The
Praetorian Hall – Captain Julianus Caepio’s Office – Later
The
Praetorian Hall hums with the muted thrum of generators and the
distant cadence of drills, order grinding forward even as death
settles like dust over the Academy.
Quintis
leads Lucille through the reinforced doors of Captain Caepio’s
office. Cain refuses to release her hand, jaw set, eyes murderous
toward anyone who even looks
like they might try to separate them.
Lucille
is barefoot, mud drying in cracked flakes along her calves. Blood,
Maelia’s, maybe her own, stiffens the hem of her training tunic.
Her throat is raw, each swallow a sting. A necklace of bruises rings
her neck like a strangler’s wreath. She stands small beside Cain,
but not weak, just shaken, disbelieving, straining to process the
whirlwind of violence that came and went in heartbeats.
Killing
beasts is one thing. Killing people, cadets,
is another. But
Lucille does not break. She trembles, but she does not splinter. What
truly terrifies her is the man behind the desk.
Captain
Julianus Caepio doesn’t rise when they enter. He merely lifts his
gaze, hard, metallic, utterly unimpressed. His office is drab but
immaculate, walls lined with holo-scrolls of Praetorian doctrine,
commendations, tactical schematics. A shrine to discipline and
violence.
The
knife sits on his desk, still tacky with drying blood.
“Report,”
Caepio orders, voice flat as a gravestone.
Quintis
snaps to attention. “Sir. Upon hearing distress, I arrived
to find Cadet Maelia critically wounded. Cadet Ilara was not present.
I deployed Cadets Castor and Vianna to search the embankment. I
initiated triage and ordered Cadet Loras to activate the emergency
beacon. Cadet Maelia expired before medical extraction arrived. Ilara
was later located below the bank; dead on impact.” She pauses,
measured. “I did not witness what initiated the incident. Only the
aftermath.”
Caepio
turns his eyes to Lucille. Not to Quintis, not to Cain; Lucille.
He stares at her like she’s a stain on the floor he’s deciding
whether to clean or let fester.
Before
he can speak, Cain steps forward.
“Sir,”
Cain says, voice tight but controlled, “Maelia and Ilara have been
goin’ after Lucille since day one. They target houseless cadets.
Everybody knows it.” He gestures toward her throat. “Look at her
neck. Maelia damn near strangled her. And that knife,” He points at
the blade on the desk. “That’s Maelia’s. Lucille doesn’t
carry steel like that. She didn’t start this.”
Caepio
doesn’t look at Cain. Doesn’t even acknowledge him. His stare
remains locked on Lucille, drilling through her silence.
“Lucille,”
he says slowly, dangerously. “Speak.”
Her
throat spasms. The sound that escapes is barely a breath. “S–sir…”
But
every syllable scrapes her raw vocal cords. Pain shocks her back into
silence. Her gaze drops to the floor. She can’t meet Caepio’s
eyes. She’s too afraid of what she’ll see there, condemnation,
maybe a decision already made.
Caepio
leans back in his chair, folding his arms, unimpressed by her
struggle. “Two cadets are dead,” he states. “Reports
must be filed. Families notified. Punitive measures considered.” No
emotion. Just process. “Your silence does not serve you.”
Quintis
steps in carefully. “Sir, Cadet Domitian may be in shock—”
“Shock,”
Caepio cuts in, “has never prevented honesty.”
Cain
bristles. “She’s not lyin’—”
“You
are not speaking,” Caepio snaps, ice and iron in his voice.
Cain
shuts his mouth but doesn’t back down. His hand tightens around
Lucille’s.
Caepio
taps a finger on the bloodied knife. “Lucille. Look at me.”
She
can’t.
Her
breath quivers. Her eyes sting. The room feels too small. Too cold.
“She
tried to tell me,” Cain says quietly, unable to stop himself.
“Maelia attacked her. Ilara joined in. They would’ve killed her.”
Quintis
nods once. “Sir. The bruising indicates a chokehold. The
stab wound suggests Maelia was positioned above Lucille at the time
of injury. That aligns with Cadet Aurellius’s statement.”
