Gai froze, his name landing with all the subtlety of a thrown bucket of ice water. The world narrowed to the ringing in his ears and the pounding reminder of his recent transgression. Regret twisted sharp in his gut, tangled up with a headache that only comes from one too many secrets and not enough sleep. He'd spent hours convincing himself their discoveries in the library were worth it, but under the hard stare of authority, all those good intentions shrank fast.

  “Sir?” The word stuck in his throat, rough and uncertain. He tried for a blank look, standing tall and straight, but even he could feel how flimsy the act was. The officer coming toward him—a lieutenant by the helmet tucked under arm—looked like he’d seen every excuse in existence and was already tired at the thought of hearing another.

  “You’re Gai, right?” The question didn’t even pretend to be polite. The man’s whole bearing radiated confidence—no room for doubt or discussion.

  “Yes, sir.” Gai replied before his brain caught up, snapping to attention and hoping maybe if he acted by-the-book enough, he’d undo whatever damage last night had done.

  He steeled himself for a dressing down that would probably be loud, public, and thorough. But instead, there was something almost amused in the lieutenant’s eyes—as if this was barely worth getting worked up about. Gai wasn’t sure if that made it better or more nerve-wracking.

  Off to the side, Anders loitered nervously, ready to smooth things over but careful not to step out of line. He cleared his throat and tried to speak up: “Lieutenant Graeme, if I might—”

  “I am Lieutenant Graeme,” the officer cut in sharply. Anders fell silent so quickly it looked rehearsed. “You were supposed to be on shift last night,” Graeme continued, voice level and unimpressed. “Didn’t log a single checkpoint.”

  Gai winced. He’d been hoping maybe paperwork would cover for him or someone else would take the blame. No chance of that now. Anders shifted awkwardly—more embarrassed for Gai than anything else. Graeme didn’t acknowledge either of them beyond keeping his eyes fixed squarely on Gai, making it perfectly clear there’d be no easy way out of this one.

  “Sir, there was a schedule shift. If I might clarify—” Anders tried, voice warm with honest intent.

  Graeme’s hand flicked up, palm-out, cutting off the plea. He didn’t even look at Anders as he did it. All his focus was on Gai, and Gai had the sinking feeling that nothing short of a signed confession would satisfy this man.

  “Guardsman Gai,” Graeme said, savouring the formal address like a lemon rind. “Mind telling me where you disappeared to all night?”

  The question carried outside the foyer and into the yard, not cruel but sharp enough to catch the attention of everyone passing by. Gai could practically feel the weight of a dozen stares pressing him down, all of them hungry for a show. He attempted a confident smile, but it faltered and contorted into something more like a wince. His body complained from too little rest; his face burned as he realized that every possible excuse sounded worse than admitting the truth.

  "Got caught up in some...unexpected business, sir," he managed, picking each word with painstaking care. He flicked his eyes toward Anders, silently pleading for backup. No such luck—just a sympathetic shrug.

  Gai swallowed hard, his mind racing for a plausible excuse. "There was, uh, an issue with some paperwork, sir. Seems I might have... misplaced a few important documents." He winced internally, knowing how weak it sounded. "I've been trying to track them down, but it's taken longer than expected."

  Graeme’s lips drew so tight they nearly vanished altogether. Was he amused or just bored with Gai’s entire existence? Hard to tell. He stepped forward—not threateningly, just with that calm certainty of someone who never wasted energy on theatrics. Now they were standing barely an arm’s length apart.

  “Guardsman Gai,” Graeme repeated, quieter this time, voice edged and direct. “Captain Maric wants a full report about where you were last night.” Not an offer, not a suggestion. “Vanish during your shift again and you’ll be lucky if lost paperwork is your biggest problem.”

