The Night

Chapter 4

Training that afternoon was harsher than anything the youths had experienced before. The soldiers seemed angrier—more violent—after the bombing. They struck harder. Yelled louder. Punished more quickly.

Tife fought through every drill with quiet fury.

But Steven… Steven struggled. His mind kept drifting back to Dele’s shaking voice, the fear in his eyes, his desperate cry before the final shot.

He missed a step during weapon drills, and a soldier hit him across the back with the butt of a gun.

He stumbled.

Tife stepped forward instinctively.

The soldier pointed the gun at her. “You. Step back.”

Tife froze, jaw clenched. Steven forced himself up, shaking his head weakly at her.

“I’m fine,” he mouthed.

She wasn’t convinced.

Not even close.

When training finally ended, the youths dragged themselves back to the quarters. Some limped. Some cried silently. Some stared blankly into the distance.

Steven lay on his bunk, his breathing heavy from pain.

Tife sat beside him.

For a moment, neither spoke.

“You’re not fine,” she said finally.

Steven exhaled shakily. “I’m trying. I’m trying not to lose myself in this place, Tife.”

She looked at him—really looked. His back was bruised. His eyes were tired. But his heart… his heart was still gentle.

That made him different from the others.

It made him human in a place designed to erase humanity.

Tife sighed and leaned against the bunk frame. “You can’t break here. Not now.”

Steven gave a small, pained laugh. “You talk like you’re made of iron.”

She looked down at her hands—at the scars beginning to form, at the calluses from forced training.

“I wasn’t,” she said quietly. “But I’m becoming something else.”

Steven studied her, his expression soft. “You’re strong… but you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

Tife shook her head. “I do.”

“Why?”

Her chest tightened.

Why? Because every time she closed her eyes, she saw her family dying. Because she felt guilty for surviving. Because revenge was the only thing keeping her alive.

But she didn’t say those things.

Instead, she said, “Because if I don’t stay strong, I’ll break. And if I break… I’ll never get justice.”

Steven was silent for a moment.

Then he reached out slowly, gently, and touched her hand.

“Tife… whatever they did to your family… we’ll face it together.”

She almost pulled away. Instinct told her to. She had promised herself not to depend on anyone again.

But for the first time since arriving here… his touch didn’t feel dangerous.

It felt grounding.

She looked at him. “Why do you care so much? You barely know me.”

Steven smiled—soft, tired, warm. “Because I see the way you fight. The way you survive. The way you protect others even when you’re hurting. It’s impossible not to care.”

Tife blinked, surprised by the sudden burn behind her eyes.

She looked away quickly, clearing her throat. “We should rest. Tomorrow will be worse.”

He nodded but didn’t remove his hand from hers until she gently pulled away.

Just as she stood to return to her own bunk, she heard footsteps outside. Several shadows passed by the window.

Steven noticed too. “Who’s that?”

Tife moved closer, peeking through the crack in the door.

Three soldiers.

But they weren’t heading toward the guard quarters.

They were heading toward the storage room. The same place where the bomb had been planted.

And one of the soldiers was carrying a small metal box.

Tife’s heart stopped.

She recognized that box.

She had seen it once—being loaded into a government truck back in her village.

Steven whispered, “What is it? What do you see?”

Tife’s voice came out low and tight.

“It wasn’t rebels,” she said. “The government planted that bomb themselves.”

Steven’s eyes widened. “But why would they—?”

Tife’s jaw hardened. “To scare us. To control us. To kill one of us as a warning.”

She stepped back from the door, trembling with anger.

“This isn’t a training camp,” she whispered. “This is a prison.”

Steven swallowed. “Tife… what do we do now?”

Tife looked at him, the fire in her eyes burning brighter than ever.

“We stop surviving,” she said.

“We start planning.”