Caepio
raises one eyebrow. “Claims,” he corrects coolly. “Not facts.”
He
drags the knife closer. Blood smears across the polished surface of
his desk like a dark signature.
He
looks back at Lucille. “Last chance. Explain yourself.”
Lucille
forces herself to lift her head a fraction, enough to meet his gaze
through her lashes. Enough to show she is not refusing out of guilt.
Her
voice breaks as it leaves her. “They attacked me,” she whispers.
“I… I didn’t want to… I just…” Pain clamps down on her
throat. She winces, hand instinctively rising to the bruises.
Caepio
studies her a long, suffocating moment.
Then
he speaks to Quintis. “Retrieve the full medical report. I
want confirmation of every mark, every wound. Collect witness
statements from all cadets present. Bring me complete injury profiles
for both deceased.”
“Yes,
Captain.”
Cain
exhales, tension coiled beneath his skin.
Caepio
finally leans forward, steepling his fingers.
“Lucille,”
he says. “Until this investigation concludes, you will remain under
observation. You will not leave Praetorian grounds without escort. Do
you understand?”
Lucille
nods shakily.
Caepio’s
expression doesn’t soften, not even a flicker.
“Good.”
His voice hardens further. “Because if I determine that you
escalated this conflict,” A pause. Deliberate. “Or that these
deaths resulted from reckless conduct, your career here ends.
Permanently.”
A
chill rips down Lucille’s spine.
Cain’s
grip shifts protectively around her hand.
And
Caepio, unmoved, reaches for the data-slate to begin the death
notifications, as if writing the fates of cadets is just another
bureaucratic chore.
Cain
refuses to move. His fingers are laced with Lucille’s, grip
protective, stubborn, terrified.
Caepio
finishes his notes on the data-slate, then lifts his eyes, slowly,
deliberately.
“Cadet
Aurellius,” he says. “Return to class.”
“No.”
Cain’s jaw clenches. “Sir, with respect, Lucille shouldn’t be
alone right now.”
“She
is not alone,” Caepio replies coldly. “She is with me.”
“That’s
exactly—”
“Cadet.”
Caepio’s voice cuts like drawn steel. “You do not argue with a
direct order. You do not obstruct an investigation. And you do not
presume to decide where you are needed.”
Cain
bristles. “Sir—”
“Out.”
The
word lands heavy, final, unmovable.
Cain’s
breath trembles with restrained fury, but even he knows Caepio’s
command is absolute. Defiance here could end his career.
He
squeezes Lucille’s hand one last time. “I’ll come back,” he
whispers to her. “I promise.”
Lucille
can barely nod.
Quintis
guides him to the door. Cain hesitates, looks back at Lucille, small,
bruised, sitting in a Praetorian’s den like prey under a predator’s
stare.
Then
he forces himself to leave.
The
door shuts behind him with a cold, echoing click.
The
Academy – Corridor to Advanced Weapons Practicum
The
hallways are buzzing with half-formed rumors. Whispers shift like
smoke, two dead cadets, a fight, blood by the riverbank. Cain hears
enough fragments to know the wildfire has already spread.
His
stomach knots tighter. He doesn’t stop for food. Doesn’t stop at
all.
He
reaches the Practicum wing and pushes open the classroom door far
earlier than any cadet should.
Advanced
Weapons Practicum – Instructor Varian Korvin’s Classroom
Varian
Korvin sits at his desk, sleeves rolled up, quill stylus dancing
across reports. He looks up, frowns.
“Aurellius?”
His brow lifts. “You’re early. Very early.”
Cain
doesn’t answer. He crosses the room stiffly and drops into a front
bench, staring at the wood grain like it might keep him upright.
Korvin
watches him.
“Where’s
Domitian?”
Cain
stills.
Korvin’s
posture shifts, casual precision hardening into something alert.
“Aurellius.”
Cain
swallows. “Sir… you haven’t heard?”
Korvin’s
frown deepens. “Heard what?”
“It’s
everywhere,” Cain mutters. “Everyone knows.”
Korvin
sets the stylus down with deliberate care. His voice lowers. “Then
stop circling it. Speak.”
