The second strike should have broken Tomas. But instead, the boy struggled back to his knees, his small hands digging into the dirt. His lips moved, no louder than a breath. "I can still work."
Something broke in the silence of the yard.
Kael's hands trembled, torn between despair and awe. "Why? Why keep fighting? He's just a child."
I answered softly, though I wasn't sure if I spoke to Kael, Tomas, or myself. "Because he still believes tomorrow exists."
Rourke sneered, raising the whip again. But this time, his gaze slid toward us. Toward Kael. His smile widened, yellow teeth flashing. He smelled weakness and the possibility of rebellion—and he loved crushing both.
"Maybe you'd like to join him, old dog?" Rourke taunted, cracking the whip against the ground near our feet. The sound split the air, sharp enough to make the other slaves flinch.
Kael's jaw locked. His voice trembled inside me. "I can't… I can't let him do this. I can't watch."
The temptation was there. The hoe in our hands could split Rourke's skull with one swing. End his cruelty. Free Tomas. Free us.
But I knew better. If we struck, we'd all be slaughtered by nightfall.
"Not yet," I whispered. "Hold on."
Kael's hands shook, but he didn't move. Rourke laughed, satisfied with the fear he'd planted, and dragged Tomas back into line. The boy's shoulders shook, but his spirit hadn't broken.
And in that moment, Kael's despair shifted again.
Not gone. Not healed.
But cracked deeper, enough for the first fragile root of defiance to grow.