In The Hallway

The two boys stepped forward, their shadows spilling long over the bloodstained cobblestones.

Cass groaned as one of them reached down and hauled him up by the collar. His body protested, muscles screaming, bones aching, but he stayed on his feet. Barely.

Lior watched with wide eyes as Cass brushed off his rescuer's grip, his face twisting—not in pain, not in exhaustion—but in fury.

And he was looking straight at him.

Lior's throat closed.

Cass took a slow, deliberate step forward.

"You little piece of shit," he hissed. "I told you to leave."

Lior's back hit the wall.

Cass didn't stop. He grabbed Lior by the collar, yanking him close. His breath reeked of copper and sweat, his grip iron-tight.

"What part of 'fuck off' did your little rat brain not understand?" Cass demanded, voice low and sharp.

Lior gritted his teeth. "I wasn't gonna—"

"Shut up," Cass cut him off. He shook Lior once, hard enough to rattle his thoughts. "I don't care what bullshit excuse you got. You don't ever pull this shit again, you hear me?"

Lior set his jaw. He felt the sting behind his eyes but refused to blink.

Cass stared at him, eyes still blazing with anger— but there was something else beneath it. Something uglier.

Fear.

Cass was afraid.

Not of the fight. Not of Levy and his boys.

He was afraid for Lior.

And that realization made Lior's stomach twist.

The taller of the two older boys sighed loudly, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. "Alright, alright," he drawled. "Family drama's cute and all, but I ain't got all night."

Cass's grip loosened. He let out a sharp breath and pushed Lior away.

Then he turned to the two boys. "What the hell are you two doing here?" he muttered, wincing as he wiped blood from his chin.

The one who had lifted him shrugged. "Saw a bunch of kids wailing on you," he said flatly. "Figured we'd watch, see if you had it in you."

Cass snorted. "Yeah? And?"

The boy grinned.

"You lasted longer than I expected."

Cass rolled his eyes. "I should let your mother know you're out past curfew, Kieran."

Kieran—a **tall, broad-shouldered brute with a mess of dark hair and an easy smirk—**just chuckled.

The other one—leaner, sharper, with cold grey eyes—sighed again. "You're a goddamn idiot," he muttered.

"Love you too, Wes," Cass shot back.

Lior's mind raced. He knew these names.

Kieran and Wes.

The West Hollow Boys.

They weren't part of Blaze, nor the Kit' Cartel. They were something else. A group of young upstarts carving out their own piece of Blackmire.

Some called them wannabes. Others called them a rising threat.

Cass called them useful.

"You didn't answer my question," Cass muttered, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. "Why're you two actually here?"

Kieran sighed, stretching his arms. "We were in the area," he said. "Figured we'd check in on our favorite reckless dumbass."

Cass scowled. "I'm not your favorite anything."

Wes snorted. "Good to know your spirit's still intact after that beating."

"Eat shit," Cass muttered.

Kieran chuckled. "C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up."

Wes turned to Lior, eyeing him for the first time.

Lior stared back, unmoving.

"That your little brother?" Wes asked, nodding at him.

Cass glanced at Lior, then looked away. "Yeah," he muttered.

Wes hummed, then looked at Lior again. "You got guts, kid," he said simply. "Real dumb ones."

Lior bristled.

Cass sighed heavily, rubbing his face. "Can we just fucking go?"

Kieran grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."

And with that, they left the alley behind.

But as they walked, Lior's mind kept circling back—to Levy's furious face, to Cass's blood, to the words he had heard at the house earlier that night.

***

The house they arrived at was small, cramped, and smelled of strong herbs—the kind that stung the nose and promised pain before healing. The wood creaked beneath their steps, and the walls were stained with years of candle soot. There was a rickety table pushed against the far wall, an old chair with one leg shorter than the rest, and shelves lined with glass bottles, some empty, some filled with murky liquid that swirled even when still.

A fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the dim room. It wasn't much, but it was warm. Lived in.

And it smelled far better than the sewer rot and iron of the streets.

Cass grunted as Kieran and Wes eased him onto the small cot in the corner. His face was a mess of dried blood, fresh bruises, and swelling that made his smirk lopsided.

A woman—tall, wiry, with streaks of grey in her dark hair and sleeves rolled up to her elbows—stormed into the room. Her hands were rough and scarred, her eyes sharp as flint. She took one look at Cass and clicked her tongue.

"For fuck's sake," she muttered. "What did I say about coming back like this?"

Cass grinned, or tried to. His split lip made the gesture painful to look at. "Uh… not to?"

Sally—because that's who she was, according to Wes—crossed her arms. "And what did you do?"

Cass let his head fall back against the cot. "The exact opposite."

Sally huffed, already pulling supplies from her shelves. Bandages, ointments, a bottle of something strong. She worked fast, hands moving like she'd done this a hundred times before. And Lior suspected she had.

"This is worse than last time," she muttered. "And last time, I nearly had to dig a hole for you."

Cass snorted. "Aw, don't be so dramatic, Sal. You'd miss me too much."

Sally ignored him, pressing a damp cloth to his face. Cass let out a sharp hiss, back arching slightly.