Cain
looks up. His eyes are raw, fear stripped bare by fury.
“Ilara
and Maelia are dead.”
Korvin
goes very still. Not stunned, contained. Like a blade held just shy
of the throat.
“…Dead?”
The word is quiet. Dangerous.
Cain
nods once. “They went after Lucille. There was a fight.”
Korvin
rises slowly, jaw tightening as if grinding something back into
place.
“Is
Domitian alive?”
“Yes.
Caepio has her.”
Korvin
exhales through his nose, sharp. His gaze snaps to the door, already
elsewhere.
“Stay
here,” he orders. “Do not leave this room.”
Cain
stands. “Sir—”
“Aurellius.”
Korvin’s voice cracks like a whip. “Sit. Down.”
Cain
obeys.
Korvin
grabs his coat and strides for the door. For the first time, Cain
sees it, the fracture beneath the control. Fear, tightly leashed.
Then
Korvin is gone, moving fast down the hall toward Caepio’s office,
toward the truth.
Toward
whether the girl with fire in her bones killed two cadets, or
whether the Academy is about to kill her instead.
Praetorian
Hall – Captain Caepio’s Office
The
door swings open without a knock.
Caepio’s
head snaps up, irritation flashing sharp. Lucille jerks, flinching as
though struck.
Varian
Korvin steps inside.
He
takes in the scene immediately, the mud caking Lucille’s bare feet,
the dried blood on her sleeves and throat, the hollow bruise shaped
like a hand around her neck, the way she sits folded in on herself
like she’s trying to take up less space.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
His
jaw flexes once. Hard.
Caepio
leans back in his chair. “Instructor Korvin,” he says, voice
edged with warning. “To what do I owe this… intrusion?”
Korvin
closes the door behind him. “Lucille Domitian is one of my
students.”
“And?”
“And
she is late to my class,” Korvin answers, stepping closer. “Which
is unlike her.”
Caepio
snorts. “A Domitian, punctual? That would be novel.”
Korvin’s
eyes narrow, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “She is never late.
If she is absent during instruction hours, I expect notice.”
“You
expect?” Caepio echoes. “Korvin, two cadets are dead—”
“And
protocol still applies,” Korvin cuts in.
Caepio’s
expression cools further. “This is not your jurisdiction.”
Korvin
glances at Lucille again, her mud-crusted calves, her trembling
hands, the blood dried beneath her fingernails.
Then
he looks back at Caepio.
“Where
is protocol in keeping a fifteen-year-old cadet sitting in blood and
mud for over an hour?” he asks quietly. “She is not a prisoner of
war.”
Caepio’s
eyes harden. “Sentiment is irrelevant. She drove a blade through
Maelia Drusus’ lung; clean, precise. Medical confirmed it. And
Ilara Quint?” A shrug. “Nine-foot fall. Skull fracture. Instant.”
Lucille
closes her eyes. Her breathing hitches.
Korvin’s
gaze cuts like a blade as it flicks back to her, gently, not
accusing, but steady. Grounding.
“Lucille,”
he says carefully. “Look at me.”
She
lifts her head, slow, reluctant, and her eyes are red-rimmed but wide
with terror.
“I
didn’t push her,” she whispers. “She grabbed my bag. I stepped
back. She slipped. I swear.”
Caepio
makes a dismissive noise, but Korvin raises a hand, a subtle request
that Caepio actually listen.
Lucille
swallows hard and continues, desperation tightening her voice.
Lucille
swallows and forces the words out. “I tried to leave. I did what we
were told. Ilara reached for me and fell. Maelia jumped me, she was
choking me. I couldn’t breathe. Everything went black.” Her hands
shake. “I didn’t think. I just didn’t want to die.”
Her
fingers tremble against the fabric of her ruined pants.
“I
didn’t think,” she whispers. “I just moved. I didn’t want to
die.”
She
looks to Korvin again, pleading, terrified, like he is the only
steady point in a spinning world.
“I
did everything right. I tried to leave. I tried. Please, you have to
believe me.”
Korvin
doesn’t move. His expression remains carefully neutral, but
something steely settles behind his eyes.
Caepio
leans back in his chair, arms folding.
