Y/n's fingers worked the whetstone along the edge of an arrowhead, the scrape of stone on steel the only music in the room. A quiver of freshly fletched arrows leaned against the wall, their shafts straight and true. Jorge's lessons had stuck — every motion precise, every breath steady.

Then the noise came.

Not the usual scuffle of cranks or the wind groaning through the tower's bones. This was louder. Human. Angry. Several voices, overlapping, all of them unfamiliar.

Y/n set the arrow down, fingers brushing the hilt of the hunting knife at their belt out of habit. The commotion filtered up from the courtyard below — a strange, muffled shouting, punctuated by Jorge's low, rumbling laugh.

Through the gap in the floorboards, Y/n could see them.

Five bodies, suspended upside down from the tower's old crane arm, ropes biting into their ankles. They swayed slightly in the breeze, faces flushed with blood and fury. A wiry boy with dark hair was struggling against his bonds, cursing under his breath. A taller, lanky one with a severe frown was trying to twist himself upright. A blonde boy — lean, with sharp cheekbones and a hint of a limp even in his dangling state — simply hung there, watching the ground with a strange, quiet stillness. A stocky kid with a cook's build was muttering something about his aching head. And a girl, dark-haired and sharp-eyed, was glaring daggers at Jorge, who stood below with his arms crossed, utterly unbothered.