The sun dipped lower, casting a long, amber glow across the training grounds. The once-bustling pad was now eerily quiet, the distant sounds of other recruits in the barracks the only backdrop to the silence between Henry and Recruit 12.
"So," Recruit 12 said, breaking the silence. She was leaning back on her elbows, looking up at the first few stars beginning to pierce the purple sky. "A Sinclair. That explains why you look like you've never seen a copper coin in your life, but it doesn't explain why you're here Henry."
Henry let out a sharp, audible breath, his body tensing as if he'd just been caught in a pincer maneuver. The sound of his actual name—a name he hadn't heard since the gates of the Sinclair estate closed behind him, felt like a physical blow.
"How did you..."
"What, you think I wouldn't know?" she interrupted, her voice light but layered with a biting intelligence. She didn't even look at him, keeping her eyes fixed on the deepening indigo of the sky. "You and Howard are the Baron's only sons. Everyone in the Sinclair Barony knows the family tree, Henry. It's the only thing the heralds ever talk about."
She finally turned her head, her sharp gaze pinning him to the spot. The playful mask was gone, replaced by the raw clarity of someone who had seen too much of the world from the outside looking in.
"There's no way the heir would join the King's Army as a common recruit," she continued, her tone just a matter of fact. "Howard is needed back home to be groomed for succession. He's the golden child, the one meant to sit in the high chair. That leaves only the 'other' son."
Henry felt a hollow ache in his chest. To have his life's struggle summarized so casually by a girl he'd only known for six weeks was jarring. In the Barony, he was a young master; here, he was just a logical deduction.
"So," she said, leaning in closer, the scent of the evening air and sweat between them. "The second son of Sinclair, with C-rank aptitude, starts training at sixteen and runs away to the most dangerous border in the kingdom. You aren't here for the King's glory, are you?
Henry looked at his hands, now rough and calloused, a far cry from the soft hands of the boy who had lived in the castle just months ago. "I'm here for the same reason everyone else is, I think," he said quietly. "To be something more than what I started as."
Recruit 12 turned her head to look at him, her expression softening from its usual playful mask. "Most people here are running away from something. Hunger, debt, a bad name. You're the first person I've met who's running away from a castle." She let out a small, dry chuckle. "It's kind of ironic. I spent my whole life looking up at that castle, wondering what it was like to never be hungry. And here you are, probably the hungriest person in this group—just not for food."
Henry felt a surge of genuine empathy for her. He remembered her rags, the way she had looked at the curry on the first day. "I didn't choose to be a Sinclair," he said, his voice a bit firmer. "But I'm choosing to be a soldier."
"I know," she replied, nudging his shoulder with her own. "That's why I didn't care about the name. You don't train like a young master, Fourteen. You train like someone who's afraid they'll die if they stop moving. I can respect that."
She stood up, brushing the dust off her pants, and looked down at him with a smirk. "But just so we're clear... if we ever go back to that Barony and I need a favor, I'm totally telling people I know the Baron's son."
Henry couldn't help it; a small, genuine laugh escaped him. "Fair enough."
"Good. Now lets get some rest, young master ," she teased, walking toward the female barracks. "Tomorrow, Ma'am White is going to try to kill me again, and I need you to be awake to witness my glorious struggle."
The twilight air felt heavy as Recruit 12 began to walk away. The sudden realization that the day was ending, and with it the first real conversation he'd had in weeks, sparked something in Henry. Without thinking, he lunged forward, his fingers catching her hand.
She spun around, her eyes widening in genuine surprise before they narrowed into a playful, flirtatious glimmer. She didn't pull away.
"Do you need something from little old me, Young Master?" she cooed, her voice dripping with a a mocking sweetness that sent a flush crawling up Henry's neck.
Embarrassed, Henry let go of her hand as if he'd been burned. He looked at the ground, then back at her. "It's unfair," he muttered. "You know my name, my father's name, my home... and I don't even know yours."
She arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "A name is a powerful thing, young master. What are you willing to do to hear it?"
"What would you want for it?" Henry asked, his voice a bit more resolute.
She stepped closer, closing the gap until he could smell the faint scent of sweat and iron that clung to every recruit. "How about a kiss?" she challenged, her boldness hitting him like a physical strike. "You're not slow enough not to know my feelings for you, are you?"
Henry froze. The image of the girl he had left behind—the one he couldn't wait to return to flashed vividly in his mind. He couldn't lie to her. "I... I have someone I love," he said, his voice thick with a mixture of guilt and honesty.
Her expression faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of vulnerability passing through her sharp eyes before she masked it with a wistful smile. She didn't look angry; she looked like someone who had lived a life where she rarely got what she wanted.
"I'm not asking you to forget her," she said softly, reaching up. "Just... think about my feelings, too."
Before he could react, she leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. It was warm and soft, a stark contrast to the brutal reality of their training. Then, she was gone, turning on her heel and sprinting toward the women's barracks with the agility Ma'am White had beaten into her.
"My name is Anna" her voice drifted back, a whisper that seemed to hang in the cool night air long after her silhouette vanished into the building.
Henry stayed rooted to the spot, his hand slowly rising to touch his cheek. The training pad was silent now, but the name echoed in his mind. Anna.