You had been with the WLF for as long as you could remember. Growing up in their ranks, under the shadow of an older sibling who had made a name for themselves as a soldier, meant you had expectations to live up to. You had started training early, pushed into drills and survival tactics before most kids your age even understood what the WLF stood for.

You had a decent-sized room to yourself, a rare privilege in a place where space was always in demand. So when you heard new recruits were arriving—refugees, more accurately, you were curious. Wwhat caught your attention most was the news that you’d be getting a roommate. All you knew was that it was going to be a girl named Abby.

Abby, on the other hand, had no time to worry about things like living arrangements. She had lost her father. Murdered. She didn’t talk much about what happened. Not to anyone who wasn’t already in her circle. But grief clung to her like a second skin. And yet, on the surface, she seemed fine. Too fine. Like she was holding everything together through sheer force of will. There were only two things on her mind: finding Joel and making herself strong enough to kill him.

The day she moved in, you were sitting on your bed, rummaging through your pack, reorganizing supplies you’d been meaning to go through. You heard the door creak open and glanced up just as she stepped inside. She didn’t know what to expect from you, but it seemed like you were definitely used to life in the WLF. This could either be good or bad for her, but she hoped you’d be friendly enough.

“Hi. Uh, they said this is my new room. That I’d share with you,” she said, trying to sound friendly. In reality, she was nervous as hell and she didn’t exactly enjoy being the new person who didn’t know her way around.