"Flynn. You will be responsible for a supply run. Take another student with you. You know this region better than most. We need fresh water. And a more secure way to get in and out of this crypt." Thomson says. "And perhaps any other supplies you think we might need for the journey back."
Flynn nods, but I can see the flicker of unease in his eyes. He's all bravado and brute force, but he's not stupid. He knows what's out there. "Who do I take?"
"Michael," Thomson says, after a moment's thought. "His mind is a fortress. He will notice details you might miss. And... he has not yet lost himself to panic. A clear head is a greater weapon than a strong arm."
Michael, who has been standing near the back of the group, pales slightly, but he squares his shoulders and nods. "Yes, Classmaster."
"Amelia," Thomson says, turning to her. "You are our scholar. You will remain here. You will sift through the archives. Find anything you can on the glyph. On the 'Gloom-Kissed.' On the history of the Order's hidden network. Anything that can give us an advantage. I know it is a monumental task, but you are the only one who can do it."
Amelia nods, her expression grimly determined. "I won't let you down, sir."
He doesn't ask for her agreement. He doesn't offer a choice. He states her duty.
He finally looks at me. "And you, Caden. You will accompany them. Both of them."
I'm expecting this.
And I'm terrified.
A small gasp goes through the assembled students. Even Flynn and Amelia look surprised.
"Sir, with all due respect," Flynn says, stepping forward, "is that wise? Taking our... our strongest weapon outside? Into the unknown? Shouldn't he be here, where he's safe? Where he can... practice?"
Thomson's gaze is like a shard of flint. "Here we are protected by powerful wards beyond any Gloom Dweller's reach. But if those who go out searching for help, connection, information, or supplies die, we will make this place our graves as well." He says. "You have been tasked with the vital responsibilities of supply. With the possibility of seeking out any other survivors. And you will take Caden with you because he is the only one of you who has any hope of countering an ambush by those creatures in the worst case." He says, as if he's just talking about the weather.
He also says it apparently just...assuming that he himself cannot go.
I suppose it makes enough sense.
There's too many things in this enclave that will require a full Order member - a real one, not just a newly promoted-under-duress one - to understand and, possibly, to operate.
Can't say I like being the one that's more expendable.
Bur I also...
Can't say much when my power is the same power as the ones who are trying to kill us all.
It's a fair reason for why I should be sent.
The others...?
They don't see it that way.
"Absolutely not!"
The shout comes from Thomas. He's red-faced, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You can't be serious! You're sending him out there? He's one of them! He'll lead them right to us! Or he'll just turn on those two the moment he's out of sight!" He's not even looking at me. He's looking at Thomson, pleading, demanding.
"Thomas," Thomson's voice is dangerously quiet. It's the tone he used right before he'd assign you a week of latrine duty for a smudged uniform. "You have been promoted to Full Exorcist. Act like it. You will be assigned to practice your defensive wards with Leah and Archie. You will be on the second rotation of watch duty tonight. That is the end of this discussion."
Thomas's jaw works, but he doesn't say anything else. He just glares at me, a look of pure, venomous hatred, before stomping away toward the library corridor, presumably to complain to whoever will listen.
But the damage is done. His words hang in the air, echoing the fears of the others. I can feel their eyes on me, a weight of suspicion and terror. They see a traitor being armed and sent into the world, a wolf guarding the sheep.
Flynn looks...
Less afraid, more angry. He looks at Thomas and then back at me, and he's clenching and unclenching his fists in a way that suggests he'd very much like to punch Thomas in the face. "Don't listen to him," he says under his breath.
"I don't," I mutter.
"I'm serious, Caden. He's an idiot and a coward." Flynn looks at me. "The only reason he's acting like this is because you're stronger than he is."
"I'm not-"
"Shut up. You are." Flynn's tone is so final and absolute that I actually...shut up. "I don't care where it comes from or what it looks like. You are my friend. No Gloom Dweller would be my friend."
He doesn't wait for me to answer, but...
It's a very powerful thing for him to say. I think he means it. And it does make me feel...a little better.
"You leave at dawn," Thomson says, his voice cutting through our quiet exchange. There's no emotion in it. Just a statement of fact, a command to be obeyed. "Be prepared. Be careful."
