!"

Her voice cracked like a whip across the room.

"Not. One. Thing."

Her hands clenched into fists. She was furious, her breath uneven, her hands clenched like she was going in for a fight.

Well, so was I.

"You act like I asked for this!" I snapped, my voice shaking. "Like I wanted some fucking Colonel to walk in here and demand my time—like I asked to be beaten! Like I asked you to be beaten! I didn't ask for any of this!"

She stepped forward, her face inches from mine.

"You didn’t ask for it?" she seethed. "Then why do you keep making it worse?"

My chest burned. "Oh, so this is my fault now?"

"YES! Because you can't help yourself, can you?" she yelled. "You mouth off to everyone within earshot, get yourself beaten to a pulp over and over! And when that’s not enough, you get me beaten! And then you stand there, acting like none of it fucking matters!"

The heat in my chest boiled over. My fists clenched.

"What the fuck else am I supposed to do?!" I shouted, stepping even closer, our foreheads almost touching. "Stand here, pretend to be one of you? Be a good little fink, follow orders, sing fucking kumbaya while those bastards do whatever they want? And now, suddenly, you getting beaten is my fault?!"

Her face contorted with rage. "It’s not about fault, Boris! It’s about who’s getting hurt!"

She grabbed my shoulders, fingers digging in, tight, desperate.

"And I don’t want you to get hurt, you stupid boy!" she shouted. "Just stop mouthing off! Just stop disobeying orders! Please!"

The words hit me in the chest. And then I shoved her off me.

She barely stumbled—just a single step back—but it felt like more.

“I don’t care if I get hurt!” My voice cracking like a childs as I shouted at her,“At least I get to hurt them ba—”

Then I saw her face. She was staring at me with such pain in her eyes I almost asked if I shoved her too hard, the rest of my words dying in my throat as I realized it wasn't the shove. It was the words.

She was still breathing hard, but she didn’t step forward again.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, like they wanted to grab me but couldn’t.

I should have said something. I should have—

She let out a sharp breath. Something wavered, deep in her throat.

Her shoulders buckled first.

Her chest caved, like something inside her had just collapsed.

She took another breath, but it came out wrong—shaky, uneven, as if her own ribs had turned against her.

She turned her head slightly, like she was about to say something sharp, something angry—but the words never came.

Her face crumpled. Her eyes squeezed shut. And then the tears started leaking down her face.

She tried to stop them—her fingers white-knuckled at her sides, her breath coming out too fast, too shallow—but it was too late.

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She turned away, hands shaking, wiping furiously at her face.

And still, the words slipped out.

Soft and broken.

"You need to care about getting hurt, Boris."

Her breath hitched.

"I had to watch, Boris. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t protect you."

Another breath. Short. Shaky.

"I don’t want that to happen again."

Her voice cracked.

"Please. Just stop making me watch you get hurt. Please. Just stop."

The guilt slammed into me.

I took a step forward, but my body locked up. I couldn’t move. My arms hung limp. My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack.

I could take her anger. I could take her yelling, her frustration, her lectures. That would have been better.

But this? This felt worse.

My throat felt raw. My tongue felt too thick, too useless to form words. I didn't know…. What should I do? How can I fix this?

“…I’m sorry,” I whispered, and it felt like spitting out broken glass—too little, too late, and hurting no one but me.

She didn’t answer right away. Just wiped at her cheek, turning toward the door. Mumbled, "I’ll see if I can’t sort out your mess."

And then she was gone. I stood there for a long time, staring at the spot where she had been. It took me a while to sit back down. Even longer to close my eyes.

All I could think about was her face when I said I didn’t care.

I don’t know how long I layed there. Minutes, maybe. Hours. It didn’t matter. The room felt hollow, and I was just sinking into it, trapped in the weight of my own silence. Even exhaustion wouldn't take me. All I could think about was how sorry I was.

I dragged my hands down my face, exhaling hard. I needed to stop.

So I folded the moment away, pressed it deep into my chest, tucked it into some quiet corner of my mind where I wouldn’t have to feel it.

