A guy clenched a piece of cloth in his mouth. Trying to stop his screams from coming out.

  His hand was covered in blood. Blood gushing out from his shoulder, Another person was holding a flame to his wound, Burning it. Trying to close it, in efforts to stop the bleeding. Saying,” Just hold on a bit longer, If you scream we will be dead.”

  I have to hold on, if I lose consciousness, I will be dead. Thought The injured man.

  Moving back 9 hours before this happened.

  The phone screen lit up in the pitch black of the bedroom, the alarm blaring harshly as the digital clock hit 4:30. A hand rose from the darkness, grabbing the device and hitting the side button to dismiss it. Silence returned to the room, but only for a minute.

  Another alarm rang at 4:31. The same hand blindly silenced it. Then again at 4:32, and 4:33.

  Finally, at 4:34, Silas Kane sat up, the heavy blanket sliding off his bare shoulders. He reached for the phone one last time to kill the pending 4:35 alarm before it could sound. Sitting lazily on the edge of the mattress, his eyes barely open, he let out a long yawn and rubbed his face until he was forced awake. He grabbed a water bottle from the bedside table and gave it a shake. It was light—barely a mouthful left. He downed the last few drops and tossed the plastic aside.

  "Let's get to it," he muttered into the quiet room.

  Silas stood, stretching his arms high above his head to work out the stiffness before dropping flat onto the floor. Assuming a strict push-up position, he pumped out eighty reps with rhythmic, machine-like precision. Without pausing for breath, he transitioned immediately into squats, knocking out another eighty.

  He finally paused, using the hem of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat stinging his eyes before pulling the shirt off entirely, revealing a highly trained, muscular physique. Walking over to the heavy bar mounted securely in his doorway, he pulled himself up, completing forty strict reps. He finished the grueling morning session with eighty crunches and a punishing plank, finally collapsing onto his bed, his chest heaving.

  He sat up, crossing his legs to meditate, but his phone rang, shattering the morning quiet.

  "Silas," Dante Rook’s voice buzzed through the speaker. "We’ll be at the station in thirty minutes. Come pick us up."

  "Alright," Silas replied, wiping his brow. "I'm on my way."

  He slid a dark hoodie over his damp skin and headed out the front door. "Might as well complete my running schedule," he told himself, stepping out into the cool pre-dawn air.

  He broke into a steady run, maintaining a punishing pace until the sprawling architecture of the train station came into view. He arrived at the exact moment the train pulled in, leaning casually against a concrete pillar with his arms folded as he scanned the flood of passengers spilling out of the carriages. Soon enough, he spotted them.

  "Dante!" Silas yelled over the chaotic station noise.

  The group turned their attention his way. As they approached, Mason Creed looked Silas up and down, his nose wrinkling in mild disgust. "Why are you drenched in sweat?"

  "Unlike your lazy asses, I am working to be the best version of myself," Silas replied playfully, pushing off the wall. "I bet none of you could defeat me if we were to compete."

  "They’ve started arguing again," Ronan Cross muttered under his breath to Dante.

  "That's pretty normal for them," Dante whispered back, before raising his voice over the crowd. "This isn't the best time to start an argument. Are you going to take us back or what?"

  "Just take us to your home to rest," Ronan added, groaning as he adjusted his heavy duffel. "I feel like my back is going to break. Sitting for seven hours straight is no joke."

  "Well then, let's go back," Silas grinned, clearly unbothered by their exhaustion. "By the way, are you guys up for a run?"

  "No!" all three yelled in unison.

  Silas covered his ears, laughing. "Fine, fine. Spare my ears, for God's sake. Let me go ahead and get a cab. You guys better come fast."

  "Don't worry, we’ll be right behind you," Mason said.

  But when Mason looked up, Silas was already halfway across the concourse, sprinting ahead toward the exit.

  "Where does he get so much energy this early in the morning?" Dante asked, genuinely baffled.

  "We better start moving," Ronan sighed, hiking his bag higher on his shoulder. "Or he might actually leave us here."

  "You're right," Mason agreed grimly. "That guy would really do it."

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  When they finally dragged themselves outside, they found Silas already leaning against a waiting taxi, tapping his foot impatiently.

  "How slow are you guys?" Silas asked.

  Dante shot the other two an annoyed glance. "What do you say? Should we kick his ass once?"

  "As much as the offer tempts me, we can't do it," Mason reasoned.

  "Don't be afraid," Ronan countered, sizing up their friend. "The three of us can easily gang up on him."

  "It's not that I am afraid," Mason clarified. "But this guy is on his period 24/7. You don't know when he will have mood swings or what he might do."

  Silas walked over to them, interrupting the plotting. "Why are you just standing there?" Suddenly, his teasing demeanor vanished, replaced by an unexpectedly quiet focus. He reached out. "Give them here."

  "Why?" they asked, clutching their straps.

  Silas snatched the heavy bags away effortlessly. "Exhaustion is showing on your faces. My bad for not noticing earlier. You guys get in; I'll handle the luggage."

  He walked to the back of the car to load the trunk, leaving his friends blinking in surprise.

  Dante turned to Ronan, raising an eyebrow. "Now you get what Mason meant?"

  "Yeah," Mason nodded. "Let's go. Can't keep him waiting, can we?"

  They piled into the backseat while Silas sat in the front, directing the driver through the waking city. When they finally pulled up to Silas's house, Dante reached into his wallet to pay the fare, only to realize Silas had already settled the meter. Silas popped the trunk and began unloading their bags.