There's nothing else to say.
Thomson dismisses us all, sending the others to find their rooms, assign watch duties, and process their grief in private. Flynn, Amelia, and I remain for a moment, a small, uncertain island in the sea of the crypt.
"I'll...go back to the library," Amelia says, her eyes on me. "I'll see what I can find. About the 'Gloom-Kissed.' About... whatever that glyph is." She gives me a look that is both determined and worried. "Be safe out there, Caden."
"You too," I say. "Don't get lost in there."
She offers a small, tired smile. "I'll try."
She turns and walks away, her shoulders squared, ready to face the mountain of forgotten knowledge.
But she stops.
Just one step away.
Her face is down, and she's staring at the ground, fingers twitching.
Finally she says, softly, "I trust you, too, Caden." She says it without looking at either me or Flynn. And then, before either of us can respond, she's walking away again, her footsteps echoing down the corridor towards the library.
Flynn watches her go, then turns to me, scratching the back of his head. "Well," he says, breaking the heavy silence. "Guess that settles that. No pressure, though. Just the fate of what's left of the Order resting on our shoulders. And a supply run."
"Let's just try not to die," I say, my own voice flat.
"Always a good primary objective," Flynn agrees with a cheerful grimness that is uniquely his. "So. You want to go practice... whatever that is... before we head out? Or you want to get some more sleep? You look like you could use it."
Sleep is the last thing I want. The dream of the violet-haired Dweller is still too fresh, the memory of that crushing despair too vivid. But the idea of 'practicing' my power is just as repulsive. It feels like learning to be a better monster.
"Neither," I say. "Not that it matters. I can't make that stuff. It just...listens to me when it's there." I'm not entirely sure that's true, but it's what I'm telling myself.
"Guess it makes sense. Dwellers use the Gloom they're made of, right?" Flynn offers, a thoughtful frown on his face. "So you gotta use what's already there."
"Exactly."
"So how are you supposed to practice?" he asks, a genuine, logistical question. "Are we supposed to go find a nest of the things so you can have something to play with?"
"Sounds like a great way to die." I say. "...I don't know."
A deep sigh escapes me, and I scrub a hand over my face. The exhaustion is a physical thing, a heavy cloak I can't seem to shrug off. "It doesn't matter right now. The Classmaster said dawn. We've still got a few hours."
I start walking toward our room, not really expecting him to follow. But he does, falling into step beside me, his presence a familiar, comforting weight. "Well, if you're not sleeping or practicing, what's the plan, Stick? You gonna stare at the wall and brood? 'Cause you're pretty good at that, but it's not exactly a productive use of our limited downtime."
I shoot him a glare that he completely ignores.
"What about a bath?" I suggest, the thought popping into my head with surprising clarity. "There has to be a bathing chamber somewhere in this ancient, fancy, well-stocked deathtrap. I feel like I'm wearing the last three days, and I'd like to wash it off."
Flynn's face lights up. "Now you're talking! A bath! A real, hot water bath! I could kiss you!" He throws an arm around my shoulders in a gesture of exuberant camaraderie that is so entirely Flynn that I forget to be annoyed by it.
"Don't," I warn, shrugging him off.
We find the bathing chamber easily enough, a separate corridor off the main barracks wing. It's a large, circular room, its walls lined with mosaic tiles that have lost most of their color to the centuries. In the center sits a large, sunken basin, big enough for four or five people, and along one wall is a series of individual stalls.
And, to our profound and utter delight, there are taps. Not the simple, gravity-fed pumps I was expecting, but ornate, silver faucets carved into the shape of stylized flames.
"Light-gems," I breathe, tracing the cool metal of a faucet with my finger. "Like in the pantry."
"Who cares what powers 'em!" Flynn cheers, already turning a handle in one of the private stalls. A torrent of steaming hot water gushes out, striking the stone floor with a satisfyingly loud splash. "It works! It actually works!"
The next hour is a slice of heaven I never thought I'd experience again. The hot water soaks into my sore muscles, washing away not just the grime and sweat, but a little bit of the lingering terror, the memory of blood and Gloom.
It's not much but....
It's a little more unwinding than I expected I'd ever get to have again.