Three weeks had passed since the incident with Saive and the medic. Roenan turned his head to look at the empty bed in the corner. A small team of janitorial staff had come in not long after Drakke left the room that day he made the offer.

One of the medics came to change Roenan's bandage while the others helped replace the destroyed bed and bring in a new IV stand. The janitorial crew mopped the floors and tried to buff the scuffs out of the wall. Roenan thought they looked worn out and underfed—unlike the medics.

As he stared at the dent in the wall that had proven unfixable, Drakke opened the door with its annoyingly familiar creak. He entered, carrying books in his arms—and sporting an incredibly painful-looking black eye.

Drakke had been coming to the hospital during his guard duty hours so they could hold their "secret" study sessions. He’d passed his Jaedan exam a few days ago and had entered the room that day in an unusually good mood. He even brought Roenan a Vernajjian chocolate bar as a thank-you. Roenan had felt bitter to enjoy the treat. He pretended to hate the chocolate as he devoured it, which made Drakke laugh and promise to bring him alcohol next time instead.

Roenan whistled. “What happened to you?”

Drakke huffed a small laugh. “Training.”

“What kind of university training…” Roenan trailed off, shaking his head in disapproval.

Drakke snickered. “You find out soon enough.”

“You will,” Roenan corrected, emphasizing the phrasing. “It indicates the future. The action hasn’t happened yet.”

“You will find out soon enough,” Drakke mumbled, brows creasing as he set the books down on the bed to the right of Roenan, which might as well have been labeled Drakke’s desk. He patted his pockets for his pen before sitting to jot down the correction.

“No, but really. Did you get in a fight or something?” Roenan pressed.

Drakke finished writing and looked up from beneath his brow. “It was training,” he said again as he snapped the notebook shut. “There is a lot of physical training here.” He smiled proudly after using the word physical. Roenan had just finished teaching him the difference between physical and psychological in Jaedan so he’d stop saying body and mind, which had annoyed Roenan for no good reason.

A short silence passed before Drakke added, “The one who did this”—he gestured to his face—“I did anger him.”

“Oh yeah?” Roenan asked, tone pushing for more, as he took a sip of water from the cup on his bedstand.

Drakke rubbed at the corner of his eye, smiling in an almost bashful way, not looking at Roenan. “I have known him since we were children. I… uh…” He snickered until he couldn’t help himself. “I fucked his sister.”

Roenan choked on his water, coughing hard as it sloshed down his front. The coughing hurt his abdomen, though not as badly as it had a couple weeks ago. Drakke burst into laughter and snatched the cup from him, seeing how much he was spilling.

“What the hell kind of friend are you?” Roenan gasped, scolding him with a finger. “That’s not right. Also, I don’t think that’s what your university meant by ‘physical training’.”

“Ah. They should have been more clear,” Drakke said, still laughing, as he set the glass down.

“Yeah, okay,” Roenan muttered, rolling his eyes. “Also, where did you learn that nasty word?”

Drakke shrugged. “Is that not the type of thing many learn first in new language?” he said, his smile lingering.

“I guess you’re right…” Roenan paused. “Well, do you like her? The sister?”

Drakke hummed thoughtfully. “I leave feelings to side. It does not do to get attached.”

Roenan tried to ignore the relief that quietly swept through him. This world war was more brutal than those of the past. These days, it was rare to come across someone who hadn’t lost friends or family to the chaos.

“What about you?” Drakke asked as he reached for the Vernajjian book he’d brought, searching for the page they’d stopped on the day before. “Do you have girlfriend back home?”

Roenan cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I had someone I used to see,” he said quietly.

He was spared any further questions when the door suddenly opened.

Drakke slammed the book shut and looked over his shoulder. He had disguised the Vernajjian book with a Jaedan cover so it wouldn’t appear as if he was teaching a prisoner the enemy language—especially before Roenan had received confirmation about the university transfer.

Drakke stood, snapping into a rigid salute.

Four military personnel entered, carrying an unconscious Saive.

He looked mortifying.

Roenan’s jaw dropped, and even Drakke made a low, involuntary sound deep in his throat—quiet enough only Roenan could hear.

Saive’s skin was pale, the bruises and scratches vivid against it. He looked unnaturally thin. Roenan couldn’t understand how someone could lose so much weight and athleticism in only three weeks.

They dropped him on the bed without care.

“Hey!” Roenan shouted in Jaedan, pushing up instinctively. Drakke quickly pressed his shoulder down, meeting his eyes with a warning look.

The soldiers didn’t even bother to strap Saive down with the cloth like before. Apparently, they no longer worried about him escaping. No medic came to hook up his IV either.

As the military personnel left, they gave Drakke a nod, and he returned it weakly. The door shut behind them, and the room went still.

Drakke was muttering in Vernajjian as he crossed the room toward Saive’s bed. Roenan slid off his bed to follow.

His legs felt unsteady, and the soles of his feet prickled like they weren’t used to holding weight. He hadn’t moved much in weeks, outside of slow walks to the restroom. He tried to exercise daily, but fear of re-injury held him back. More than anything, he was desperate to recover—he needed to be ready for whatever came next.

Drakke caught his arm. Roenan looked up.

He realized he’d never stood in front of Drakke before—and that Drakke was a good three inches taller than him.

Roenan glanced down, freezing in horror at what he saw.

“Roenan,” Drakke said sternly.

Roenan looked back up at him. The light that usually flickered in Drakke’s eyes was gone. He looked more serious than Roenan had ever seen him.

“You must always obey their orders,” Drakke said. “If you obey, you won’t end up like this.”

Roenan didn’t know how to respond. He reached to touch Saive’s bloodied hand, but stopped himself. Saive had never liked being touched. His hand hovered, then slowly dropped.

He looked up, suddenly aware of how pale he must have gone.

Drakke’s face was calm, but his eyes searched Roenan’s. He gave a light squeeze to Roenan’s arm, steadying him.

“You will be okay. Follow orders, work hard, and you will be okay.”

Drakke let go. Roenan looked down, his vision blurring.

He really hoped Drakke knew what he was talking about. The way he made it sound—like Roenan would get into the university, follow orders, graduate, and go free… it felt too clean. Too easy.

There had to be more to it.

Roenan was being kept alive for a reason, and he had a feeling he was going to find out why. The thought of that made him shiver.

Drakke nodded slightly to himself, his gaze distant.

“I want to see you get through this without troubles.” He turned toward Roenan again. “If you can trust me, I promise to help you while you are here. Let me be someone you can turn to.”

He offered a faint smile.

“Let us break from studies. You might rest. We can pick up Vernajjian tomorrow.”

Several moments of silence passed before Roenan finally spoke.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.”