Sam spent most of the day doing exactly what the camp expected of him.
He hauled scrap, stacked crates, and kept his posture tired enough that nobody looked twice. He answered when spoken to and didn't speak when he wasn't. He let the settlement's paranoia wash over him without letting it stick. People who tried to argue the purge got watched. People who tried to hide from it got searched. The only safe place was the bland middle, where you looked useful and forgettable.
All the while, his attention kept drifting back to the holding pen.
Not because he couldn't stop thinking about the girl, but because the pen was now the clearest indicator of where the camp's violence was heading. Kellan had seen her blood move. He had seen something he didn't understand, and men like Kellan responded to that in only one way. They tried to own it. If they couldn't own it, they broke it until it fit.
By afternoon, the rules around the pen had already changed. Two guards had become four. Their patrol loop tightened so they always had line of sight. Anyone who lingered nearby got told to move. Maren came by once, looked at the cage for a long moment, and left without saying anything. That silence told Sam more than a speech would have. Maren was calculating.
Sam carried a bucket toward the water drums near the cook fire and let his shadow brush the closest guard's shadow as he passed. He didn't push, he only listened.
Boredom, heavy and resentful.
Unease, sharper when the guard's gaze flicked toward the cage.
And underneath both, a stubborn insistence that if something went wrong it would not be his fault.
Sam kept walking.
By the time the sun began to lower, he had a plan tight enough to execute without improvising. It wasn't a rescue yet. Not tonight. Tonight was a test. A proof-of-life exchange. He needed to confirm two things before he committed to anything bigger.
First, could he get something to her without being seen.
Second, was she disciplined enough to accept help without turning it into a spectacle that would get them both killed.
The second question mattered more than the first.
Night arrived and the camp grew quieter in the way it always did when people were pretending they weren't afraid. Lanterns went up, patrols tightened, and Kellan's presence drifted through the perimeter like a pressure system. Sam waited in his tent until he could hear the guard rotations settle into a pattern. A predictable sequence of boots, pauses, and overlapping passes.
When the timing felt right, he wrapped two items in a rag and tucked them into his bucket.
A small water flask, scavenged and dented.
A strip of cloth, cleaner than the camp usually allowed, folded tight.
The cloth wasn't a bandage. Not yet. It was a message. If she was smart, she would understand what it meant. If she wasn't, then there was no point risking more.
He stepped out and walked toward the latrine trench with the same routine disguise as before. Nobody stopped him. Nobody cared. A man with a bucket was invisible unless the bucket was full of food.
He reached the sheeted trench, slipped behind it, and listened.
The holding pen wasn't far. Lantern light made the mesh shine, and the silhouettes of guards moved like slow clock hands. Sam could hear quiet conversation between them, short and flat, the kind of talk people used when they wanted to pretend the thing they were guarding didn't scare them.
Sam breathed out slowly and activated his skill.
[ UMBRAL VEIL ACTIVE ]
[ DRAIN LOW ]
He didn't become invisible. The camp wasn't stupid. Light still hit him. His body still existed. But his presence blurred at the edges, and in the dark spaces between lantern arcs he felt harder to register, like the mind slid off him rather than catching and holding.
He moved along the line of tents and crates, staying in shadow pockets, letting the Veil do what it could and his caution do the rest.
When he got close enough to the pen to see through the mesh, he paused behind a stack of empty ration barrels and listened through the nearest guard shadows.
The first guard was bored enough to be sloppy.
The second guard was uneasy enough to overcompensate.
The third guard kept thinking about water, and Sam realized with a small cold clarity that the whole camp was thirsty. The purge had tightened movement, and people weren't being allowed to wander freely to the drums. Even basic needs had become controlled.
Sam used that.
He let his shadow brush the third guard's shadow and pressed a single suggestion into it, not as words, but as an impulse that fit perfectly inside the man's existing discomfort.
Thirst. Need. Go now.
The guard shifted his weight, frowned, and glanced toward the water drums. He didn't look suspicious. He looked irritated, like he'd remembered something he'd forgotten and resented being forced to deal with it.
He muttered to the guard beside him, "Hold my loop. I'm getting a drink."
The other guard scoffed but waved him off.
The third guard walked away at a normal pace, not realizing the decision hadn't been entirely his. Sam felt the suggestion dissolve as soon as the man committed to it. That was how it worked when Sam pushed at a weak edge. He couldn't control anyone, but he could sometimes lean on what was already breaking.
Sam waited two more breaths, timing the gap.
Then he moved.
He slid to the side of the pen where the lantern glare was worst and the guard line of sight was ironically weakest, because their eyes kept going to the brightest spots. He crouched low, bucket held close, and used the barrels as cover.
Inside the cage, the girl sat with her back to the mesh, knees drawn up. Her head lifted slightly as Sam approached. She didn't look toward him with certainty, but her posture shifted anyway, subtle and alert.