Wouldn’t have to hear the way her voice cracked. Wouldn’t have to see the way she broke. Wouldn’t have to remember the way I shoved her.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought deeper. I could think about it tomorrow. Not now. Not now.

And then I heard a voice. I opened my eyes, looking at the door.

I blinked. It was Zach. Calling me to dinner.

And just like that, my body moved on autopilot, following the others as we trodded off toward the mess hall.

Marnus was glued to Kate’s side, but for the first time since I’d met him, his eyes weren’t fixed on the floor. He was actually looking at people, glancing around as we passed.

Good for him.

When we sat down, I ate quietly, still lost in my head.

Tom nudged me. “You good?”

I forced a shaky smile and waved him off with some half-formed joke. Or maybe it wasn’t even a joke—I wasn’t paying attention.

He didn’t push. A third dinner appeared before me, and I realized he copied Anna’s portions since she was too busy chatting with one of Richard’s cronies to have even started on her food.

I was halfway through when the lower ranks came in, all noise and life, their energy a sharp contrast to the dull ache still sitting in my chest. They filled the hall like they always did, loud, rowdy, hungry. They seemed to be over their initial shock of receiving their rank, and were now just enjoying eachothers company.

I pushed my guilt down. And then I held my head higher. I would make it up to her. She was the best fin— the best person I'd met in a long time. I would do everything in my power to let her know that.

I swallowed my last bite, pushed my tray aside, and eyed Bea, Theo, and Isaac across the room, sitting at their usual spot.

Come on, stop being such a crybaby. Let's deal with this problem first. I thought to myself as I got up and walked toward them.

As I got up, I heard Richard scoff behind me.

"Where the hell is he going?" he said to the table.

I ignored him.

As I walked the length of the long, crowded table of lower ranks, the noise dipped. Conversations slowed, people glanced up at me, voices dropping lower with every step.

By the time I reached them, the table had gone dead silent.

I tilted my head at Bea. “Yo, mind if I sit here?”

A thousand eyes stared at me. Not a single person spoke.

I sighed. "Is it a funeral or something? You can talk, I promise."

My voice carried through the hall. Other tables were watching now, eyebrows raised.

I flashed them a grin, trying to cut the tension, gesturing for them to keep talking—

But instead, chairs scraped against the floor as they scrambled to stand, saluting.

I wagged a mock-scolding finger at them. “If any of you salute me, I’m docking your pay. Sit your asses down.”

I said it too forcefully, the usual humour in my voice nowhere to be found. I cringed, realizing I’d let my emotions play up again. I pushed them down, even further, and brought myself back into reality.

They hesitated, glancing at each other as if they were being paid, before finally sinking back into their seats.

I exhaled slowly, shaking off whatever was left in my chest.

Alright. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and start being a goddamn man.

I turned to Theo, raising an eyebrow, flicking my eyes toward the empty chair.

That eternal smile of his somehow grew even wider. "Sure! But that’s Zack’s seat. He’s just chatting with Lieutenant Michael. When he gets back, you’re gonna have to move. Sorry, Boris!”

I was about to sit when a nervous wreck of a lower rank shot up, eyes wide with panic.

"I'm sorry, sir! Theo didn’t mean anything by it, honest! He’s just—he just cares about his fellow Shieldman, you know? Always looking out. Please don’t take it the wrong way, sir. He didn’t mean no disrespect!"

I blinked at him. Stunned.

Then a laugh huffed out of me, sharp and disbelieving. Laughing when you made her cry? What a nice little man, a small voice whispered in the back of my mind. I strangled it along with the laugh, but tried to keep the smile.

"Oh, no, I agree with you, man. Theo’s great. And I’m a lot of things, but a ‘sir’ ain’t one of them.”

I still had the smile, which I guess was enough to get the guy’s shoulders loosened—just a fraction. His gaze still darted between me and Theo, though, like he was waiting for a fistfight to break out.

I grinned. "I mean, have you seen him deploy a shield? Way better than when I tried it."

I clapped Theo on the shoulder, and the poor kid turned red, ducking his head and stuffing his mouth with food.