“Well,”
Caepio says dryly. “There is her statement. Hearsay. Contradicting
the fact that two girls are dead.”
“Not
contradicting,” Korvin replies quietly. “Explaining.”
Caepio
gives him a cold, thin smile. “This is not your case, Korvin.”
Korvin
steps forward, just one step, enough to make Caepio’s eyes sharpen.
“But
it is my student,” Korvin says. “And I expect she will be
afforded the same rights as any other cadet under this Academy’s
laws, regardless of class, House status, or lack thereof.”
Caepio’s
jaw locks.
Lucille
stares at the floor, shaking.
And
Korvin, hands clasped behind his back, stands resolute, silent,
unwavering, already positioning himself between her and the blade of
the system.
Caepio’s
fingers tap once against the table. A sharp sound. A command for
silence.
“You
are unusually invested,” he says. “You speak for her like blood.”
Korvin’s
jaw doesn’t so much as twitch. “I invest in all my students,
Captain.”
“But
you barged into my office,” Caepio counters. “You challenged my
handling of a murder case. You speak for her as though she were your
own blood.”
Lucille
flinches at the word murder,
as if the label itself is another blow.
Korvin
meets Caepio’s stare without blinking. “Every student under my
instruction is my responsibility. If you are going to brand a child a
criminal before she’s even washed the blood off her skin, then yes,
I will intervene.”
Caepio
smiles coldly. “A murderer doesn’t need a bath. She needs a
cell.”
Lucille’s
breath catches. “It was self-defense,” she whispers, voice
trembling. “Please, I didn’t want to kill anyone. I didn’t. She
was choking me. I—”
“Quiet.”
Caepio doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t need to. The command
lands like a hammer.
Lucille
falls silent, eyes wide and wet.
Caepio
gestures toward the dried blood on her clothes. “The strike that
punctured Maelia Drusus’ lung was precise. Too precise for
desperation. Too exact for panic. That was intent.”
“No,”
Korvin says before Lucille can even inhale. “It was skill.”
Caepio’s
eyes narrow. “Skill?”
Korvin
steps forward. Not aggressive, simply unwavering. “Lucille is the
top of my class. She trains harder than any other cadet I’ve taught
in five years. Every morning. Every evening. Hours on end. She is a
fighter bred by circumstance, sharpened by will. Of course the wound
was clean. Of course the strike was efficient.” His voice drops
into something colder. “I have been training her myself for two
months.”
Caepio’s
expression curdles. “Ah. So now we see the truth. This is your
pride speaking. Your project. Your pet.”
Korvin
doesn’t blink. “No. This is a student who defended herself from
two assailants. One armed. One choking her to death.”
Caepio
stands.
The
shift is subtle, but the air sharpens. Even Lucille feels it, her
shoulders hunch, instincts screaming danger.
“You
defend her fiercely,” Caepio says. “But it does not matter. Two
cadets are dead. The Quint and Drusus families will demand justice.
And justice, real justice, is capital punishment.”
Lucille’s
breath stops in her chest.
Korvin’s
control finally fractures. Just slightly. Enough for a spark of fury
to show through his voice. “She is fifteen.”
“And?”
Caepio lifts a brow.
“She
is too young for capital punishment,” Korvin growls.
Caepio’s
reply is a blade: “The law does not care how many birthdays she’s
seen.”
Lucille’s
hands tremble in her lap. She looks as if she wants to vanish into
the chair.
Caepio
turns his gaze on her fully now, eyes like drawn steel. “Domitian,”
he says, “orphans rarely survive the Academy. No lineage, no
patronage, no name. No one to speak for you.” His lip curls. “It
is common enough for your kind to be culled by their own
recklessness. No motivation. No discipline. No anchor.”
Lucille’s
throat works silently, she swallows panic like it’s burning her.
Korvin
steps forward again, voice rising, not loud, but lethal. “She is
not
disposable.”
Caepio’s
eyes harden. “She is what the facts say she is.”
Korvin
shakes his head once. “No. She’s a child trying to survive in a
system designed to kill her before she ever reaches adulthood.” His
voice drops, razor-sharp. “And I will not stand by while you
execute her for it.”
