The next day marked my first time working on one of the special projects, and the anticipation had me practically waltzing through the halls. I was absolutely buzzing. Riding high on the sudden turn of fortune. Just a few days ago, I'd been knocking on death's door. Now, I was learning how to fight from a legend like Billy and getting a spot alongside the prison's top crafters. Life really did come at you fast.

But when I sat down for breakfast, the mood around me didn't match mine. The usual buzz of the canteen felt muted. Faces were drawn, movements sluggish. Even the number of scuffles seemed higher than normal.

"What's up with everyone today?" I asked Tom as he dropped into the seat across from me, porridge in hand.

He gave me a look like I'd just asked my own name. "Ya don't know what day it is?"

I racked my brain, trying to think if I'd missed something important. Nothing came to mind, so I shook my head. "No, should I?"

He muttered something under his breath about freshies before grumbling, "It's thirty days until the Challenge."

He practically spat the word, then shoved a spoonful of oats into his mouth like the conversation was over.

After what Billy had shared, I could see why that might get people down. These people must have a history with the Challenges, and being so close must have brought up the memories. I felt some sympathy for them all but I didn't let it spoil my mood though we finished eating our food in silence. Tom didn't seem interested in talking at all which was a little surprising. I'd been expecting him to ask either about the special project, or what I'd gotten up to the day before. Apparently word hadn't got back to him about either.

The workshop was just as subdued as the canteen with grim faces everywhere I looked. It was a bit of a downer if I was being honest but I was determined to not let it ruin my good mood.

"Right, I'm off," I told Tom as we walked up to our usual table.

"Alright," he replied, not even looking up as he started putting on his gear..

"I'm working with the Boss today. Desk Four," I added, hovering for a second, hoping for a bit more of a response.

"Alright, see you later," he said flatly.

I frowned, disappointed I wasn't getting the reaction I wanted.

As I made my way toward my new workstation, I spotted H and Carl heading down the row. I shifted my path to intercept them, hoping for a better reception.

"How's it going lads?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Ah, you know how it is," H said with a sigh. "The Challenge always sneaks up too soon."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Tom mentioned something about it. He seemed really down."

H shrugged. "Happens every time. A lot of bad memories for folks who've fought in them before. And if there's gonna be a conscription, the announcement usually comes around now."

"I didn't realise that was still a thing. Do you know how they choose people?"

"It's a lottery, I heard," Carl chimed in from the side.

"It's not a lottery," H said, rolling his eyes. "They choose based on ability. My mate Larry told me, and he heard it from one of the guards."

"I'm telling you, it is a lottery," Carl insisted. "They pick names out of a hat. You know Danny M?"

"Hangs out with Claude?" H asked

"Yeah, that's him. He said he's seen the hat they use."

"'He's seen the hat'," H repeated, deadpan. "Did he actually see them picking names out of it?"

"No, someone was wearing it—but Danny said he could just tell it was the one they use for the lottery."

H stared at him. "How could he tell that? Were bits of paper falling out of it or something?"

Carl shrugged. "He could just tell."

H turned to me, eyes wide in disbelief. "Are you hearing this? Do you see what I have to put up with?"

I laughed. "I better be off. Don't want to be late for my first day on Desk Four."

"Desk Four? Where they're working on the wagon? You?" H asked, the pitch of his voice rising with every word.

"Yep," I replied smugly. "The boss sees my potential and wants to make sure I hit it."

"You can barely make a nail!"

"Hey! I'm great at making nails now. I start off slow but give me time and I get going. That's what the Boss has seen."

"I can't believe it," H said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Just then, Ginge wandered over. "Can't believe what?"

"Warlock's been invited to work on Desk Four."

"Fuck off," Ginge said, eyebrows raised. "I'm not having that. He's the worst crafter we've ever seen. I genuinely can't think of anyone that's done worse."

"I'm not that bad! I've improved with everything I've made," I protested, frustrated by their complete lack of faith.

Ginge snapped his fingers. "I've got it! They never conscript from the special crafters. The Boss must want to keep him out of The Challenge, because he's so young."

"Yes! That's got to be it," H agreed, nodding. "There's no way they'd actually want to work with him. Did you see those pallets he was making?"

"I heard they threw them out," Carl added. "Said they weren't even usable."

"That makes sense," H said, nodding solemnly. "They were barely better than scrap."

"You guys are dicks. I'm getting better at this!" I complained.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course you are," Ginge said dismissively.

Seeing I wasn't going to win them over, I left the lads behind and made my way to my new workstation.

A team of five were already setting up their tools as I approached. I recognised all of them from around the workshop, but we'd never been properly introduced. They had the quiet confidence of seasoned workers as they efficiently moved around their station.

"Hey, I'm Brandon," I said as I stepped closer. "I've been told I'm working with you guys today."

