We retrieved our bows – mine the sleek crossbow I had snatched from a fallen soldier in the gorge, his a traditional longbow – and headed out into the dappled sunlight of the forest. The familiar scent of pine filled my lungs, the rhythmic crunch of fallen leaves underfoot a soothing counterpoint to the storm raging within.

  We moved with practiced ease, navigating through the dense foliage. Suddenly, Marcus stopped, his hand raised in a silent signal. My eyes followed his gaze and landed on a magnificent doe, grazing peacefully a short distance away.

  Adrenaline surged through me, the familiar thrill of the hunt replacing the churning turmoil for a fleeting moment. I raised my crossbow, lining up the perfect shot. My finger tightened on the trigger, a hair's breadth from releasing the bolt.

  Then, unexpectedly, Marcus spoke, his voice low, "What's going on between you and Caleb?"

  The question, like a physical blow, disrupted my focus. My aim faltered, the bolt flying harmlessly past the doe, which bolted into the undergrowth with a startled snort. Frustration and anger flared within me.

  I lowered the crossbow, the weight of the question, and my own mishandled emotions, pressing down on me. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of the forest, the storm was back, more furious than ever.

  "What are you talking about?" I forced the words out, my voice tight with annoyance.

  He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the spot where the doe had disappeared. Finally, he turned back to me, his brow furrowed in concern. "Come on, Kira," he said gently. "Don't play dumb. I've seen the way you two look at each other. The stolen glances, the lingering touches during training."

  My cheeks flushed, a mixture of anger and something else, something more confusing, prickling at my skin. "Stolen glances?" I scoffed, trying to sound dismissive. "There's nothing between me and Caleb."

  But even my own ears couldn't quite believe the lie. The truth was, there was something between us, a tangle of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. Confusion, suspicion, yes, but beneath it all, a flicker of something warmer, something that made my heart skip a beat whenever our eyes met.

  Marcus's gaze held a knowing glint. "Then why the outburst at training yesterday?"

  My cheeks burned even hotter, the anger threatening to boil over. "What do you know about it, Marcus?" I snapped, my voice laced with a dangerous edge.

  How did he know? Was this some elaborate joke? Were the others gossiping behind my back, dissecting the non-existent relationship between me and Caleb? The thought sent a fresh wave of anger crashing through me.

  "Whoa, easy there," Marcus held up his hands in a placating gesture. His brow furrowed in concern, a clear sign he wasn't trying to be malicious. "Look, I'm not trying to stir trouble. It's just… obvious, Kira. The way you two interact, the tension. It's pretty hard to miss."

  A tense silence stretched between us, broken only by the chirping of birds in the distance. My mind raced, replaying every interaction with Caleb, every stolen glance, every lingering touch during training. Was it really that obvious? Had I been so oblivious to the way I felt, the way I acted around him?

  Shame battled with a strange sense of relief. At least I wasn't the only one who saw it. But then a new wave of anger washed over me. Why hadn't Caleb said anything? Why leave me to stew in my own confusion and suspicion?

  The silence stretched on, and finally, I blurted out a question that had been gnawing at me all day. "How close are Caleb and Erin, anyway?"

  Marcus let out a surprised laugh, a sound that echoed oddly in the stillness of the forest. "Close? Kira, come on. Erin and Caleb? They've been allies for years, sure, a great team. But close? Romantically close? No way. They're more like… siblings-in-arms, if that makes sense."

  My heart skipped a beat. Confusion clouded my face. "Siblings-in-arms?" I echoed, the words tasting foreign on my tongue.

  Marcus chuckled again. "Yeah, that's it exactly. They've been through a lot together, trust each other with their lives. But there's nothing… romantic there. Not even a hint."

  His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. The anger that had been simmering within me began to ebb, replaced by a dawning realization. Maybe, just maybe, I'd been looking at everything through the wrong lens. Maybe my suspicion had been a monster of my own creation, fueled by insecurity and a gnawing fear of loss.

  His words hung heavy in the air, settling the storm churning within me. A sheepish grin tugged at the corner of my lips. "Well, that makes things a lot less… complicated."

  "Glad I could help," Marcus said with a wink. "But hey, you know this conversation never happened, right?"

  The playful glint in his eyes held a silent understanding. But a hint of my earlier anger flared, a defensive reflex. Levity was one thing, but trust was another.

  "You breathe a word of this to anyone, Marcus," I said, my voice low and dangerous, "and I'll find a way to slip some nightshade into your stew. You won't even feel a thing."

  Marcus chuckled, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the trees. "Relax," he said, clapping me on the shoulder with surprising gentleness. "Your secret's safe with me. Besides, the only interesting gossip around here is Finn's latest attempt at flirting with the baker's daughter."

  A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Marcus, with his easy humor and perceptive nature, had a way of disarming me, even at my most vulnerable.

  "Thanks, Marcus," I said, a genuine note of gratitude in my voice. "I… I owe you one."