The
silence that follows is electric and choking.
Lucille
watches them both, one man ready to damn her, the other ready to draw
a line in blood for her, and for the first time since the fight,
something like tears sting her eyes. Because someone, someone,
is choosing to fight for her.
The
office door slams
open
so hard it ricochets off the wall.
Caepio
nearly jumps from his seat, outrage igniting instantly. Korvin’s
hand goes halfway to his sidearm before he recognizes the intruder.
Malco
Renn stands in the doorway, chest rising and falling, sweat on his
brow from a dead sprint. His eyes are wide, panicked, furious,
desperate.
“Renn?”
Korvin breathes. “What in the hells—”
Caepio
rises behind his desk, voice a deep growl. “You
barge into my office unannounced a second time in one damned hour.
Explain yourself, Instructor Renn, before I have you detained.”
Renn
takes one final breath, straightens his shoulders, and steps fully
into the room.
“I’m
here to speak for Domitian.”
The
words freeze the room.
Korvin’s
brows shoot up. Caepio blinks, stunned for a fraction of a second.
Even Lucille lifts her head, vision blurry, barely processing what
she’s hearing.
Renn’s
gaze finally lands on her.
She
is pale. Her uniform is torn. Blood crusts along her hairline.
Bruises mar her arms and ribs. She’s trembling from exhaustion and
pain alike.
Renn’s
expression darkens
into something murderous.
“What
happened to her?”
he demands, his voice low, controlled only by sheer force of will.
“Has she even been seen by medical yet?”
Caepio
snorts. “She has not. She isn’t injured.”
Renn
takes a step forward, incredulous. “Not
injured?
I can see the bruising from here. She’s barely staying upright. Do
you not understand the risk of internal hemorrhaging? Or are you
simply ignoring it?” His eyes narrow further. “And she needs a
psyche evaluation, immediately.”
Caepio
waves a hand dismissively. “She is fine. She endured,
as all Praevectus must. You two are awfully invested in a mere
orphan.”
Renn’s
jaw clenches so tightly the muscle ticks. “She is one
of my top students.
Between her and Aurellius, the rest of my class shadows them. I am
responsible for her development. And her survival.”
Korvin
adds bitterly, “Not that it matters. Caepio’s made his decision.
He’s callin’ for capital
punishment.”
The
blood drains from Renn’s face. “What?” he whispers. Then
louder, “What form; execution or lashings?”
Caepio
shrugs, as though discussing the weather. “I have not decided.
Execution would be cleaner. And would spare her the opportunity to
repeat her foolishness.”
Lucille
flinches so violently it sends a spike of pain down her side. A small
noise escapes her, half gasp, half choke.
Renn
spins on Caepio. “She
is a child.
A highly promising
one. This...this is monstrous. You’re discussing punishment of that
magnitude in
front of her.”
Korvin
steps beside Renn, voice sharp with barely checked fury. “She needs
medical attention, not a noose or the stockade. What you’re
proposing is unethical by every metric we uphold. It is barbaric.”
“She
is old enough to face consequences,” Caepio snaps. “She sought
the truth, now she knows it.”
Renn
takes a step forward. “We are not leaving until you lessen the
punishment. She made a mistake. She is half-starved, delirious,
terrified, and you’re threatening to butcher her to make a point.”
Korvin
stands with him, shoulder to shoulder. “You will reconsider. Or you
answer to the Council.”
Caepio’s
patience finally snaps. “Enough.
Both of you, out. If you care so much for her, take her. Get her
cleaned. Bandaged. Fed.” His gaze locks onto Lucille, cold and
unblinking. “But when it is time to pay the toll for her
insubordination… I will send for her.”
Lucille’s
knees nearly give out.
Korvin
curses under his breath. Renn looks like he wants to tear Caepio’s
throat out with his bare hands.
But
neither can defy the order.
Slowly,
they move to her side, Korvin taking her arm, Renn steadying her
other, and begin guiding her toward the door.
Caepio
calls after them, voice flat and final, “Enjoy your borrowed time,
Domitian.”
The
door shuts behind them.
