"You wanted attention. You got it. Every soldier in that room now thinks you're a liability. A weak point. Do you understand what that means in this world?"
My hands shake, but not from fear. From fury. "I understand I've been trapped while you all decide my fate. I understand that everyone stares at me like I'm a bomb about to explode."
He remains silent and I continue.
"I buried my mother three weeks ago." The words pour out, raw and ragged. "Three. I'm trapped here. My uncle sold me. And you won't even look at me. So, no. I'm not handling this perfectly."
My voice cracks on the last word. Tears burn my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.
The anger drains from Lorenzo's face.
"Christ, Sophia."
"I'm twenty years old." The words keep coming, unstoppable now. "I should be in college. I should be going to parties and failing calculus and figuring out who I am. Instead, I'm here, in this beautiful prison, waiting for strangers to decide if I'm valuable enough to keep alive."
Lorenzo moves to the window, hands braced against the sill.
"You think this is easy for any of us?" His voice has lost its edge.
"I don't know what else to do." The honesty burns. "I'm drowning."
"Then learn to swim," he says. The words aren't cruel, just a statement of fact. "You want to survive here? You learn control. Of your emotions, your reactions, your fear. Control is the only thing that keeps us alive."
The way he says 'control' makes me think he's talking about more than just behavior.
"Go to your room." His voice sounds tired now. "We'll discuss your training tomorrow."
"Training?"
"You want agency? You want to stop feeling helpless? Fine. Six a.m. We start with knives."
I stare at him, this man who offers weapons instead of comfort.
"Will you teach me?"
"Yes."
The single word carries weight I don't fully understand.
I leave without another word, my tantrum exhausted, my pride in pieces. The walk back to my room feels longer.
An hour passes. Maybe two. The sun drops lower, painting my room in shades of gold and amber.
Lorenzo stands in my doorway, a mug in his hand. Steam curls up, carrying the scent of chamomile and honey.
"Peace offering."
I take the mug, warmth spreading through my palms. The first sip makes me relax.
He crosses to the chair by the window and sat, owning the space as if it were his. I curl into the window seat across from him, the mug a barrier and bridge between us.
"I'm sorry." The words come out barely above a whisper. "For the scene. For being difficult."
"Your world exploded." His voice carries no judgment. "But this stops now. No more tantrums. No more public displays. You want to be treated as an adult? Act like one."
"I don't know how to be what people need me to be."
"You don't need to be anything others want you to be Sophia."
