"The most dangerous person in any room is the one who’s paying attention."
***
I let the power fade and leaned back against the pillows. Exhaustion finally claid .
My body was a ruin. Ground into dust by the day’s abuse. But my mind felt freshly sharpened.
This was just the beginning.
[Power Strike] was crude. Brutal. Barely E-rank. But it was proof of concept. Evidence that my ability worked exactly as I’d hoped. Evidence that the system would allow to grow in ways no one in this world had ever anticipated.
If I could steal one skill, I could steal them all.
The scent of antiseptic and stale linen was broken by the creak of the infirmary door.
I quickly composed my features into an expression of appropriate suffering. The pathetic mask of the beaten coward settled over my face like a familiar costu.
But the man who entered wasn’t a dic.
It was Rhys Blackwood. He carried a small basket covered with a checkered cloth.
His grey eyes scanned the room. Not with the idle curiosity of a visitor. With the thodical sweep of a man checking for ambush points. The spear was gone, left behind sowhere in accordance with academy regulations. But the tension in his shoulders remained.
He moved like soone who expected attack at any mont. Who had trained himself to see threats in every shadow.
He knows the anatomy of violence because he’s probably disassembled a few enemies himself in those monster-plagued borderlands.
"Didn’t expect visitors," I said. Let weakness creep into my voice. The words ca out thin and reedy. Perfectly matched to my supposed state. "Especially not from House Onyx."
Rhys set the basket on the small table beside the bed. The wooden surface creaked under even this minor weight. Academy furniture wasn’t known for its quality.
"Infirmary food is shit," he stated. Not asked. "Eat."
I peered into the basket.
Bread. Fresh, from the sll of it. Still carrying warmth from so kitchen’s ovens. Cheese, sharp and aged, wrapped in cloth that had seen better days. So kind of dried at, salted and preserved in the way of border folk who couldn’t afford to let anything go to waste.
Simple fare. But higher quality than what I’d expect a scholarship student to afford. Higher quality than what the infirmary would provide, certainly.
Nothing is free. Especially not kindness.
I kept my gaze on Rhys’s face. Searched for the tells. His expression was frustratingly neutral. Those grey-green eyes gave nothing away. A poker face developed through years of dealing with nobles who would use any sign of weakness against him.
"A generous gesture," I said. Pitched my voice with humble confusion. "To what do I owe the honor?"
"You paid ." His tone was matter-of-fact. But there was sothing else beneath it. Calculation, perhaps. Or simple pragmatism. The kind that ca from growing up in a place where every resource had value and every debt required settling. "That gold you threw at in the courtyard. Figured I owed you sothing in return."
"The gold was a debt repaid," I said carefully. "You saved my life in the western woods. I couldn’t let that go unacknowledged."
Rhys pulled up the room’s single chair and sat down. His grey eyes never left my face. The scrutiny was intense. Uncomfortable. The gaze of soone who was trying to see past the surface to whatever truth lay beneath.
"Vance had you. Everyone saw it."
He paused. Let the words hang in the air.
"So tell why you threw yourself into his last strike. Deliberately."
Shit.
My blood went cold. But I kept my expression neutral. The mask held even as my mind raced through possibilities and explanations.
Of all the people who might have noticed, why did it have to be the one extra I most wanted to recruit?
"I was disoriented. Hurt. Not thinking clearly."
"Right."
The single word carried the weight of disbelief. Of a man who had seen through a lie but wasn’t willing to push further.
Not yet.
Rhys stood up. Smoothed down his worn tunic with hands that bore the calluses of a spear-wielder.
"Well, I should let you rest. Broken ribs need ti to heal properly."
He walked to the door without looking back. His movents carried the sa controlled tension they’d held since he entered.
At the threshold, he paused.
"The at’s from ho." His voice went quiet. Almost soft. "My mother makes it when she can get the ingredients. It’s good for healing. Don’t let it go to waste."
The soft click of the closing door sealed in with my thoughts.
I stared at the basket for a long mont.
A gift from ho. Sothing precious. Sothing that cost Rhys more than just gold. And he’d given it to a noble he supposedly despised, based on nothing more than a thrown coin and a suspicion he couldn’t prove.
You’re more dangerous than you know, Rhys Blackwood.
And far more valuable.
I reached into the basket. Pulled out the bread. Still warm. Tore off a piece and chewed slowly.
It was good. Really good. The kind of simple, honest food that nobles never appreciated because they’d never gone hungry enough to understand its value.
His mother makes this. For her family. And he brought it to .
Sothing uncomfortable twisted in my chest. Sothing that felt almost like guilt.
Don’t be stupid. He’s a resource. A potential recruit. Nothing more.
But the bread sat warm in my stomach, and the lie felt hollow even in my own head.
I finished the bread. Tried the cheese. Saved the at for later, wrapping it carefully back in its cloth. Rhys was right. It was good for healing. And I wasn’t about to let sothing his mother made go to waste.
When did you start caring about things like that?
Shut up.
Alone once more, I raised my hand. The crude, stolen light of [Power Strike] answered my call. Flickered over my fingers like a phantom limb. The power felt more stable now. More responsive to my will.
But Rhys’s visit had reminded of an important truth.
He’d noticed. In a crowd of hundreds, watching a spectacle designed to make look like the most pathetic person alive, he’d noticed sothing was off.
He’d noticed that I threw myself into the blow deliberately.
He couldn’t prove it. Probably couldn’t even articulate what exactly had seed wrong. But he’d seen it. And he’d co here to confirm his suspicions.
The guy who’s supposed to die in a training accident to fuel Leo’s character developnt.
The background extra who should have been too busy worrying about his sick sister to pay attention to .
That guy noticed.
I let the power fade. Let my hand fall back to the thin mattress.
Stolen power was only as valuable as my ability to keep it secret.
And Rhys Blackwood was already asking questions I couldn’t afford to answer.
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