Renn
and Korvin each take one of Lucille’s arms as they guide her out of
Caepio’s office. Lucille is shaking, eyes unfocused, steps uneven,
like each one might be her last.
The
heavy office door shuts behind them with a hard
metallic thud
that echoes down the corridor.
And
standing a few paces away, back straight, fists clenched, is Cain
Aurellius.
The
instant he sees Lucille, her bruises, her limp, the terror on her
face, his breath catches.
“Lucille?”
She
lifts her head. Their eyes meet.
They
break from Korvin and Renn at the same time, stumbling into each
other with a force that nearly topples them both. Cain wraps his arms
tight around her, crushing her against his chest, as though shielding
her with his whole body.
Lucille
folds into him, and the second she feels the security of his arms,
the dam bursts.
“Cain,
he-he wants to,” Her voice shatters. “He
wants to execute me!”
Cain
freezes, arms tightening instinctively. “What? What...Lucille, what
do you mean?”
“He
said execution. Execution or lashin’s!” She’s sobbing now,
words tumbling out in panic and disbelief. “I didn’t do anything!
I just defended myself! He wants to kill me!”
Cain’s
jaw locks. He pulls her even closer, one hand gripping the back of
her head. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’m right
here.” His voice trembles, just slightly. “I won’t let anything
happen to you.”
He
looks up at Renn and Korvin, eyes burning.
Korvin
nods sharply. “We need to get her out of here. Infirmary first. She
hasn’t been seen by a medic; no internal scan, no analgesics. We
can get an official report.”
Cain
nods once, adjusting his hold on Lucille but refusing to let go. “I,
uh, already called my mother,” he says quietly, voice low so
Lucille won’t catch the uncertainty beneath it. “She’s in
Germany right now. I-I don’t know if she can help. But I told her
everything.”
Renn’s
brows lift faintly. He knows who Cain’s mother is. And the
implications. But there isn’t time to dwell.
They
begin moving down the corridor, out of the Praetorian Hall, a long
vaulted artery of stone and steel lined with dozens of offices where
Praetorians bury themselves in disciplinary reports and
investigations. Normally silent, reverent, imposing. Now it feels
like a tomb. A place where sentences are crafted, futures decided,
lives extinguished on parchment.
Renn
leans toward Korvin, voice low, urgent.“We need to get the others
involved. Instructors, overseers, anyone sane. I can’t imagine
anyone signin’ off on Caepio’s order.”
Korvin
nods immediately, jaw set. “Do it. The more voices, the harder
it’ll be for Caepio to hide behind protocol.” He claps Renn once
on the shoulder. “Go.”
Renn
breaks away, boots slamming against the stone floor as he sprints off
down a branching hall.
Korvin
remains with Cain and Lucille.
Lucille
clings to Cain’s jacket as though anchoring herself to the world.
Her breaths are quick, shallow, borderline hyperventilating. Tears
streak her dirt-smeared face.
“She’s
fifteen,” Korvin mutters under his breath, fury simmering beneath
every syllable. “Fifteen, and he’s threatening her with public
execution. Or public lashings. For surviving an attack.”
Cain’s
arm tightens around her protectively.
Lucille’s
voice is barely audible, ragged and cracked, “Please… please
don’t let ‘em do it…”
Korvin
slows his pace for a moment, turning to her. “Lucille,” he says,
gentler than he’s ever spoken in a classroom. “We’re not
lettin’ anything happen to you. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not
ever. Do you understand? We’re gettin’ you medical care. And then
we’re fixin’ this.”
Lucille
tries to nod, but breaks into quiet, shaking sobs.
Cain
cups the back of her head and whispers, “I’m here. I’m here. I
ain’t leavin’ you.”
Together,
they push through the tall double doors at the end of the hall,
stepping out of the Praetorian wing and heading straight toward the
academy infirmary. Lucille’s fate hanging over them like a blade,
suspended by a single fraying thread.
Infirmary
— Late Evening
Lucille
sits on the edge of a gurney, hands clasped between her knees,
shoulders hunched. Her eyes are unfocused again, glassy, exhausted.
