Crossroads

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The cold steel of the knife felt familiar in Romeo's hand, a comforting weight amidst the furor.

Shadows flickered against the walls of the dimly lit barracks, casting ghostly figures that danced to a rhythm he couldn't quite grasp.

His eyes darted to the letter lying unfastened on his bunk; a recruitment notice from Shadow Company, its stark black lettering a reminder of the life he was leaving behind.

KorTac's insignia glared back at him from his discarded uniform, a symbol of another chapter closed. Romeo tightened his grip on the blade, the edge pressing into his calloused palm, grounding him.

Abandoned once at six, then again at fourteen, he wondered if this new path would finally lead to answers or just another dead end.

The door creaked open, and he didn't flinch, didn't bother to hide the knife. Whoever walked in needed to understand he wasn't here to play games.

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