  Maric’s name sent Gai’s thoughts scrambling. Discipline and order were practically stitched into his uniform, thanks to Maric—he could still hear the captain’s lectures in his head from training days. That stare of his, all hard edges and zero patience for mistakes, had shadowed Gai’s every move since he’d joined up. Maric never took excuses, never handed out respect unless you’d sweated for it. Dealing with him was always a test—part challenge, part warning. And now Gai would have to report in without a decent explanation, fully aware that every word would count for—or against—him.

  Gai opened his mouth, then clamped it shut, weighing whether honesty or bravado would land him in less trouble. “Understood, sir. I’ll report to Captain Maric right away.” The words left him flat and final. He held Graeme’s gaze, refusing to flinch, even as every half-formed excuse fizzled out in his head.

  Graeme considered him for a second longer, then gave a single curt nod. “See that you do.” At once, he pivoted and strode off, boots clicking in steady, echoing rhythm down the corridor. He didn’t bother to look back.

  The moment Graeme vanished from sight, Anders whistled—a low, sympathetic note—and shook his head. “Charming fellow,” he muttered, loud enough for Gai alone to hear. “He’s got a talent for making you miss the days when Maric was the worst thing in your week.”

  Gai tried to smile at the joke, but it didn’t quite land. He was already thinking several steps ahead—replaying every detail of the night before, the hidden library, Elle’s urgency, and the gnawing sense that the trouble he’d gotten himself into was more than just a matter of missed rounds. If Captain Maric demanded the full truth, could Gai risk telling him? Would Maric believe him, or would he think it another clever dodge from a recruit who finds trouble wherever he goes?

  He only made it three steps before Anders caught up, falling in beside him with a limp barely noticeable under the momentum of his stride. It was almost enough to make Gai forget the pressure building in his chest—the last time he’d seen Anders, the man could barely sit up, let alone walk the halls like nothing had ever happened. Only a week ago, Anders’s face was the colour of raw dough, lips cracked and eyes sunk deep in their sockets. Now, the flush had returned to his cheeks, and his lopsided grin—always a little too sharp—had lost none of its bite.

  Gai felt his throat tighten, unexpectedly grateful for the company. “You look like you’re back from the dead,” he said, keeping his tone light but meaning every word.

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

  Anders snorted. “Feels about right. Not sure if I should thank Penny or curse her for forcing that brew down my gullet three times a day, but I’d rather be above ground and suffering than laid out like poor Edgar.” He nudged Gai with an elbow, lowering his voice as they neared the door to Maric’s office. “You sure you want to go in there alone?” The offer hung in the air, unspoken but unmistakable: he would take the heat, if Gai needed it.

  Gai nodded, more to convince himself than Anders. “I’ll get through it.” His legs carried him down the hall toward Maric’s office, even though every muscle in his body screamed for him to turn and run.

  The corridor spilled him into the open air, the castle’s training yard a wide, muddy bruise between the stone wings of the fortress. Sunlight had not yet found the bottom; mist drifted low and mean across the packed earth, shrouding movement and muffling the barked orders and the clash of practice blades. Gai crossed the expanse with his head down, boots sinking into puddles that immediately soaked through to chill the bones in his feet. Every step dredged up images of the last night: candlelit pages, Elle’s gold-amber gaze, the way his pulse had jumped when he’d seen the sketches of those artifacts—how, for a heartbeat, the world had seemed to tilt sideways, as if a door had opened inside him.

  It was easier to think about the cold than to think about what waited on the other side of the yard.

  He kept to the edge of the yard, steering wide of a knot of guardsmen propped in a doorway. A few tossed lazy insults his way—barely worth a reaction—but he didn’t rise to the bait. The whole place buzzed with bored complaints and rumor-mongering, but Gai gave it all a wide berth. He kept his gaze fixed on the north wall, where Maric’s office waited: a plain door tucked behind the parade stand, almost invisible if you didn’t know to look. It looked like any other storeroom door—a perfect disguise for what everyone knew was the real centre of command around here.

