Lance looked at Egor, who was clicking his tongue.“Well, these kinds of things happen from time to time, but I didn’t know it could be this severe.”

  He gnced at Lance’s bruised hand—swollen, bck and blue. The guys hadn’t held back.

  “Those fuckers touched my goods—and a boy under me.”

  Egor turned to Wayne, giving a slight nod. Wayne understood.

  “Let’s go, boys,” Wayne said, heading out with the rest of the gang.

  Egor and Lance remained. The silence was thick, and Lance could feel himself tense.

  Egor let out a dry ugh.“Don’t worry, Lance. It wasn’t your fault. But you’ve got to pull yourself out of this mess. People here aren’t kind to new blood making mistakes. They’ll smell weakness and drag you down.”

  Lance stared at the floor. His gut told him things were only getting worse.

  “Go back. Rest for a day. You’ll need it. Tomorrow, there’s work.”

  Egor walked out the door, leaving Lance alone.

  Luke made his way to the ragged bed in the corner, curled up, and closed his eyes. The second he did, the tears came—quiet, shameful. The pain in his arm was nothing compared to the burning in his chest. Rage twisted inside him, but so did helplessness. He hated this feeling. He hated being this small.

  He thought of the soldiers—the ones who reached their peak, the monsters who carved through his family like they were nothing.

  He knew he had something. The Steel family always had a bit of talent for magic and the sword, though nothing compared to the nobles in the capital. He remembered when he first conjured a flicker of fme—it had felt like power, even if weak. His family’s bloodline leaned toward fire or darkness, and sometimes that strange, defensive hardening ability. But what did it matter? His father had all of it, and he still got sliced in half like meat.

  Luke clenched his jaw.

  He needed money. Enough for an appraisal, enough to choose his path—mage or swordsman, whatever made him strong.

  That thought was the st thing in his mind before sleep took him.

  Morning came fast.

  When Luke opened his eyes, he was once again surrounded by familiar faces—kids like him, already stirring. His arm still hurt, but not as badly. He got up, packed his things, and before long, Wayne called him over.

  Just as he reached the door, Wayne spoke.“Lance, you know what happened to the guys that beat you?”

  Luke shook his head. “What happened?”

  Wayne held up his fist—knuckles bruised and red.“We caved their noses in. Smashed their faces good. Those bastards had the gall to y hands on someone working under Boss. Now everyone in town knows not to touch our people again.”

  A strange warmth stirred in Luke’s chest. Wayne hadn’t just avenged him—he’d protected his name.

  Wayne grinned. “You know, my offer still stands. This donkey work you’re doing? You break your back, get nothing but soup, bread, and a shitty roof. You’ve been here weeks. What do you have to show for it?”

  Luke didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The truth sat heavy in his gut.

  “No money, no future. But if you work properly under me? You’ll have soft beds, real food, more coin than you can spend—and whores you’ll probably only stare at, but still.”

  Wayne chuckled. Luke didn’t.

  He thought about it. Everything he’d done. The pain. The silence. The gnawing hunger, the nights of crying when no one looked. He had a pce to stay now, but nothing of his own. Just another mouth in the gang.

  Opportunity had knocked. If he didn’t open the door now, he’d rot.

  After a long pause, Luke gave a quiet nod.“I’ll work under you. Tell me what to do.”

  Wayne’s grin widened. “Excellent. First things first—burn those filthy clothes. You’re getting something proper. And we’re having a real meal today.”