Chapter Five The Cracks in the Code #3
Caelan stirred mash with hands that wanted to shake. He focused on the paddle, the consistency, the count of bowls. He told himself Valerius had not gotten what he wanted.
Yet he could not deny Valerius had gotten something.
A crack, not in loyalty, but in certainty.
Caelan had always believed his principles were solid because they were right. Valerius had shown him how rightness could be used as leverage.
At midday the work parties returned. Ewan stumbled into the yard looking worse than usual, face gray, lips cracked. He tried to stand straight and failed.
A guard shoved him forward. Ewan nearly fell.
Caelan’s chest tightened. He could not rush to him. He could only plan.
Morna moved first, as if she felt Caelan’s tension across the yard. She crouched by Ewan, checked his hands, his eyes, his breathing. Then she looked up at Caelan, expression hard.
He is close, her look said. Close to failing.
Caelan served bowls faster, then in the moment the guard turned his head to bark an order, Caelan slipped a thicker portion into a bowl and passed it to Brenn.
Brenn took it without looking up, moving discreetly. He angled it toward Ewan without drawing attention.
Ewan ate with shaking hands, eyes down.
Caelan’s stomach turned, not from the theft, but from the familiarity of the motion. It had become easier. More automatic.
Automatic meant habit.
Habit was how a man changed without noticing.
Evening came. The barrack filled with exhausted bodies and damp straw. The routine continued: straw shifted, waste moved away, hands washed when possible. Morna tended the fevered boy again with scraps and water and stubbornness.
When the guard’s boots finally moved on, Morna shifted closer to Caelan in their corner.
Her voice was quiet. “What did he do.”
Caelan’s first answer was instinctive. “Nothing.”
Morna’s eyes narrowed. “That is not true.”
Caelan stared at the straw. “He offered comfort,” he said. “Warmth. Food. Relief, for you and Elara.”
Morna’s breath went still. “In exchange for what.”
“Information,” Caelan replied.
Morna watched him without blinking. “Did you give him any.”
Caelan’s jaw tightened. “No.”
Morna exhaled slowly, tension easing into something heavier. “Then why do you look like you were beaten.”
Caelan swallowed. “He spoke about my family,” he admitted. “He called my principles fear.”
Morna’s expression tightened. “He would say anything to crack you.”
“He did not need to lie much,” Caelan said, voice low. “He used Elara.”
Morna’s jaw clenched. “How.”
“He brought her in,” Caelan said. “Offered her broth. Asked questions that sounded harmless, then collected her answers like coins.”
Morna’s eyes flashed with anger. “Coward.”
Caelan shook his head. “Worse,” he said. “Effective.”
Morna’s gaze held his. “He is trying to make you believe you are already lost.”
Caelan’s throat tightened. “He made me watch her want the cup,” he whispered. “He made me feel like I punished her by refusing.”
Morna’s hand settled on his forearm, steady. “You kept her from taking the hook.”
Caelan stared at her hand, then at her face. “For now,” he said.
Morna’s voice stayed calm. “The line is what you will not do,” she said. “Not what you wish you could avoid.”
Caelan swallowed. “He says the line will move.”
“He wants it to,” Morna replied.
Caelan’s eyes burned. He blinked hard. “I am afraid,” he admitted, voice low, “that if I bend once, I will bend again.”
Morna’s gaze did not soften with pity. It sharpened with resolve. “Then bend with purpose,” she said. “Bend to keep someone alive. Not to soothe your fear.”
“And if bending requires becoming cruel,” Caelan asked.
Morna’s expression tightened, pain and pragmatism meeting. “Then you choose the cruelty that costs the least,” she said. “You choose it fast, and you carry it. You do not shove it onto someone else and call yourself clean.”
The words landed heavy, true.
Caelan exhaled slowly. “He wants me to betray Kincaid.”
“You cannot,” Morna said.
“I will not,” Caelan replied. Then he hesitated, because honesty mattered here more than comfort. “But he will keep pressing. He will keep using Elara and Ewan and you.”
Morna’s eyes flicked toward the barred window, toward the watchtowers. “Then we stop being only prisoners,” she whispered. “We plan. We watch. We gather what we can. We find gaps.”
Caelan’s mind latched onto the word gaps like a rope. “Ivor,” he murmured.
Morna’s mouth tightened. “He will cost us.”
“Everything costs,” Caelan said bitterly.
Morna’s hand tightened on his forearm, then released. “Your refusal today cost fear,” she said. “It did not cost secrets.”
Caelan’s throat tightened. He had not thought of it as victory. Only as fracture.
Morna leaned back against the wall, exhausted but steady. “Sleep,” she murmured. “Tomorrow he will press again, and we will need your mind clear.”
Caelan closed his eyes. The cabin followed him into the dark, the cup of broth, Elara’s trembling, Valerius’s quiet question about which lives were worth a principle.
Caelan had always believed principles were priceless.
Now he understood a harder reality.
In Blackwood, everything had value.
And anything with value could be used as currency.