One of them—a gruff-looking man with a scar running down his cheek—glanced up at me. "The Boss said she'd be sending a kid our way." He nodded toward the warehouse. "There's a couple stacks of mahogany and walnut in the store that need cutting to size. Think you can handle that?"

His tone wasn't openly hostile, but there was definitely a challenge in it. With all the grief I'd gotten from the boys, I felt that need to prove myself bubbling up again. To show I wasn't just some charity case thrown on the project.

"Yeah," I said, standing a little straighter. "I can handle that. What are we making, anyway?"

"A sociable for one of the Houses."

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"A what?"

The scarred man looked at the others, clearly unimpressed. "A sociable coach. Large, open-top, two rows of seats facing each other. For socialising. The fancy folk love 'em. And they like them made right, so don't mess it up."

The guy's condescending tone was already getting under my skin, and seeing no back up coming from any of his crew, I set off to the warehouse to find the wood I'd be working with but it wasn't immediately obvious so instead of randomly searching, I tracked down Handsy.

I spotted him a few aisles over, taking inventory near a set of shelves.

"Hey, Handsy. How's it going?" I called out as I approached.

"Warlock! Same old, same old. You been over to Desk Four yet?"

"Yeah, just came from there then. They sent me looking for mahogany and walnut?"

He nodded, making a note in the ledger he was holding. "That's all over there. Give me a minute, I'll walk you to it."

"Thanks," I said. "By the way, what are those guys like? I didn't get any of their names, but the one with the scar was kind of a dick."

Handsy gave me a funny look. "You're in prison, Warlock. What, you expect prisoners to be friendly?"

"No," I conceded, "but we're on the same team now. He didn't have to be a prick about it."

"What did he even do?"

"Well, it was more his tone—"

He rolled his eyes as he shook his head. "Because of your height, I forget how young you actually are. Listen, don't be so sensitive. People are rude. So what? Just show them you can do good work and they'll respect you for that at least. If not, smash their faces in."

I stopped, taken aback. "What?"

He grinned at the expression on my face. "It's prison, not an academy. You're looking at me like I'm your teacher, but I'm not. Sure, my job puts me in a position of authority of sorts, but I'm a prisoner too. Just like you. We're all criminals in here. And the one thing that gets you respect—always—is power. So if you feel like you're not getting it, then go and take it."

"The Boss has said I'm not allowed to fight any more," I told him, which came out more sullenly than I intended.

Handsy shrugged, unconcerned. "Then don't. I don't care. I'm just telling you that that's how problems get dealt with in here. Like it or not."

He turned and gestured for me to follow. "Come on, the wood's this way. Do you know how much you need?"

"They just said to cut it to size," I admitted, feeling a little foolish. "I don't suppose you know?"

"Nope," he said bluntly. "You'll have to go ask them. I'll do you a favour though—the scarred one's called Stanley."

"Right, thanks."

"Come on, it's just around this corner."

We turned down a narrower aisle, and Handsy stopped beside two large, neatly stacked piles of timber. The planks were rich in colour—deep reddish-brown and golden chocolate tones gleaming even in the dull workshop light. The natural grain was striking, with long flowing patterns that showed off its life.

"Wow," I said, reaching out instinctively. "These look incredible."

"Mahogany and walnut," Handsy confirmed. "Only comes out for the real high-end stuff, so don't go doing your usual awful starts with this stuff or you'll piss some people off."

I picked up one of the mahogany planks and nearly dropped it. It was heavier than I expected. Dense and solid, I could see why they picked it to make a coach out of. It had a smooth surface but was weighty enough that the owner would feel powerful.

"This stuff's no joke," I muttered.

Handsy grinned. "This is the sort of material Desk Four work with Not the usual stuff you get. It's not just the builds that set them apart—it's what they're trusted to work with. Treat it like gold, because that's what it's worth for people in here."

I nodded slowly, running my fingers along the smooth edge. The wood was beautiful, sure, but it also came with pressure. Each and every cut, shave, and join would be judged by people who expected nothing less than the best. I didn't know how much of the process they'd let me be involved in but one thing was clear to me.

"I better not screw this up."

"Exactly," Handsy said, slapping me lightly on the shoulder. "Now go get the measurements from your new best friend, Stanley."

Sighing, I gave him my thanks and went to find out exactly what the team needed. I decided that this time I would approach one of the others. They hadn't spoken up before but maybe they'd be less condescending than Stanley.

As I made my way over, I caught the group nudging one another, elbows jabbing ribs and their heads tilting in my direction. The moment I came into earshot, I saw Stanley look up with a grin, clearly alerted to my return by whatever childish whispering had just taken place. A ripple of amusement passed between them. It was irritating but I was trying to do as Handsy said and be less sensitive.

""Do you have the measurements for the wood?" I asked, keeping my voice level. "Handsy showed me where it is, but I realised I didn't know what you need me to do with them."

"Took you long enough to notice," Stanley replied without missing a beat, drawing another round of chuckles from his crew.