That’s when I noticed their plates. Their food didn’t steam like ours did. It looked cold. Mushy. I glanced at my own tray sitting at the B-rankers’ table. The lingering taste of hot food still sat on my tongue.

I frowned.

I ignored their shit food situation—for now—turning back to the nervous wreck. “Anyway, yeah, don’t worry. Theo can speak to me however he wants.”

Theo, mouth full, mumbled, “How’s your toes?”

I squinted at him. “Well, not like that, you little shit.”

He just beamed at me, chewing like an asshole.

Finally, I leaned forward, my grin slipping into something more serious. I planted my elbows on the table, locking eyes with Bea.

"Alright, Bea. I’ve come to hear your decision."

She looked like I’d just handed her a live grenade.

“Boris, I don’t think you’re even allowed to talk to us about that,” she rushed out, eyes flicking nervously around. “Actually, I don’t think you’re allowed to talk to us at all until after the tournament.”

She spoke so fast it was like she was trying to shrink into her chair, while the other lower ranks leaned forward, trying to catch every word.

I sighed, shaking my head slowly, like I’d just heard something I didn’t like.

“Pish posh, who cares? Lieutenants aren’t here.” I shrugged, smiling. “Anyway! May I ask your decision?”

Bea turned bright red. "We haven’t even discussed it yet! We were busy!"

I sighed dramatically, leaning back. “Fair enough. Wasn’t going to see you tomorrow morning anyway. Wanted to have a bit of a lie-in.”

Theo clutched his chest like I’d shot him.

“We won’t see you tomorrow? Damn, that’s a bummer.” He shook his head sadly, like I’d just delivered tragic news.

“You’re a goddamn saint, my friend.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Anyway, eat some more. You look like a breeze would take you away.”

Theo swallowed his food with zero shame. “I’m still not as skinny as you, Boris!”

I just shook my head, already walking back to my table.

Behind me, the noise exploded—people hounding Bea and Theo with questions, Bea burying her head in her hands, and Theo?

Theo was just smiling, chatting happily, right up until Isaac shushed him with a hand over his face.

“What were you talking with them for?” Anna asked, staring at me like I’d just grown a second head.

Before I could answer, Richard scoffed. “Only people close enough for a civvie to relate to, probably.” He shot me a disgusted look, like the very thought offended him.

I turned to him slowly, just giving him a look.

He shut up.

Zach sat down next to me, shifting uncomfortably. “You mustn’t talk to them, Boris.”

“Why?” I asked as I went back to dinner.

He hesitated. “Uhm… it’s in the rules? I think.” His voice wavered between confident and unsure in the same breath.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, right. My apologies. I forgot I’m an excellent rule follower and would never break one again.” I leaned back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And weren’t you guys in school with them, like literally two weeks ago?”

Zach didn’t answer. But Richard did.

“Ranks change everything,” he said. His voice wasn’t mocking anymore. Almost solemn. “We were taught this then. We practice it now.”

I looked at him.

Then at the table.

“So that’s it, then?” I said, my voice low “You've been friends for years, and the second they sit at a different table, you act like they don’t exist?”

No one spoke. But I could see it—the way their gazes drifted toward the lower ranks, some with longing, others with something heavier.

Finally, Anna broke the silence.

“It’s the rules, Boris. We were taught this since we were children.” Her voice was quiet, but firm. “It’s a different world for us now.”

I looked at her, at all of them. None of them looked happy about it.

“Besides,” she added after a moment, barely above a whisper, “they’d kill to have the position we got.”

I didn’t push it.

And then we prepared for the nightly inspection. I made sure my bed was perfect, that the dormitory floor was clean enough you could eat off of it, and I pushed the rest of them to finish showering and to be standing on the line ten minutes before the lieutenant even got there.

When she arrived, she walked into both rooms, not one expression on her face, before shouting, “Lights out!”

It was the first time she had never even looked at me.

Something in my chest split wide open.

I had shoved it down. I had locked it away. But seeing her again—seeing the exhaustion in her face, the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her eyes avoided mine—

It all came roaring back. The way I pushed her. The way I didn’t fix it.

I stood there, silent, watching her pass. I’d make it up to her tomorrow.

I had to.