The examination is nearly finished. A nurse presses gently along her
throat, checking the deep bluish bruising that wraps around the sides
like a dark collar.
Lucille
winces, jaw tightening.
Cain
stands at her right, arms crossed over his chest, stance wide, not
aggressive, but protective. He watches every movement of the nurse’s
hands like someone watching a bomb technician work.
Korvin
stands a short distance away, posture stiff, hands behind his back,
gaze sharp and unblinking. He’s been silent for several minutes,
only the faint clenching of his jaw betraying the storm behind his
eyes.
Finally
he speaks. “Are we finished?”
The
nurse nods once, pulling off her gloves with crisp, professional
detachment. “Yes. I can give you the full evaluation.”
Korvin
steps closer. Cain does too, so close his arm nearly brushes
Lucille’s. Lucille stares at the floor, waiting, bracing, trembling
quietly.
The
nurse consults her datapad.
“Lucille
Domitian has extensive bruising to the throat. Severe enough to
obstruct speech and cause pain for the next several days. Internally,
she has soft tissue strain from manual compression, but it will heal
with rest.” She glances up at Lucille. “You were very lucky.”
Lucille
nods weakly, saying nothing. Speaking hurts too much.
The
nurse continues, “She’s minor abrasions on the arms, shoulder,
and back consistent with fallin’ or bein’ thrown onto rocky
ground. Knuckles scraped from repeated impact, which she explained
occurred during punching drills.”
Cain
shifts. Korvin exhales slowly.
The
nurse scrolls the report. “As for the struggle… Maelia Drusus’
autopsy confirms the knife wound originated from below the point of
entry. That is consistent with someone smaller being pinned beneath
her attacker.” She lifts her gaze to Korvin and Cain.
“Additionally, Maelia’s skin cells were found beneath Domitian’s
fingernails. A clear sign of a fight-for-life struggle.”
Cain
lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Korvin’s
shoulders relax for the first time since entering the infirmary. “So
the evidence supports self-defense.”
The
nurse nods firmly. “As far as I am concerned, and as far as this
infirmary’s medical documentation will read, Lucille Domitian was
attacked.
She defended herself during a lethal assault.” A beat. “And she
survived something she shouldn’t have.”
Lucille
trembles, throat tight, but relief flickers across her face, a
fragile spark.
Korvin
draws himself taller. “I’ll need these reports forwarded to my
office immediately. They’re part of the Praetorian investigation.”
The
nurse’s expression tightens. “I can only forward Lucille’s
medical reports, Instructor Korvin.” She gestures to the datapad.
“Confidentiality laws. Cadet Maelia’s autopsy will have to be
requested by the investigator on record, Praetorian Caepio.”
Korvin
stiffens with irritation.
“But,”
she adds, “I can
release Lucille’s full records if a guardian signs permission.”
Cain
looks to Korvin, surprised.
Lucille’s
eyes flick up, too, tired, red-rimmed, almost bewildered.
Korvin
doesn’t hesistate. “Give me the forms.”
The
nurse retrieves a thick packet, far more pages than necessary.
Bureaucracy weaponized by a system that doesn’t care.
Korvin
takes the pen and signs with swift, precise strokes.
Name:
Varian
Korvin
Role:
Guardian
(Temporary Custodial Authority)
He
flips through more pages, initialing, signing, confirming. No
hesitation. No second thoughts.
The
nurse accepts the documents and nods respectfully. “Very well. I’ll
send the full packet to your office within the hour.”
Cain
exhales with open relief. Lucille stares at Korvin, voice a faint
rasp, barely audible, “…Thank you…”
He
meets her eyes, firm, steady, unflinching. “You’re my student.
This academy will not chew you up while I stand idle.”
Cain
places a hand on Lucille’s back, steadying her.
Korvin
turns to the nurse. “Is she cleared to leave?”
“She
needs rest. She should not be alone tonight. Psych evaluations
indicate acute stress response, no surprise. But physically? Yes.
Take her somewhere warm and safe.”
Korvin
nods.
Cain
nods too, determination tightening his expression.
Lucille
sits between them, small, exhausted, hurting, but not alone.
Not
anymore.