  "Follow me," he ordered. They tried to grab their own luggage to help, but he stubbornly refused to hand it over.

  As they walked up the driveway, Dante—who was Silas's cousin—looked around the quiet property. "Where are your parents?"

  "My parents and siblings went on a small trip," Silas explained, unlocking the front door.

  "Did you stay behind because we were coming?" Ronan asked, a note of guilt in his voice.

  Silas dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry. I had to stay back because of college."

  "You have college even in this holiday season?" Dante asked, surprised.

  "I actually have vacation this whole week," Silas admitted, stepping inside. "But my family's trip will last twelve days. If it was just nine or ten, I could have gone. But if I miss college attendance when classes resume, I'll have to deal with a pretty annoying situation. So, better to be careful."

  He dropped the bags in the hall. "Dante, would you mind showing Mason and Ronan where the toilet is? After you're done, come to my room. In the meantime, I will set things up for you to rest."

  Dante nudged Mason and Ronan, who were currently staring wide-eyed at the intense collection of training gear scattered around the house. "Come on, I'll show you around."

  Silas retreated to his bedroom, cleared some floor space, and dragged out a large, comfortable mattress. A short while later, Dante, Mason, and Ronan shuffled in, looking dead on their feet.

  "Rest," Silas told them. "Call me if you need anything."

  "Where are you going?" Ronan asked, already sinking onto the mattress.

  "I have some training left to do," Silas replied casually. "Plus, we will all get hungry in a while."

  "Why not get takeout?" Ronan suggested.

  "You'll like what I make more," Silas said with absolute confidence. "Plus, it is a good opportunity to remove the allegation that I can't cook."

  Mason jokingly grabbed Dante by the shoulders, hiding behind him. "We might not make it back alive from here."

  "Shut up, or I will make you all cook instead," Silas warned, his eyes narrowing playfully.

  "You guys continue," Dante yawned, his face hitting the pillow. "I'm going to sleep."

  Silas flicked off the overhead lights. "I will be back soon."

  Hours later, the bedroom door opened. Silas walked in holding a massive platter of food, kicked the door shut, and yelled, "Get up!"

  Mason and Ronan bolted upright, blinking against the sudden light. "What happened?"

  "What else?" Silas said, setting the food on his desk. "Get up and dig in. I will show you the plans for the next four days while we eat."

  "We're eating here?" Ronan asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  "Where else? Move the mattress and get the folding table from under the bed. We have plenty of space." Silas pointed at the unmoving lump of blankets. "And for God's sake, wake Dante up."

  Mason looked at Ronan. They communicated an entire conversation through a single, doubtful glance: Can we really wake him up? Nope. Sounds impossible. Opting for the easy route, they quietly dragged the mattress to the side of the room—with Dante still fast asleep on it—and unfolded the table in the newly cleared space. Silas returned from the kitchen with a stack of plates, glasses, and cold sodas.

  "Nice," Silas noted, setting the drinks down.

  Mason glanced at the wall clock. "Did you really take three hours just to make sandwiches?"

  Silas looked up. "No, it was like one and a half. I was doing some other stuff as well."

  "Some other stuff?" Ronan asked.

  As if on cue, a golden retriever trotted happily into the room, her tail wagging.

  "I took her for a walk," Silas explained. He looked down at the dog. "Daisy, you have already eaten your food. Go back to your bed."

  She didn't move an inch, staring up at him with expectant eyes. Silas let out a defeated sigh, bent down, and gave her a long, gentle pat behind the ears. Satisfied with the affection, she finally turned and trotted back out into the hallway.

  "Let's get to eating," Mason said, eyeing the food. "Dante won't wake up no matter what we try."

  "Let me try," Silas said, a wicked smirk crossing his face.

  He grabbed an icy, condensation-covered bottle of soda from the table. Stepping over to the mattress, he snatched the blanket away and pressed the freezing glass firmly against the bare skin at the back of Dante’s neck.

  Dante jolted violently, gasping as the freezing shock hit his spine. He rolled over, glaring up at Silas with pure, unadulterated annoyance.

  Silas just looked over his shoulder at the other two, his smirk widening. "Didn't I tell you to let me try?"

  Mason and Ronan stared at him in horror.

  "We won't survive this trip," Mason whispered.

  "We absolutely won't," Ronan whispered back.

  "I can hear you," Silas pointed out calmly.

  Groaning, Dante tried to lay back down, pulling the blanket over his head in a comical display of denial. Silas simply grabbed him by the wrist and forcefully hauled him to his feet. "No, you won't."

  Soon, they were all crowded around the small table, eating the sandwiches. Silas opened a notebook, turning the pages to reveal the meticulous, heavily detailed itinerary he had prepared for their entire vacation.

  Ronan wiped his mouth with a napkin, downing the last of his food. "So, what's the wait? Let's get this started already."

  Energized, they gathered their jackets and headed out to the garage. Silas reached into a drawer and pulled out a heavy set of keys.

  "Who else knows how to drive a motorcycle?" Silas asked.

  All three raised their hands immediately. Silas tossed the keys directly toward Dante, who caught them on instinct.

  "You drive every day, so take this," Silas instructed.

  "Why did you ask if you already knew?" Dante grumbled, pocketing the keys.

  "I was just checking," Silas shrugged casually. "Now, let's get going." He swung his leg over his own sleek sportbike and revved the engine, the roar echoing loudly in the garage. "You take that one. You guys hop on with whoever you want. Just follow my lead."