There was never enough food. Porridge in the mornings, stale bread in the evenings. Meat was a myth. Butter was a dream.

One night, Corin declared he’d found the vault—a locked cupboard in the matron’s quarters where “the good stuff” was kept.

Rael told him no. Mirae told him hell no. But Akari just tilted his head and asked, “What kind of lock?”

Corin grinned.

They struck at midnight. Lira kept watch near the stairs with a cracked mirror. Caeli sat in the hallway, giggling softly as she braided thread into warning charms. Mirae brought the hammer, just in case.

Akari picked the lock.

Inside were cheese rounds, dried fruit, and a whole loaf of seeded bread.

They didn’t eat it all at once. Rael rationed it like a general distributing supplies in wartime. They took turns nibbling slices by candlelight. Lira made up a toast for each bite—“To our inevitable escape,” “To never trusting porridge again,” “To stealing even bigger bread.”

The next morning, a matron found Caeli’s charm strung from the cupboard handle.

They never got to raid that pantry again.

But none of them regretted it.