Sam listened to her shadow for a second, and the impressions hit hard.
Thirst, sharp enough to feel like sand under eyelids.
Pain, contained with grim discipline.
Anger, compressed into something dense.
And the same repeating drive as before, like a heartbeat.
Out.
Her gaze flicked across the darkness outside the pen, not landing on Sam, but searching. The way she searched told him she had her own sensing. Not shadow-based, but something else, something tied to blood and bodies.
Sam didn't try to speak through the shadow. He already knew it wouldn't carry.
Instead he reached the bucket forward until it touched the mesh and slid the water flask through a gap near the bottom where the wire had bent outward slightly. It scraped softly against metal.
The girl's hand moved instantly, fast and controlled. She didn't lunge like an animal. She didn't fumble. She simply took it, pulled it into her lap, and held it there for a heartbeat without drinking.
Testing.
Sam respected that.
She twisted the cap, sniffed once, then drank in controlled pulls, like she didn't trust herself not to gulp. When she finished, she didn't let the flask fall. She kept it, eyes still up, still searching.
One of the guards turned his head slightly, and Sam froze.
The guard's shadow carried mild suspicion, more about routine than danger. He was watching the girl, not the ground. He had no reason to look lower unless something drew his attention down there.
Sam kept still and waited until the guard's gaze drifted again.
Then Sam slid the folded strip of clean cloth through the mesh the same way.
The girl caught it and unfolded it with careful fingers.
There were no words on it. No writing. Nothing that could be used as evidence if it was found.
Just a clean strip of cloth that did not belong in this camp unless someone had deliberately brought it.
Her eyes lifted slightly. She leaned forward toward the mesh, close enough that her whisper would reach only the space immediately outside.
"Why," she breathed.
It wasn't gratitude. It wasn't trust. It was suspicion sharpened by desperation.
Sam leaned a fraction closer, keeping his mouth near the mesh and his voice low enough to be swallowed by the guards' idle conversation.
"Because Kellan will break you," he whispered. "And because you know a way out."
Her eyes narrowed, and for a second Sam thought she might spit the water back out just to prove she couldn't be bought.
Then she whispered again, the words clipped.
"You were at the culvert."
"Yes."
"That's why they found me."
Sam felt the accusation land, and he didn't dodge it.
"They were going to find you anyway," he whispered. "I didn't lead them, but I won't pretend my presence helped."
The girl stared at him through the mesh, trying to find his face in the darkness.
"You can't talk to me through shadows," she said, voice flat, like she'd already tested it in her own mind. "So what is this?"
Sam held the silence for half a breath, then answered with the truth that mattered.
"This is me proving I can reach you," he whispered. "Nothing more."
Her grip tightened on the cloth strip. The guard nearest the pen shifted again, and Sam felt his window closing.
The girl spoke quickly, urgent now, as if she understood the same thing.
"If you come back," she whispered, "bring more water. And don't stand in the same place twice."
Sam didn't nod. He didn't move in a way that would draw attention. He simply let the Veil hold him as he eased backward into the shadow pocket behind the barrels.
As he withdrew, he brushed the nearest guard shadow one last time and listened.
Nothing dramatic. No alarm.
Only boredom returning, like a lid being placed back on a pot before it boiled over.
Sam made his way back the way he came, careful not to rush, careful not to create a pattern. He slipped behind the latrine sheet again, let the Veil fade, and walked back toward his tent with the same tired posture as before.
Inside, he sat on his mat and stared at nothing for a long moment, letting his breathing slow while his mind stayed sharp.
He had confirmed what he needed.
She could accept help without making noise.
She could whisper without giving herself away.
She had enough discipline to survive the next step.
Which meant the next problem was no longer whether Sam could reach her.
It was whether he could take her out without the camp realizing she was gone until it was too late.
The system chimed softly, almost like it had been listening to his conclusions.
[ OBJECTIVE UPDATED ]
[ Survive the purge ]
[ CONDITION Maintain cover ]
[ OBJECTIVE UPDATED ]
[ Secure an escape route ]
[ CONDITION Confirm culvert exit ]
[ NEW OBJECTIVE ]
[ Extract captive from holding pen ]
[ REWARD Unknown ]
Sam stared at the new line until it faded.
Then he leaned back and closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to plan.
[ STATUS ]
[ Name: Sam ]
[ Level: 2 ]
[ Primary Bloodline: Abyssal Shadow ]
[ Additional Bloodline Signatures: Detected ]
[ Bloodline Status: Access Restricted ]
[ Class: Unassigned ]
[ Soul Element: Unawakened ]
[ Strength: 1 ]
[ Agility: 1 ]
[ Endurance: 1 ]
[ Perception: 1 ]
[ Will: 3 ]
[ Stat Points: 0 ]
[ Abilities: Shadow Communication (Novice), Shadowbound Thrall (Novice), Umbral Veil (Novice) ]