Kloric jolted upright, gasping for air.

  A sharp, boiling pain exploded in his head.

  He clutched it with one hand, a strangled sound tearing from his throat as memories flooded back—too fast, too vivid.

  The gunshots.

  The running.

  The dogs.

  Then it stopped on one image.

  The commander.

  His breath hitched.

  That was it.

  That was the key to surviving.

  The realization hadn’t fully formed before pain struck again.

  “Ahhh!” Kloric screamed, grabbing his chest as if to plug the wounds.

  He’d been shot there.

  And in the head.

  His hands searched frantically—but there was nothing. No blood. No holes.

  His breathing grew ragged, shallow, and desperate.

  The ache in his head intensified, swelling until it felt like a hammer was striking his skull over and over, each blow worse than the last.

  He curled inward, clutching his chest and head at once, trapped between memories of dying and a body that refused to show the wounds.

  The pain didn’t fade.

  It stayed.

  Worse… Kloric realized hazily. It changes.

  It’s dictated by how you die.

  His breathing slowed, turning shallow and uneven.

  “I… don’t think I can go through this again,” he muttered weakly. “My head… it’s fuzzy…”

  His strength gave out, and Kloric collapsed to the floor.

  Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.

  Even as he slipped toward unconsciousness, one thought burned stubbornly in his mind:

  I don’t have much time.

  He needed to repeat the survival plan.

  He needed to warn them.

  He needed to make them listen.

  But his body wouldn’t respond.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  And then everything went black.

  “Kloric…”

  The voice was distant. Faint.

  “Kloric.”

  It sounded like Terren.

  When Kloric came to, the first thing he felt was the cool night breeze against his skin.

  He realized he was lying on something warm.

  He opened his eyes.

  Terren.

  His head was resting on Terren’s lap.

  As Kloric tried to move, Terren immediately looked down at him.

  “You’re finally awake,” Terren said, relief flooding his voice. “I thought something was seriously wrong.”

  He shook his head, the relief quickly replaced by worry.

  “You scared me. First you screamed, then you said everything was fine. After that, you screamed again and fainted.”

  Terren swallowed.

  “Even the driver almost stopped the truck to throw you out. I had to beg him not to.”

  He leaned closer. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  Kloric’s heart skipped.

  Wait… I screamed the first time?

  His thoughts raced.

  Did time move forward in the loop?

  Then why didn’t it move forward after the speech last time?

  No.

  He didn’t have time to analyze it now.

  Kloric pushed himself upright.

  “Did anyone make a plan?” he asked quickly.

  Terren blinked. “No. After the driver nearly stopped, no one said a word.”

  Kloric’s stomach tightened.

  “What about the black-haired guy?” he asked. “The one who talked about probability?”

  Terren frowned, confused. “Who?”

  Kloric paused.

  Right.

  That speech hadn’t happened yet.

  He’d broken down before it could.

  “He hasn’t spoken yet,” Kloric said quietly.

  Good.

  He took a sharp breath.

  Stop thinking. Start acting.

  Kloric raised his voice.

  “Everyone,” he said firmly, “gather around.”

  Chains shifted. Heads turned.

  “What does this guy want now?” one man muttered.

  “Is he really set on getting us killed?”

  Kloric exhaled slowly.

  “No,” he said. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t bother speaking.”

  A few scoffed. Others watched warily.

  “I know I sound strange,” Kloric continued. “So don’t believe me yet.”

  That caught their attention.

  “I’ll explain this fast,” he said. “Not so you trust me now—but so you recognize things when they happen.”

  Silence crept in.

  “When the truck stops,” Kloric said, “the soldiers outside won’t rush us. They’ll be relaxed. Armed. Rifles already in their hands.”

  A man snorted. “That’s obvious.”

  “Maybe,” Kloric replied calmly. “Then remember what comes next.”

  He looked around, making sure everyone was listening.

