During their downtime, Liam and Ronan began to navigate the social mechanics of the Gearhouse. Ronan, naturally, was drawn to Cain, the quiet scout from the Path of Perception. He saw him as a rival, another player in the game of information.
"You don't miss much, do you?" Ronan said one evening, finding Cain observing the training grounds from a high catwalk.
Cain didn't turn. "My power requires me to see what is there. And what isn't." His voice was low and raspy. "I see two recruits with more secrets than skill."
"Skills can be learned," Ronan countered. "Secrets are currency."
"Some secrets buy you a knife in the back," Cain replied, before melting back into the shadows, leaving Ronan with a grudging respect for the man's efficiency.
Liam, on the other hand, found a strange, unspoken understanding with Isolde, the silent expert from the Path of Silence. They would often sit in the Gearhouse's small, dusty archive, not speaking for an hour at a time. Liam would study old texts, while Isolde would simply… be. Her presence was calming, a pool of absolute stillness.
One day, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "Your sister. The noise in her time is very loud."
Liam looked up, stunned. It was the first time anyone had described Elara's condition in a way that felt true.
"I can't hear it," Liam admitted. "I can only see the damage."
"To control your power," Isolde said, her dark eyes meeting his, "you must first learn to be still. To listen to the silence between the ticks of the clock."
It was in those quiet moments that Liam and Ronan would speak of their true mission, their voices low. They were growing stronger, learning the rules, but the Redactor and the Blank Page Legion were still out there. They were safe in the Gearhouse, but their enemy was winning, one erased memory at a time. The frustration was a constant, simmering heat beneath the surface.