Jiho lay awake long after the others had drifted into exhausted sleep. The lantern's glow had dimmed to a sputter, and every breath he took echoed in the silent dormitory. Tonight, he wouldn't simply wait for morning—he would find out how far his new strength could carry him.
He slid quietly from his mat and crept to the far corner where a narrow service corridor led toward the compound's research wing. The stone floor, chilled by the night air, bit at his bare feet, but he hardly felt it. His veins thrummed with something fierce, his limbs steady where they once trembled.
Past the first barred gate, Jiho peered through the iron slats. A lone guard dozed at his post, spear resting against the wall. The corridor beyond stretched empty for twenty paces before branching into two hallways—one leading back to the labs, the other to the outer barracks and supply stores.
He counted the guard's breaths. In. Out. In. Out.
When the guard shifted, Jiho slipped through the bars with a soft creak. His heart hammered against his ribs, but his feet found silent purchase on the stone.
Halfway down the hall, he halted at a soft murmur. Two sentries—young men no older than Raka—stood by a supply chest, voices low.
"…heard someone's stirring," one yawned."Probably mice," the other replied, rubbing his eyes. "These old stones always creak."
Jiho pressed himself flat against the wall, chest tight. When the sentries turned away, he edged past them, each step measured to avoid the dull clink of armor.
Around the corner lay the barracks doors—stainless iron with a heavy lock. If he could pry it open, he might glimpse the courtyard beyond, even reach the outer wall. He knelt, testing the lock with two slender fingers. It held firm.
Before panic could rise, Jiho willed himself calm. He wasn't the scared boy of old. His fingers, now calloused and powerful, found the seam where lock met door. He gripped the bolt and pulled. The metal groaned but didn't give. He braced both feet against the floor and yanked again—and the lock snapped with surprising ease.
The door swung open on rusty hinges. Jiho's breath caught. Moonlight spilled in, revealing a narrow passage lined with stacked crates and barrels. Beyond, he could see a sliver of the open sky and the compound's high outer wall.
He stepped through, heart soaring, only to hear a stifled shout behind him.
"Hey! Who's there?"
Jiho's mind snapped back. He dove into shadow, chest against a crate, watching as two guards came running. They scanned the corridor, weapons raised.
One guard's torch beam swept close enough to scorch Jiho's arm. He stifled a groan, sweat prickling at his temples. Minutes felt like hours until finally the guards, convinced it was a trick of the night, returned to their posts.
When the torchlight receded, Jiho exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He pressed his palm to the cool stone wall lining the exit. His body trembled—not from fear, but exhilaration. He had done it. He had reached the threshold of freedom.
Silently, he backed through the cracked door and slid the bolt closed behind him. The lock lay broken at his feet.
By the time he returned to the dormitory, dawn was pale and the others were stirring. Sohee's eyes met his as he crouched by his mat.
"Where have you been?" she asked, voice thick with sleep and worry.
Jiho offered a small, secret smile. "Just exploring."
She frowned, about to ask more, but Raka interrupted with a stretch and a yawn. Min rubbed his neck, Gaon cracked his knuckles, and the moment passed.
But Jiho carried something new in his chest—a fragment of moonlit sky and the taste of possibility. He folded himself onto his mat, closed his eyes, and let the first quiet hope he'd felt in years wash over him.
---
A chill hung in the air of the Tang poison laboratory as Jiho stepped through the iron door. The lanterns burned low, casting long shadows over rows of vials and scalpel-sharp instruments. Today was his turn again—another round of deadly draughts to test his "resilience."
Meiyin stood behind a polished stone table, her silk sleeves folded back. In her hand gleamed a small jade bowl filled with glimmering amber liquid. She watched him as always—calm, unblinking.
Jiho swallowed once, then twice, and swallowed the poison in one smooth motion. It burned as it slid down his throat, but he held his ground, breathing through the flare in his chest. Meiyin's eyes flickered with professional interest as she recorded his pulse on a silver dial.
A minute passed. Two. Then five. Jiho's face remained inscrutable; the poison passed through him without breaking him.
"Again," Meiyin ordered softly. She poured another dose—this time a darker tincture mixed with herbs—and Jiho drank.
When the final test was done, Meiyin nodded. "You're stable," she declared. "Better than stable."
She motioned to a covered tray at the table's end. Lifting the lid, she revealed a sumptuous meal:
- A bowl of steaming jasmine rice, each pearl shining white and separate.
- Slices of tender marinated duck, its skin crisped to a honey-brown glaze.
- A delicate broth, clear but aromatic, studded with enoki mushrooms and pale lotus roots.
- A side dish of pickled cucumber ribbons, bright green and tipped with chili flakes.
- A soft-boiled egg, yolk molten gold beneath a thin, glossy white.
The scent filled the room—warm, inviting, a world away from cold stone and venom.
Jiho's stomach growled. He bowed his head. "Thank you, Meiyin-ssi."
She watched as he took the first bite—the duck's fat melting on his tongue, the rice steaming against his lips. After several mouthfuls, he paused.
Carefully, he folded a piece of the roast duck into a leaf of pickled cucumber, then pressed a small heap of rice beside it. He wrapped the bundle in a clean cloth from his sash and tied it with a strip of linen.
Meiyin's brow quirked. "What are you doing?" she asked, voice low.
Jiho met her gaze. "May I… take the rest of this with me?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Why? I can give you more tomorrow."
He hesitated, then said quietly, "I'd like to share it with my friend."
Meiyin's lips pressed into a thin line. A flash of something—jealousy? concern?—crossed her features. She set the tray aside and stepped closer, the lantern light catching her sharp cheekbones.
"For Sohee?" she asked, almost too gentle.
Jiho inclined his head. "She hasn't tasted real food in years."
Meiyin's shoulders relaxed fractionally. She gave a small grunt, as if conceding a point in a private argument. "Very well," she said, turning away to retrieve a second cloth. "But don't think this makes you indebted to me."
Jiho bowed again, gratitude warm in his chest. As he left the lab clutching the cloth bundle, Meiyin lingered in the doorway, eyes fixed on the slowly disappearing figure of the man she had come to both study and, in her own conflicted way, protect.