  He winked, his grin widening. "Just promise me you'll go a little easier on Caleb during training tomorrow. The poor guy looked like a kicked puppy after your little… outburst."

  My stomach clenched with a mixture of guilt and a strange pang of… something. Maybe it was sympathy for Caleb's bewildered state, or maybe it was the dawning realization of my own misplaced emotions.

  "We'll see," I mumbled, slinging the crossbow over my shoulder. "No promises."

  We continued our walk back to the compound, the setting sun casting long shadows across the forest floor. The hunt may have been a failure, but the conversation with Marcus had yielded a different kind of harvest – a seed of clarity amidst the tangled mess of emotions within me. Tonight, I would seek out Caleb, not with anger and suspicion, but with a newfound honesty. The path ahead remained uncertain, but at least I would be facing it with open eyes.

  Pushing open the familiar wooden door of the women's dormitory, I froze. Kass sat perched on her bed, a contemplative frown etching lines on her face. In her calloused hands, she polished something silver, its surface catching the fading sunlight with a practiced glint.

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  Surprise jolted me. Kass rarely spent time alone, preferring the boisterous camaraderie of the group.

  "Kass?" I ventured, my voice a mere whisper.

  She looked up, worry crossing her features before a mask of determination settled in its place. "Kira," she acknowledged, her voice gruff. "Didn't hear you come in."

  The air crackled with unspoken words. The revelation from Marcus hung heavy, a lead weight in my gut. Did Kass know? Did everyone know about my unfounded suspicions, my childish outburst at training? Shame burned hot in my cheeks.

  "I, uh," I stammered, the words catching in my throat. "Just got back from hunting. Didn't have much luck."

  Kass’ gaze sharpened, a silent question hanging in the air. I knew I couldn't avoid the inevitable conversation any longer. Tonight, honesty seemed to be the only path forward, not just with Caleb, but with my closest companion as well.

  Taking a deep breath, I braced myself. "Look, Kass," I began, my voice barely above a whisper. "About yesterday…"

  Suddenly, Kass surprised me. Instead of the worn dagger I expected, she held out a brand new one. The handle, smooth and polished, gleamed in the dim light, catching the last rays of the setting sun and throwing a warm amber glow across the room. But the real marvel lay in the blade. It wasn't a weapon built for brute force, but for elegance and lethality. The cool metal held the faint scent of the forge, a metallic tang that mingled with the familiar earthy aroma of Kass. Etched into the surface were delicate flowers, their design swirling around the hilt like a forgotten memory.

  My breath caught in my throat. It was a climbing vine, a cascade of delicate blossoms I recognized all too well. The very same flowers that used to climb the walls of my childhood home, a place now lost to the ravages of war.

  A wave of emotions washed over me – nostalgia, grief, and a strange sense of connection to the seemingly mundane object in Kass’ hand. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the intricate design. This wasn't just a weapon; it was a piece of my past, a tangible reminder of the life I'd left behind, reborn in the skilled hands of my best friend. And the delicate flowers, a silent promise that a part of home would always be with me.

  "It's for you," Kass said softly, her voice devoid of its usual gruffness. "Made it myself at the forge this afternoon. Figured you could use your own blade."

  Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the intricate design of the flowers. The weight of her gesture hit me harder than any blow. It wasn't just the craftsmanship, though the weapon itself was a marvel of balance and deadly grace. It was the act of creation, the thoughtfulness behind it. Here, in the cool metal, was a piece of my past, a fragment of home rekindled in the fires of the forge.

  Shame washed over me in a hot wave. This wasn't just a dagger; it was an olive branch, a gesture of understanding and unwavering loyalty. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken apologies. I hadn't just ignored Kass, I'd pushed her away at a time when I needed her most.

  "Kass," I began, my voice thick with emotion. "I—"

  But the words wouldn't come. How could I apologize for shutting her out, for letting suspicion fester into a cold silence? Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to meet her gaze. "It's beautiful," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

  It wasn't enough. This wasn't just about admiring the craftsmanship. I needed to say the words that had been choking me for the past day.

  "Kass," I started again, my voice stronger this time. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have ignored you. It's just...everything is so confusing, and I felt so alone."

  Surprise crossed Kass’ features, then softened into understanding. "Hey," she said gruffly, but her eyes were warm. "We're never alone, alright? That's what being sisters is for."

  Relief flooded my chest, warm and expansive. The dam broke, and the words tumbled out in a rush. I confessed my anxieties about Caleb, the burden of my suspicions, and the fear that had driven a wedge between us. As I spoke, Kass listened patiently, her hand resting gently on mine.

  When I finished, a heavy silence descended, broken only by the rasp of my own breathing. Then, Kass squeezed my hand. "It's alright to be scared, Kira," she said, her voice rough with emotion. "But next time, talk to us. Don't shut us out."

  Tears spilled down my cheeks, a mixture of relief and gratitude. I lunged forward, engulfing Kass in a hug. The warmth of her embrace was a balm to my soul. "Thank you," I whispered into her shoulder. "Thank you for understanding, for this," I gestured to the dagger at my hip, "and for everything."

