The second-floor corridor of the math wing smelled of stale floor wax, electrical ozone, and wet rain blowing through cracked transom windows.
Inside Classroom 204, five terrified students huddled behind overturned study desks, clutching sharpened broom handles and wooden clubs.
Fourteen-year-old Theo sat tied to an instructor chair in the center of the room, a strip of electrical tape binding his wrists behind the wooden backrest.
"The First Player will not give you a single scrap of meat for this," the young scout said through gritted teeth, his eyes glaring at his captors.
"He will walk into this room and tear your barricade apart."
"Shut your mouth, kid!" Liam barked, waving a serrated hunting knife near the boy's collarbone.
"The council has six months of smoked beef locked away in the library vault while the rest of us eat dried grain paste!"
"You had the same meal rations as everyone else in the East Wing," Theo spat back, straining against the nylon cord.