  “They’ll make jokes,” he continued. “Probably even bets. About whether we’ll scream. Whether we’ll run. Whether tonight gets interesting.”

  A few prisoners shifted uncomfortably.

  “The one in charge won’t stand with the others,” Kloric said. “He’ll stand a little apart. Scar on his face. Smokes when he’s bored. He’ll look annoyed if things don’t go smoothly.”

  Now people were staring.

  “And when we step out,” Kloric went on, voice steady, “they won’t shout right away. They’ll wait. They’ll watch.”

  He paused.

  “Because they want us to panic.”

  The air felt heavier.

  “They’ll treat us like dogs,” Kloric said bluntly. “Not because we are—but because that’s what they want us to act like. Running. Yelping. Easy targets.”

  A man swallowed.

  “So what do we do?” someone asked quietly.

  Kloric didn’t answer right away.

  “You don’t need to decide now,” he said. “Just remember what I said.”

  He straightened slightly.

  “When you see the rifles,” Kloric said.

  “When you hear them laughing.”

  “When you notice the scarred one standing apart.”

  His gaze hardened.

  “Then you’ll know I wasn’t guessing.”

  He lowered his voice.

  “And if I’m right… then stay calm. Stay organized. Don’t give them what they want.”

  No one spoke.

  But more than one person was already replaying his words in their head.

  Kloric took a slow breath.

  “One more thing,” he said.

  A few heads turned back toward him.

  “The driver’s name is Chello,” Kloric continued. “That will be the first name you hear once we arrive. Remember it.”

  Skepticism flickered across a few faces, but no one interrupted.

  Kloric’s gaze shifted.

  It landed on the grieving man—the one who, in another life, had broken everything.

  “I know some of you are hurting,” Kloric said quietly.

  The man stiffened.

  “I know some of you have lost people,” Kloric continued. “Family. Children. Everything.”

  The truck felt smaller.

  Kloric looked away, sweeping his eyes across the others.

  “But if you want to survive,” he said, voice steady,

  "And if you want revenge that actually matters—”

  He paused.

  “Then you need to bury that grief. Just for now.”

  Silence.

  "Don't forget it,” Kloric added. “Not forgive.”

  His eyes returned to the grieving man.

  “Bury it.”

  The words were heavy.

  “Strike when the time is right,” Kloric said. “Not when they’re expecting it.”

  He straightened.

  “Follow my example.”

  No one spoke.

  But this time, it wasn’t disbelief.

  It was restraint.

  Exhaustion finally caught up to him.

  Kloric sagged against the side of the truck, sliding down until his shoulder hit the cold metal. His breathing was shallow now, uneven, like his body had decided it had given all it could.

  Terren stared at him in disbelief.

  For the first time since they’d been captured, Terren felt something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.

  Hope.

  He shifted closer, lowering Kloric carefully so he could rest, shielding him slightly from the others.

  “Rest,” Terren whispered. “I’ve got you.”

  Kloric’s eyes fluttered, half-lidded. Even like this, his mind refused to let go.

  “First…” Kloric murmured, voice hoarse. “We raise our hands.”

  Terren leaned closer.

  “And we get out of the truck slowly,” Kloric continued. “No sudden movements.”

  He swallowed, forcing the words out.

  “Once we’re down… we kneel.”

  Terren frowned. “Kneel?”

  “So they know,” Kloric said weakly, “that they’re in charge. So they don’t see us as a threat.”

  His hand twitched against the floor.

  “If they feel in control… they hesitate.”

  Silence followed.

  Terren looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

  “I understand,” he said quietly.

  Kloric’s breathing steadied at last.

  Only then did he let himself rest.

  Then the truck lurched to a halt.

  Metal groaned as the gates opened. The truck rolled forward again.

  Kloric closed his eyes for half a heartbeat.

  Please, he thought. Nothing else. Not now.

  He didn’t need a victory.

  He didn’t need an escape.

  They just had to survive.

  Just long enough.

  Until the commander arrives.