  Kass chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through me. "We'll get through this together," she rumbled back. Pulling away slightly, she held me at arm's length, her gaze unwavering. "Just remember, we're family. And family fights together."

  She shifted slightly, then reached behind her and pulled something else from the corner of the room. "Actually," she said, a flicker of something nervous but proud in her tone, "I wanted to show you this too. It’s… well, I made it for myself."

  I blinked as Kass stepped forward, holding out a sword. The weapon was stunning, its long blade shimmering in the low light, a warm glow reflecting off the polished steel. The hilt was adorned with carvings of vines and blossoms, similar to those etched into the dagger she had just given me.

  "It’s called Ashbringer," Kass said, her voice steady now, her pride evident. "Forged it myself."

  I reached out instinctively, brushing my fingers along the intricate carvings on the hilt. "It’s beautiful," I whispered, genuinely in awe.

  Kass nodded, then gestured toward the dagger still in my hand. "I used the same steel for both," she said, her voice carrying a faint note of excitement. "Not twins, but… sisters, if you will. They belong together."

  The words hit me harder than I expected. Sisters. I stared down at the dagger in my hand, then back at the sword Kass held. The idea of them being forged from the same steel, adorned with the same delicate details—it felt so deliberate, so thoughtful. It wasn’t just a weapon Kass had made for herself; it was a bond she had created between us.

  "You made this for yourself?" I asked, my voice soft.

  Kass nodded. "Yeah," she said, her fingers running over the hilt of Ashbringer. "Figured I needed something of my own, something that felt like… me, you know? And then I thought, well, if I’m forging one for me, I might as well make one for you too. It just felt right."

  I didn’t trust myself to speak right away, the lump in my throat making it impossible. I held the dagger tighter, the weight of it grounding me as I tried to process everything. The intricate designs, the shared steel, the thoughtfulness behind her work—it wasn’t just a gift. It was a reminder that I wasn’t alone.

  Finally, I managed to find my voice. "Thank you," I said, and the words felt too small, too inadequate. "I don’t know what to say. This… it means more than you know."

  Kass waved a hand, her usual grin returning, though it was softer now. "Don’t get all weepy on me," she teased, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness. "You’ve got to promise me something, though."

  I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

  "Take care of that blade," she said, her voice turning serious. "It’s not just for show. It’s meant to protect you. And… I’ll be damned if I spent hours in the forge for you to let it sit unused."

  I laughed softly, a sound that felt almost foreign after everything we’d been through. "I promise," I said, gripping the dagger tightly. "I’ll take care of it. And you."

  Kass grinned, the tension between us dissolving like smoke. "Good," she said, swinging Ashbringer in a slow, testing arc. "Caleb was… really upset after what happened," she said, her voice unusually gentle. Shame burned even hotter in my cheeks. How could I have been so blind to his feelings, so consumed by my own doubt that I missed his pain?

  "I need to talk to him," I declared, the urgency in my voice surprising even myself. I couldn't let this fester any longer. The silence, the unspoken hurt, was a chasm that needed to be bridged.

  With a newfound determination, I set off to find Caleb. The common hall was deserted, the remnants of dinner cleared away. I checked the library, its quiet stillness broken only by the rhythmic scratching of Elyse’s quill across parchment. The training room echoed with emptiness, the wooden practice dummies standing sentinel in the fading light.

  Disappointment gnawed at me. Where could he be? Panic started to bubble in my chest. Had I driven him away for good? The infirmary held no answer either, Isaac sitting at his table, meticulously mixing salves, shaking his head when I inquired after Caleb.

  As a last resort, I found Finn hunched over a workbench in his usual cluttered mess of tools and intricate gadgets. "Finn," I said, my voice tight with worry. "Have you seen Caleb anywhere?"

  He glanced up, his brow furrowed in concern. "Nope, haven't seen him since training ended. You tried the men's dorm?"

  Shamefaced, I shook my head. "No, I…" This was where things got awkward. My earlier suspicions about Caleb now felt like a betrayal, a childish accusation that had no place in their bond. "Would you mind terribly checking?" I mumbled, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks.

  Finn's gaze softened, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Sure thing," he said with a subtle wink. "Don't worry, I'll sniff him out."

  With a grateful nod, I watched him disappear into the dimly lit corridor leading to the men's quarters. Minutes ticked by, each one stretching into an eternity. Finally, Finn emerged, his head shaking in silent confirmation of my fear. Caleb was truly gone.

  A cold dread settled in my stomach. Where had he gone? What if I'd hurt him so badly he couldn't bear to face me, or anyone else? The weight of my actions pressed down on me, suffocating. I had to find him, to apologize, to mend the bridges I had so carelessly burned. But where would I even begin to look? The once-familiar halls of the compound now seemed like a vast, uncharted landscape, and I, utterly lost within it.