  Finally, Gai stood before Captain Maric’s door. No guards posted outside—not Maric’s style; he liked his lectures private. Gai hovered, hand raised, knuckles an inch from the wood, and paused.

  This was it. Whatever came out of his mouth next would set everything in motion—for himself, for Elle, for the fragile bit of order they’d managed to scrape together.

  After a beat, he let his hand drop, sucked in a slow breath, and knocked twice—sharp and business-like. It took only a second before Maric’s voice answered, low and flat: “Enter.”

  Inside wasn’t like the rest of the keep—bare walls, not a single useless trinket or trophy in sight. Just a hulking desk piled with paperwork glaring in the slant of sunlight. Behind it sat Captain Maric, helmet off, hair combed back so tight it looked painful, eyes already fixed on Gai as he stepped in.

  “Sit.” Maric didn’t bother to point or move; just waited until Gai slid onto the hard-backed bench set exactly in front of the desk. That stare didn’t budge. Gai could practically feel Maric tallying every careless detail: the tired walk, how rumpled his shirt was, his restless hands. He forced himself not to fuss with his hair or armour—any nervous twitch would just get noted down.

  The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. Maric knew exactly what he was doing. Finally, he broke it: “Graeme tells me you skipped every checkpoint last night.” The words were delivered with all the emotion of reading off inventory.

  Gai’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He knew what Maric wanted: the truth, or at least something close enough that they could both pretend it wasn’t a lie.

  “Yes, sir.” He held the captain’s gaze, feeling the blood pound in his ears. “I take full responsibility. No excuse.”

  Maric’s tone was pure granite, but Gai could hear the old disappointment just under the surface. “Taking responsibility. That’s your answer.” He let the words hang, turning them over until they lost any shine. “That’s always been your greatest offering here, hasn’t it? Not skill, not family, and definitely not punctuality.” He didn’t bother softening the blow. “You promised me you understood what was required. Promised I wouldn’t end up regretting keeping you in my guard. Clearly, I was fooling myself.”

  Gai braced himself, swallowing back any defense he might’ve had—none of it would help now.

  Maric pressed on, his voice growing sharper. “Help me understand something: why do you think you get to cherry-pick which rules apply to you? I’ve seen this pattern since the day you arrived—always a clever explanation waiting. And don’t get me wrong, you’re quick. Just not half as sharp as you think you are.” He leaned in, eyes narrowing. “So tell me: what exactly made last night worth breaking every rule we’ve got?”

  He couldn’t have explained the library, or Elle, or how everything felt knocked sideways after last night—not without sounding insane. Gai’s thoughts scrambled, hunting for something that wouldn’t immediately fall apart under Maric’s stare. He remembered the stubborn set of Elle’s jaw in the candlelight, the weight of what they’d uncovered still sitting heavy in his chest.

  “I was looking into something,” Gai forced out at last. “A lead.” No point dressing it up. “It ties back to last week’s mess—the thing with Anders, Edgar and me nearly getting ourselves killed.” His words shook a little before he got control again. “I couldn’t just drop it, sir.”

  Maric didn't blink, didn't so much as twitch. "Anders almost lost a limb. Edgar's still stuck in the infirmary. You get to play sentinel because you walked away with the smallest scar." His fingers tapped a slow, pointed rhythm on the desktop. "But you don't get to go rogue. This isn't some heroic saga for thrill-seekers, Gai—it's about keeping people alive. That includes you, if you ever remember."

  Gai felt his chest tighten. Maric wasn't upset about a simple mistake; he was concerned about Gai's readiness for the guard, about the unknown factors that led to his recruitment.

  "Do you trust me?" Gai asked, voice low—and instantly regretted it as soon as it left his mouth.

  Maric's stare sharpened. "Trust is something you earn here, not something anyone hands over out of pity. You're not there yet. Nights like last just remind us all how much you still have to learn, and how unusual your position is."

