Not in the quiet, not under cover of darkness, not with the coward’s courtesy of secrecy.
Midday. Sun directly overhead. Heat pressing down like judgment.
The holding door groans open and light spills in, bright enough to sting. Two guards step inside, then two more behind them. Chains in hand. Batons clipped to belts. Faces tight with something I don’t recognize at first.
Not triumph.
Not exactly fear.
Uncertainty.
“On your feet,” one of them mutters.
I don’t resist when they unhook the upper shackles. My shoulders scream as circulation rushes back in; pins and needles fire through my arms, sharp and electric. My wrists are raw where steel has eaten into skin. I flex once, slow, deliberate, testing range. No give. They’ve doubled the chains.
They expect theatrics.
They expect me to fight.
I don’t.
They drag me up the stairwell and into the courtyard.
The sun hits my face full-force, searing. I squint against the glare, blinking until the shapes resolve—crowd packed tight around the perimeter, a raised platform erected in the center like some obscene festival stage, banners strung between support beams that still bear scorch marks from my assault.
I did that.
The smell of charred metal lingers under the heavy sweetness of sweat and dust. The air is thick with anticipation.
They shove me forward.
The chains clink and scrape across the wood as they secure me upright against a vertical post. Wrists above my head again. Ankles braced. A spotlight mounted even in daylight, aimed directly at my face as if they intend to bleach me into spectacle.
Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
“That’s him.”
“Thought he was bigger.”
“Still looks mean enough.”
“Think he’ll beg?”
I lift my head.
Let them see I’m not broken.
Let her see.
My chest tightens, not from the restraints, but from the pulse under my ribs. That bond. That wire strung tight between us. It’s vibrating now—hot and restless. She’s here.
I don’t see her at first.
But I feel her.
Like a storm rolling in without thunder.
Large Marj steps onto the platform with theatrical timing, coat sweeping behind her like she owns the horizon. She holds up a hand and the crowd quiets in stages, muttering tapering off into expectant silence.
