The House of Control

The Infirmary

Ron lay on the stiff cot in the infirmary, his back still aching with sharp stings from each lash. The stone walls were bare, and the room smelled faintly of medicinal herbs and something metallic he couldn't quite place. Every movement pulled at his wounds, making him wince, but he forced himself to remain silent. Complaints didn't get far here, and he'd already learned that lesson well enough.

The healer—a thin, pale man with a nervous, darting gaze—had been tending to his wounds with steady hands, applying layers of salve and bandages. The process had been painful, but Ron had refused to show any weakness. He had been holding onto one thought: he'd be back to work in two days. Two days to heal, two days to gather his strength. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Just as he was settling back, the door creaked open, and Master Jacob entered the room. Ron's entire body went rigid. Master Jacob's cold gaze swept over him, barely acknowledging his presence, before shifting to the healer.

The healer straightened instantly, bowing, his face lighting up with a nervous sort of enthusiasm. "Master Jacob, good morning. What an honor. I was just... ensuring this servant's recovery." His words were smooth, almost overly eager, as if he were hoping to impress the master with his diligence.

Jacob looked down at Ron briefly, his face impassive. "How is he?" he asked, his voice low and cool.

The healer bowed again, quickly launching into an explanation. "He is recovering well, Master. I estimate he will be ready to return to work in about two days' time. His wounds—"

"One day," Master Jacob interrupted, his tone unwavering. "He will be ready in one day. Do whatever you must to ensure that."

The healer blinked, the faintest flicker of panic crossing his face before he bowed even lower, his words spilling out in a flurry of agreement. "Of course, certainly, Master. One day, yes. He will be ready, Master Jacob."

Jacob gave him a final, icy look before turning and striding out of the infirmary, the door closing behind him with a definitive click. The silence that followed was thick, pressing down on the room like a weight.

As soon as Jacob was gone, the healer turned back to Ron, his expression tight with barely concealed irritation. "Well, it seems your recovery is about to speed up," he muttered, shaking his head. He moved quickly, gathering fresh bandages, salves, and a small vial of an unfamiliar green liquid.

"Here," he said briskly, holding up the vial. "This will help numb the pain, but it's not a luxury we usually provide. Consider it a gift—just this once."

Ron eyed the vial, trying to gauge whether there was more to it than what the healer was saying. But he took it, drinking the bitter liquid in one swift gulp. The numbness spread over his aching back, dulling the sting and making it easier to breathe without wincing.

The healer leaned over, applying the salve with more pressure than before. Ron clenched his fists, holding in a groan as the healer continued to work on his wounds. The dull throb of pain slowly faded to a numb, tingling sensation.

"So," the healer muttered, as he worked with a faster pace, "seems you're not very popular with the masters, are you?"

Ron shot him a sideways glance, his face hard. "No more than I want to be."

The healer smirked faintly. "Word of advice? Don't let them see that kind of attitude. They don't take kindly to defiance here."

Ron bit back a retort, the memory of his punishment still fresh in his mind. But he wasn't about to let them see him cower. He'd learned enough here to know that showing weakness only invited more punishment.

The healer seemed to sense his thoughts. "Look, you don't have to like them. Just keep your head down and follow orders." His voice softened slightly, a hint of understanding in his tone. "Might make things easier for you."

Ron looked away, his jaw clenched. He had never been one to stay silent, to follow blindly. But he could see the reality of his situation, the way the rules of The House pressed down on everyone here, crushing any spark of rebellion.

As the healer finished up, he stepped back, nodding in satisfaction at his work. "Rest while you can," he instructed, his tone clipped. "By tomorrow, you'll be back on your feet and working. No excuses."

Ron lay back, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over him, but his mind refused to quiet. The House had pushed him to his limits, stripped him of his freedom, yet he clung to a small, stubborn resolve. He would survive this, endure it. And if there was any way out, any chance to reclaim his life, he would find it.

But for now, he lay still, his body braced for whatever the next day would bring, and he let himself drift into a restless sleep, his mind already calculating, hoping, and refusing to break.