RIVAL’S POV
The hallway stank of canned meat and boiled bullshit — classic post-lunch air in Base Two.
I didn’t speak to anyone on my way back to the barracks. I rarely did. The chatter in the mess hall was all static anyway. Mouths moved, but none of it mattered. I just wanted quiet. A break. A second to reset.
But the second I turned the corner to my wing, something in me snapped on.
The door to my room was cracked open.
Not fully, not obvious — but just enough to trigger every alarm in my body.
My pace slowed. I dropped my footsteps low and light, my breath quiet.
I reached the door, peered inside.
And there he was.
Thomas.
Again.
But this time, he wasn’t rifling through drawers or flipping my boots.
No — the little bastard was crouched by my bed, both arms under it, lifting
