Dylan doesn’t flinch. Not when older kids tried shaking him down for rations. Not when we snuck out on freezing nights and heard the soldiers yelling across the barracks. We’ve seen the same ugly things since we were four. But now, looking at him… he looks smaller. Like the world is closing in on him, not the other way around.
And it doesn’t stop.
A week later, he shows up with a limp. Says he tripped on the stairs. The week after, a cut on his cheek that’s too clean to be from a fall. Then his wrist is wrapped. Then he wears long sleeves even when it’s too warm for them.
Every time, the same shrug. The same “don’t worry about it.”
But he’s shrinking. Quieter. Jumpier. His eyes flick around like he’s waiting for someone to appear out of nowhere.
And every day he’s thinner. His cheekbones stick out. His clothes hang wrong.
Something’s wrong.
One afternoon after training, I try again. I try every day, but today I grab his sleeve so he has to look at me.
“Come by my house later,” I say, keeping my voice light even though my stomach’s knotted. “We’ll play cards. Like old times.”
He pulls his arm back like I burned him. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He just mutters, “Just leave it, Brix.”
“I’m not leaving it.” My throat feels too tight. “Talk to me. Please. You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to—”
He cuts me a look, panicked almost. Glancing around like someone’s watching. “Not here.”
He shakes his head, tight-lipped. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“I’d get it if you let me. You know I would. We’re supposed to tell each other everything.” I hold out my hand for the promise handshake we made up years ago.
He tugs me toward the little storage shed behind the training grounds, the one that smells like old rope and metal dust. Once the door swings shut, he stares at the floor, fists shaking.
“The student housing…” He swallows hard enough I can hear it. “Brix, it’s bad.”
I don’t breathe.
“The kids there don’t care about rules. Or teachers. Or anything. If you’re weak, they… they make you pay for it.” His voice cracks. “
“They gang up in groups and.. I don’t have anyone. I’m trying to get stronger, but I can’t keep up. There’s no one to help me. The adults don’t care. There’s no one to stop them. People disappear, Brix.”
He shakes his head fast. “I’m scared.”
The words hit me like a punch. Wraths don’t say they’re scared. Not even kids. It goes against our nature. How bad do things have to be to have him feeling like this?
“I won’t make it another year,” he whispers. “I can feel it.”
Dread hits me hard. Everything inside me goes hot and sharp at once.
“Come stay with me,” I blurt. “I’ll talk to my mom. She’ll make room. She always makes room.”
Dylan’s eyes go wide with terror. “No. No, Brix, listen. You can’t tell anyone. If they find out that I said anything—” His breath shudders. “They’ll kill me.”
Kill. Nothurt. Kill.
“I’ll protect you,” I say, because it’s the only thing I have. “I don’t care who it is. I’ll fight them. I’ll fight all of them. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He just looks at me — tired, scared, older than ten.