"Serves you right," Sally muttered. "What was it this time?"

"Levy and his merry band of shitheads," Kieran supplied, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Sally let out a long, slow sigh.

"They're still mad about their brother," Wes added.

Sally gave Cass a look. "You couldn't have just let it go?"

Cass grinned, then winced. "What can I say? I hate pricks."

Sally muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like dumbass before she turned to Lior.

"You," she said, pointing at him. "Out. Don't need you hovering over this."

Lior stiffened.

Cass turned his head slightly, his swollen eye barely cracking open.

"Listen to her," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "Go sit outside, kid."

Lior didn't move.

Cass's brow twitched.

"Lior," he said, quieter this time. "Go. Now."

There was no mockery in his tone. No teasing. Just an edge.

Lior swallowed hard, fists clenching at his sides.

He didn't want to go.

But Cass wasn't asking.

With stiff movements, he turned and walked out, stepping into the hallway.

And just before the door shut behind him, he heard the bottle being uncorked, the rustle of bandages—

—and then Cass screaming.

***

The hallway was narrow and dimly lit, the flickering lantern barely holding back the dark. The wooden floor creaked under Lior's steps as he shifted from foot to foot, his ears still ringing from Cass's scream.

The air smelled of burnt herbs, damp wood, and something faintly metallic—the scent of medicine and old blood clinging to the walls. There was a small table against the side, cluttered with half-burned candles, empty tin cups, and a deck of playing cards missing half its numbers. A single chair stood beside it, its seat sagging like it had been used more for leaning than sitting.

On the opposite end, near the kitchen doorway, a small cot was tucked against the wall. A thin blanket was crumpled on top, and a wooden toy—a badly carved horse missing one of its legs—sat abandoned beside the pillow.

Lior frowned.

Someone lived here.

He was still taking it all in when he felt it.

Eyes.

Watching him.

Slowly, he turned his head—

—And jumped.

A girl stood in the corner of the hallway, half-hidden in the shadows. Wavy dark hair framed her small face, and her eyes—sharp, too sharp for a kid their age—studied him like he was something interesting.

Or maybe something suspicious.

"Who are you?" she asked, tilting her head.

Lior hesitated. Then, cautiously: "Lior."

She squinted. "You got a last name?"

"... Morel."

At that, she grinned—wide and toothy, like she'd just solved some great mystery.

"I knew it," she said. "You're Cass's little brother."

Lior blinked.

"How'd you know?"

"Because you've got the same scowl," she said matter-of-factly. "And you're small."

Lior bristled. "I'm not small."

She shrugged. "You're small to me."

"You're my height!"

"Yeah, but I feel taller."

Lior opened his mouth, then shut it. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

The girl crossed her arms, still watching him like he might do something interesting.

"So," she said, rocking back on her heels. "What're you doing here?"

Lior glanced at the door, where muffled noises of Cass's treatment leaked through the cracks. He didn't want to talk about that.

Instead, he shrugged. "Cass got into a fight."

The girl made a face. "Again?"

Lior gave her a look. "You know my brother."

She snorted. "Yeah, fair enough."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Lior asked, "What about you? What are you doing here?"

The girl grinned again, rocking back on her heels. "I live here."

"... Here?"

"Yup."

Lior hesitated. "With… Sally?"

"Yeah." She waved a hand. "She's my aunt."

That made Lior pause. He hadn't expected that. Sally didn't seem like the type to have a kid running around.

"Where're your parents?" he asked.

The girl puffed up her chest proudly.

"They're fighting for the country," she declared, chin high. "They went off to the war when I was three. I don't remember much, but Aunt Sal says they're out there keeping us safe!"

Lior stared at her.

War. That word wasn't new to him.

But the way she said it—like it was something noble, something grand, something to be proud of—

It made him feel weird.

"... Do you think they'll come back?" he asked before he could stop himself.

The girl's smile didn't waver.

"Of course," she said simply. "They promised."

Lior didn't know what to say to that.

His own mother and father had never promised him anything like that.

Because they never had the choice to leave.

Because they were stuck here, surviving, working, struggling, breaking their backs just to make sure he and Cass and Tally had food every night.

They were alive.

But somehow, he wondered if the girl had it better.

If it was easier to believe in a lie than to live in the truth.

"... Must be nice," he mumbled, barely realizing he said it aloud.

The girl blinked. "Huh?"

Lior shook his head. "Nothing."

She squinted at him but let it go.

Instead, she flopped down onto the cot, pulling the half-broken wooden horse onto her lap.

"You ever seen a real horse?" she asked.

Lior blinked at the sudden shift. "No."

"They're huge," she said, stretching her arms as wide as she could. "Bigger than you."

Lior crossed his arms. "Not that big."

She grinned. "Yeah, they are."

He huffed. "Where'd you even see one?"

"The market, once. Some rich guy was showing off." She held up her little wooden toy. "Didn't look like this, though. This one's better."

Lior raised a brow. "It's missing a leg."

"Yeah, well, so's half the city."

Lior paused. Then, despite himself, he let out a small laugh.

The girl grinned like she'd won something.