Sergei watches each change. “Alive,” he tells the men, “but breakable. That's the point. Strength is only useful when it bends where you want it.” He takes a sip from his glass. “If he performs too well, we know our doctor hasn't earned his pay. Isn't that right, Andrei?”
Petrov's throat moves. “Yes, sir.”
The edges of the room pulse. Then a figure steps out of the circle. He's broad across the shoulders, thick-necked, with old breaks along his knuckles.
Sergei gestures toward him. “Mikhail has trained here his whole life. He understands his place. Tonight he has a chance to show you why it should be above his prince's.”
His eyes meet mine. I see no respect. Just something sour and satisfied. Sergei doesn't bother to hide his enjoyment. “Rules are simple. If you manage to stand when Mikhail isfinished, you live another day. If you fall—” He clicks his tongue. “Your pretty nurse is mine.”
The words hit. Mikhail rolls his shoulders. The first punch drives under my ribs. I don't have the strength to trade blows, so I hunt for his balance instead. I use the weight of the chain and the slickness of the blood on the concrete to turn his own size into a trap.
Air rips out of my lungs. Pain tears up my spine and settles behind my eyes. The drugs make the world move in slow, agonizing waves. The second blow hits my stomach. His knee comes up into my chest. My head snaps back.
Blood fills my mouth. I spit it at the floor near Mikhail's boot. “That all you've got?”
He snarls. “You fucking asshole.”
I pant as sweat drips from my forehead. My vision is blurred. He tips his head back and laughs. “Drugged and hanging and still mouthing off.”
My voice scrapes out. “Come closer.”
“As you wish, prince,” he mocks, stepping in again. His fist comes up. I drop my weight, every inch I can steal from the length of the chain. His knuckles skim past my jaw. I twist and drive my shoulder hard into his hip. The floor is slick, making his boot slide. I follow through with a short hook into his ribs. Pain explodes through my own chest, but I don't let him see it.
He slaps a palm against the wall. Before he can plant his feet, I bring my heel sideways into the side of his knee. The sound is small and wrong. A pop that has Mikhail go down on one knee with a curse.
“He shouldn't be doing that after what we pumped in him,” Sergei mutters.
Mikhail pushes himself up. Whatever pride he came in with is gone. “You think this changes anything? You're still up there on the chain.”
He lunges for my head. I jump as much as my body allows. His fist grazes along the bone. I turn into him, hook my arm around his throat, and drag him in so close his breath hits my ear. We slam into the wall together.
“You don't deserve any of this,” he chokes. “You were born into it.”
“So you'd better show me some respect.”
His nails scratch at my skin. His injured leg trembles. I use what I have left. The thought of Jonah. The wall. Gravity. I drive him back into the concrete with my body. The impact of his skull against the stone jolts through me. His fingers weaken. The back of his head hits the floor with a dull, empty sound.
No one rushes in. My chest drags air in, hard and broken. Every breath grinds against ribs that feel bruised from the inside. The sedative makes the room swim, but the logic of survival is clear. Sokolov's smile has thinned.
Sergei approaches, shoes untouched by the blood. “Look at you. Still snarling.” He studies my face. “Your father stood here once. In the same light. He even made the same sounds. He thought if he was loud enough, he'd be saved. But no one came to save him.”
“You broke him,” I rasp. “Just like you're trying to break me.”
“I took him out of his misery. Your Papa was very ill. Strength is knowing when to put something down.”
“You son of a?—”
Sergei pinches my throat between his fingers and squeezes. Pain spikes. “Careful, nephew. You're very, very alone now. You are a piece on my board. My piece. My puppet. Andrei.”
Petrov moves forward again, already holding another syringe. His hand shakes. “I wanted him slower. Weaker. Crawling before the first punch. He was still performing. Next time you triple it if you must.”
“Yes… yes, sir.”
Sergei watches the flickers in my face. “You'll live another day. Long enough for them to see where you stand. Take him upstairs.”
Hands grab under my shoulders. My knees buckle. My feet scrape the floor. The chain jerks hard, yanking me forward. The world becomes a series of disconnected images. The flickering hallway lights. The smell of floor wax. The cold iron of the door. They shove me through the doorway of my room.
The chain finally slackens.
