Grig sat hunched over in his corner of the barracks, gnawing nervously at a piece of stale bread. His hands trembled, but he tried to steady them. He'd been on edge for days now. Ever since Leon had shown up, things had been... different. And not in a good way.
The guards had been jumpier than usual. The overseers kept looking over their shoulders, barking orders with an extra layer of venom. Everyone seemed to sense something was wrong, but no one dared to say it out loud. Not yet.
Grig had seen things in his years as a slave. He'd made his way by staying quiet, by making deals when he could, by keeping his head down and playing the game. But Leon... Leon was dangerous. Too dangerous. Grig could feel it in his gut.
And now, Jerik had come to him. **Jerik**, of all people.
He wasn't exactly a friend to the guards, but he had his ways of staying in their favor. A bottle here, a whispered warning there. It kept him alive. It kept him fed. But that all came crumbling down when Jerik appeared at his door last night.
---
It was late. Most of the barracks were asleep, or pretending to be. Grig had been sitting in the corner, thinking about how Leon had nearly choked the life out of him the last time they'd spoken. He could still feel the phantom pressure on his throat, his breath catching every now and then just from the memory.
He hadn't heard Jerik approach. No one ever heard Jerik coming. That was part of his charm.
"Grig," Jerik's voice was low, more of a hiss than anything. "Get up."
Grig froze, his heart racing. "Jerik? What the hell do you want at this hour?"
Jerik stepped closer, his shadow looming over Grig's slouched figure. "I want answers," he growled. "And I think you're the only one who can give them to me."
Grig shifted uncomfortably, sitting up a bit straighter. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Jerik's hand shot out, grabbing Grig by the collar and yanking him up to his feet. His breath stank of stale ale and something worse—something Grig didn't want to think too hard about.
"Don't play dumb with me, Grig," Jerik snarled. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Leon. What's he up to? What's he planning?"
Grig swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room, hoping none of the other slaves were listening. He couldn't afford to be seen talking to Jerik like this.
"I don't know, I swear," Grig stammered. "Leon... he's been keeping to himself mostly. Treating the slaves, acting like he's some kind of saint."
Jerik narrowed his eyes. "A saint doesn't kill guards and mess with our food supply, does he?"
Grig's stomach dropped. So the guards knew.
Jerik tightened his grip, leaning in closer. "A boulder falls on a guard during labor, and the very same night, someone sneaks into the guard post, switches out our rations with slave slop, and messes with our gear. You're telling me that's a coincidence?"
"I—I don't know anything about that!" Grig stammered, his voice barely a whisper now. "Leon's been... odd, yeah, but I swear, I didn't know he was behind it."
Jerik released his grip, shoving Grig back against the wall. "You're lying," he spat. "You always know what's going on, Grig. Don't pretend you don't."
Grig rubbed his throat, wincing. His mind was racing. He did know things—more than he should. Leon had started making waves, sure, but this? This was madness. And yet... something about it made sense. Leon had been growing bolder lately, more confident. And after that encounter, after Leon had nearly choked the life out of him, Grig knew better than to cross him again.
"I'm telling you, Jerik," Grig said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "I've heard rumors, but that's it. He's been treating the slaves, and yeah, they're all talking about him. Calling him the Healer Ghost or some shit. But I didn't know he'd go this far."
Jerik's eyes flickered with something dangerous, a slow, simmering rage. "You'd better not be lying, Grig. Because if I find out you've been hiding something from me... well, let's just say Leon won't be the only one with a target on his back."
Grig nodded quickly, swallowing hard. "I swear, Jerik. I'll keep my ears open. If I hear anything, you'll be the first to know."
Jerik stared at him for a moment longer before finally stepping back, his lip curling in disgust. "See that you do."
He turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Grig alone, shaking in his boots.
---
Now, as Grig sat in the barracks, picking at his stale bread, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was caught between two fires. Leon was a problem—one that Grig couldn't afford to ignore. But Jerik? Jerik was just as dangerous, if not more so.
He could feel the walls closing in around him. The guards were on edge, the slaves were whispering, and Grig was stuck in the middle of it all, terrified of making the wrong move.
Something was going to break soon. He could feel it. And when it did, he just hoped he wouldn't be caught in the crossfire.