  The silence after that stretched to the breaking point. Gai felt the captain’s disappointment settling in the pit of his stomach, heavy and permanent as a stone. He wanted—no, needed—to say something that would reverse it, or at least soften the blow. But there was nothing left.

  Maric leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him. "I should pull you from the roster," he said. "Hell, I should send you home, or straight to the labour gangs at the north ramparts. That's the standard for this kind of infraction. Especially for someone like you, Gai, without an elemental affinity to fall back on."

  He paused, his gaze boring into Gai. "You know, your combat skills are impressive, but in this city, that's not always enough. One misstep, and you could find yourself toiling alongside the lowest of the low in those gangs. No amount of swordplay can protect you from that fate if you don't toe the line."

  Maric's words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the precarious position Gai occupied. "You want to know why I'm not sending you there right now?"

  Gai kept his mouth shut—he’d learned that much, at least—and shook his head, once, barely perceptible.

  Maric exhaled, voice flat. “You know why you’re not being tossed out right now? Because someone around here needs to be stubborn enough to pay attention when things start going sideways—and for all your trouble, you’re at least good at that.” He let that hang for a moment, then pressed on. “But make no mistake: you do it by my rules, not yours. If you’re so desperate to play spy, you’ll do it where I can keep an eye on it. As of now, you’re on static post.”

  A thin smile flickered at his lips, the kind that dared Gai to find it funny. “Congratulations. You get to stand guard in the inner great hall. Every hour, every shift. Right there with the nobility and the bored officers and the merchants who think we’re furniture. Don’t move from that spot unless you want to find out exactly how creative I get with punishments.”

  The humiliation hit hard—Gai knew full well the great hall meant he’d been benched with all the hopeless cases.

  “But—” The word died in his throat. He had nothing left to bargain with.

  Maric just kept going, unbothered. “You’ll be with Anders for your shifts. He can barely hold a quill these days, but at least he knows when to keep quiet—a trick you might consider picking up.” Maric’s gaze sharpened as he added, “And you’ll report to Lieutenant Graeme before roll call every evening. Miss a checkpoint and you’ll wish I’d just sent you home.”

  Gai managed a nod.

  For a split second, Maric’s expression softened—not kindness, exactly, more like reluctant understanding. “You want to actually help? Good. Show me you can follow orders, even when they don’t make sense. Keep that up longer than a single morning, and maybe I’ll let you back where there’s real work to do.”

  He didn’t need to say another word; everything about his posture said Gai was dismissed. Gai stood, legs less steady than he’d like, and made for the door—hesitating briefly with a dozen explanations caught behind his teeth—but Maric was already buried in paperwork, unwilling to hear any of them.

  He shut the door behind him, feeling the new assignment settle onto his shoulders like a pile of wet blankets. He tried to picture Anders’s reaction—most likely that same dry wit that had gotten them both through worse. With any luck, Anders would see the humour in being benched and wouldn’t mind a stretch of easy duty, arm propped up and tongue as sharp as ever, especially if it meant they could grumble about the castle elite together.

  He spotted Anders in the mess hall, hunched over his porridge and poking at it like he was waiting for it to surrender. The place was packed with the morning crowd, but as soon as Gai sat opposite him, conversations dipped and curious eyes flicked their way. Apparently, news—or at least rumours—travelled faster than a kitchen fire.

  “So, congratulations are in order?” Anders remarked without looking up. His jaw still looked rough, and the fresh bandage peeked out above his collar. “I hear you’re now official palace decor.”

  Gai grunted and let his chin drop, the weight of fatigue hitting him all at once. “That’s right. I’ll be bolted to the floor in full view of everyone who’s ever wanted to get me thrown out of here.”

  “Think of all the new friends you’ll make,” Anders said, spooning his breakfast with exaggerated solemnity. “At least we’re paired up. Even Maric can’t stand the thought of you wandering unsupervised.”

  Gai mustered a weak laugh, more grateful for the company than he’d ever admit. All that was left now, he realized, was to get through the shift—one night at a time.

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