Chapter 6

The morning after, we fall into the same routine as the day before—quick bites of stale food, a few gulps of water, and then back to the relentless march forward. Caleb tries to fill the silence with questions, each one ricocheting off the wall I've built around myself. I give him nothing. Just quiet, steady steps until his voice dies off, swallowed by the oppressive stillness of the woods. We'll be with the others soon—just a few more hours. Then, I won't have to pretend.

The dense forest eventually thins out, revealing a shallow valley cradling a ghost town beneath the looming shadows of forgotten mountains. Time has gnawed at this place, and nature is reclaiming what was once taken. The skeletal remains of wooden houses stand crooked, windows shattered like broken promises. Vines snake through every crack and crevice, weaving through the ruins with patient persistence. This place feels untouched by war—yet still abandoned, left behind by those who couldn't—or wouldn't—stay.

We walk down the dirt path, the silence settling heavy between us. Each footstep stirs up dust, memories of what once was. My eyes catch on a small building nestled between two ancient oaks. And there—under the frail shade of a half-collapsed porch—Rein sits, like a ghost from my past suddenly given flesh. When he sees me, he rises fast and pulls me into a rough hug. Relief ripples through him in a shudder I can feel in his shoulders.

Caleb brushes past us without a word, disappearing inside the house to find his friends. He leaves my rifle propped against the doorframe—a gesture that sits unspoken between us. Rein's brow arches, but he doesn't say anything. I let my pack fall to the ground with a dull thud and sit where Rein had been moments before.

"Did you see any more?" Rein's voice is low, cautious.

I shake my head. He nods, staring back toward the path we came from. "We can afford to wait a day. Baker and Richard might show up here next."

Waiting feels reckless, but without Baker, we have no real plan—only the cold instinct to keep running. This checkpoint might be the last real stop we have. The only one we have set in stone. Doing this without Baker or Richards feels wrong. If we leave without them, finding them ever again is slim. We owe it to them to wait, after what they've done to protect us, it only feels fair. 

Baker and Richards carry more years—and more scars—than Rein or I ever will. They've been with Charlie longer than anyone else, carving out their survival by making themselves indispensable. When Charlie first gathered us—children stripped from whatever lives we had—he ordered them to shape us into something useful. Something lethal. The future of his rising empire.

But Charlie's expectations were never meant for children. They were cruel, impossible. He erased our names, buried our pasts, and forced us into cages with each other like animals. We fought not for pride, not for skill—but for survival. Every bruise, every broken bone, was a reminder of what we were becoming. We were no better than the creature Caleb and I killed in the woods—feral, desperate, and dangerous. Memories I try to shove behind the walls I've built. There is nothing in my past that I am proud of.

Baker and Richards did what they could to save us from breaking entirely. They tried to shield as many of us as possible from Charlie's worst demands. Some of the kids became gate guards—broken, but alive. Others were sent to the farms, their hands stained with dirt instead of blood. And then there were the ones who didn't survive at all. Ashes scattered to the wind, forgotten just as quickly as they came. Who they actually were, completely erased.

But Rein and I were different. We didn't just survive—we excelled. We learned too quickly, adapted too well. Our ruthlessness made us stand out, forcing Baker and Richards to become our permanent trainers. We were their first and only success stories—if it could be called that. But even now, there are others coming through the same brutal system, following in the bloodstained footsteps we left behind.

Caleb emerges with Liam close behind, neither of them looking particularly pleased. Liam's arms cross tightly over his chest, the frustration plain on his face. "What's next?" His voice cuts through the tense air.

Rein turns his gaze toward me, and I glance at Caleb. His expression twists into a frown.

"You can leave whenever you want," Rein says flatly.

Liam steps forward, voice sharp. "Without any supplies? What about the soldiers still hunting us?"

"We'll lure them away," Rein offers with a casual shrug. "We can spare some food, but not much. I think it's best if we part ways here."

Caleb's jaw tightens. "Why?"

Rein smirks, taking a step closer. "You're getting too comfortable."

Caleb squares his shoulders, standing tall. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rein's voice drops, rough and accusing. "You follow Pierce around like a loyal hound. And Liam here? Funny how he's the only one questioning why you're still with us."

Caleb's laugh is sharp, bitter. "Not everyone is as paranoid as you. Maybe think twice before accusing us—you're the ones with blood on your hands."

Rein's fist moves fast—too fast for Caleb to dodge. It lands hard against Caleb's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Caleb reacts just as quickly, grabbing a fistful of Rein's shirt and dragging him into the dirt. They tumble, fists flying, raw anger crackling between them. Rein should have an easy advantage. Or so I thought. Caleb actually knows how to fight.

Liam and I watch. Neither of us moves to stop it—yet.

"You want to break it up, or should I?" Liam mutters.

Sighing, I step off the porch. Caleb has Rein pinned now, knuckles bloodied from the struggle. I grab Caleb's collar and yank him back, sending him sprawling onto his back.

Rein scrambles to his feet, fury burning in his eyes.

I move first.

My fist connects with his jaw in a brutal swing that sends him stumbling backward. The dagger comes out in one swift motion, its cold weight familiar in my hand. Caleb gets to his feet behind me, tense and ready. I level the blade at Caleb, daring him to test me.

For a heartbeat, he does. He steps forward, pressing against the sharp point just enough to draw blood. His gaze holds mine, defiant and burning.

"You won't," he challenges.

I step closer, just enough to let the blade bite into his skin—a shallow cut, but enough to remind him of what I am capable of. My voice is low, dark. "I'm just a killer, after all."

His confidence flickers—just for a second. "Pierce—"

Everything we've been through feels like a lie. Turning away from him, I start putting the bricks of my internal wall back in place. I don't appreciate being played.

The sound of a familiar voice cuts through the tension like a blade. "What the hell is going on here?"

We all turn.

Baker stands at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, his face a thundercloud of disappointment. Richard lingers behind him, suppressing a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

The silence that follows is heavy. What the hell are we doing?