Chapter 5 – The Steam and the scream....

The gang’s footsteps thundered closer. Sam and Kritt exchanged a look — fear, humor, and defiance tangled together.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

Kritt grinned nervously. “Nope. But let’s do it anyway.”

The door swung open.

Instead of a fight, the gang froze. Sam and Kritt were crouched in the corner, stuffing their mouths with flat cream breads they had smuggled in. Crumbs littered the floor, wrappers crinkled under their boots.

Andrew, the lieutenant, blinked. “What the hell are you two doing?”

Kritt raised his hands, cheeks bulging. “Training… our stomachs?”

Sam shot him a glare but played along. “We thought we’d hide it. Didn’t want anyone to know we were slacking.”

The gang burst into laughter. The alarms were forgotten, dismissed as a glitch.

“Idiots,” one member chuckled. “Sneaking junk food instead of training. You’ll never survive here.”

Relief washed over Sam and Kritt. Their cover was safe — for now.

Back in their dorm, Sam crossed his arms. “You nearly blew our cover.”

Kritt flopped onto the bed. “Correction: I saved our cover with comedy. You’re welcome.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re reckless.”

“And you’re uptight,” Kritt shot back. “Balance, my friend.”

They argued until exhaustion silenced them. But the tension lingered.

The next day, the gang ordered them to clean up in the common bathhouse. The room was humid, tiled, and filled with steam.

Sam stripped calmly, his physique honed by years of training. His muscles caught the dim light, scars tracing stories of past battles. He moved with the ease of someone used to discipline.

Kritt, however, hesitated. He tugged at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “Do we really have to do this in public? I’m more of a… private shower kind of guy.”

Sam smirked. “It’s just a bath.”

Kritt muttered, “Easy for you to say. You look like a statue.”

The gang members noticed immediately.

“Inspector’s built like iron,” one sneered. “Detective’s shy and small.”

Another laughed. “Hey, don’t hide behind the steam, little guy!”

Kritt flushed crimson. “I’m not small. I’m… compact.”

Sam chuckled. “Compact disaster.”

Kritt splashed water at him. “Shut up.”

The gang roared with laughter, mocking them both. Sam endured it with stoic silence, but Kritt’s clumsiness only fueled the teasing. He slipped on the wet tiles, arms flailing, before crashing into a bucket.

“See?” Kritt said, sitting up drenched. “I’m testing the floor’s durability.”

Sam shook his head, half‑amused, half‑exasperated. “You’re unbelievable.”

Kritt grinned sheepishly. “At least they’re laughing. Better laughter than suspicion.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Or maybe they’re laughing because you’re giving them reasons not to take us seriously.”

Kritt’s smile faltered. “Maybe. But sometimes being underestimated is the best cover.”

Sam paused, considering. Clumsy, but clever. Maybe he’s not as foolish as he looks.

Later, they returned to their dorm. Sam lay awake, listening to the hum of the city. Kritt snored softly, curled up like a child.

Hours passed. Sam drifted into uneasy sleep.

When he woke, the bed beside him was empty.

Sam sat up, heart pounding. Where is Kritt?

He searched the room, the corridor, but there was no sign of him. Doubt gnawed at his mind.

Is he worth the trust? Or is he hiding something? His clumsiness… is it real? Or a mask?