I resisted the sigh that was trying to escape. "Sure. Do you have them? If so, I'll get started right away."

"They're on the desk right there," he said, gesturing lazily toward a stack of parchment. "There's not much room for slippage, so if you mess it up, we'll have a problem."

"No worries," I replied, stepping past him and picking up the parchment with the specs. "I'll make sure it's all done to the exact measurements."

"You better," he said, voice lowering a notch. "We're counting on these being finished today. If we have to order more in, the Boss isn't going to be pleased. And when the Boss isn't happy, no one's happy."

"Understood." I studied the paper, skimming the measurements and tolerances. They were tight, just as he'd said but there was room for a mistake or two. It would just need to be that. One or two mistakes only.

"Anything else I need to know?" I asked, wanting to get all the information in one go so I wouldn't have to come crawling back and give them more reasons to laugh.

Stanley exchanged a glance with one of the others, then looked back at me with an exaggerated sigh, like I was a nuisance he had to tolerate. "Yeah. Use the table three rows over. The second one from the back. And don't bother us with anything unless it's important. We've got a tight deadline on this and we don't need distractions."

"Got it," I said, turning away before I could roll my eyes. I gripped the parchment tightly and walked off, reminding myself not to let them get under my skin. I had something to prove, and I wasn't going to do it by arguing, whining, and certainly not fighting. I was going to show them that the Boss wasn't just trying to protect me because of my age. She saw my potential and it was potential I'd live up to.

I went about my work with absolute focus. Measuring everything twice and cutting once, exactly as Tom had instilled in me since I'd joined. It was stressful knowing that I only had a small error margin but I felt like I was doing good work. Everything I did was straight and smooth. It was undoubtedly the best work I'd ever done and I was immensely proud of myself. Which is why I snapped when Stanley was so dismissive about how long it took me to accomplish.

"What's your problem?" I snapped, slamming my hand down on the table. "All day you've been a prick to me, and for what? What did I actually do to you?"

Stanley looked up from his station, his expression sour. "What did you do?" he repeated. "You're a snot-nosed brat who got bumped up to our team even though everyone knows you're not good enough to be here. You're a thug and one of the only people in here who actually should be conscripted for The Challenge. Instead you've been given a free pass whilst hard working people are forced to fight.."

"You don't even know me. How would you know what if I deserve to be here?" I said, voice raised, demanding an answer.

"You're right," he said, his voice louder than mine in volume. "I don't know you. But I do know the men who've been conscripted. Men who wouldn't be facing The Challenge if you had been chosen instead."

"How the fuck is that my fault?" I shouted back at him as all other noises ceased. I was too worked up to feel any embarrassment about everyone listening in though. If they wanted to eavesdrop then they could.

"Did you not hear me? It's because you are assigned here and you shouldn't be. You're barely good enough for pallets!" He shouted in my face. "All you've done since you got here is fight and now Davey is being sent to The Challenge, and you're doing his job."

I scoffed. "You don't know what you're talking about. First of all, I am good enough to be here. Everything I've done today is top quality and you know it. Secondly, if they'd asked me to go, I'd go." I told him, puffing out my chest.

Overcome by emotion, I felt brave saying it in the moment. If I'd taken a second to look around, taken a second to think back to Handsy's advice, then I definitely wouldn't have done so. Looking back on it, this singular moment changed the trajectory of my life.

"Is that so?" came a voice behind me. "Then we'd be happy to accept your offer, Mr. Horlock."

My heart plummeted. I knew that voice. The Warden.

I spun around on my heel to see him standing there, surrounded by guards with a grim faced Celine trailing behind him. Before I could say anything, she stepped forward.

"Warden. Always a pleasure to have you. How can we help you today?"

He didn't even glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on me, a slow smile creeping across his face like a predator who'd cornered his prey.

"We've just received word," he said, his voice slow and nasally, "that the Invader's Gate will need crafters during The Challenge. Repairs are expected, given what's coming through. And who better to assist than former citizens eager to prove their worth to society?" His grin widened. "I was on my way to discuss candidate options when I happened to overhear Mr. Horlock here volunteer himself."

He let the silence linger, his satisfaction radiating off him.

"I know you had your concerns due to his age," he added, turning slightly toward Celine now, "but look how eager he is."

I turned toward the Boss, desperate, praying she'd say something to get me out of this, but her expression was like stone, and her glare could have killed.

"Yes," she said coldly. "It appears Mr. Horlock has volunteered himself. I suppose you were right---he really does love fighting."

Panic surged through me. I scanned the room for someone who might back me up.

Tom was shaking his head. H avoided my gaze. Carl stared at the floor. Ginge fiddled with his gloves. The guards were impassive. Celine stood silent. The Warden beamed like he'd just won a bet. And when I turned to Stanley, he didn't bother to hide his grin.

And so I knew.

I really fucked it up this time.

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