Her dark hair’s been cut short. Her eyes are colder than last time. Her arms are crossed loosely over her chest like she’s got all the time in the world. She doesn’t speak right away. Just watches me. Assessing.
My pulse kicks. I force my hands to stay steady, fingers still wrapped around the gauze packet.
“Heard you got branded,” she says finally. Voice low, casual. Like we’re discussing the weather. “Three names on you. Must feel good being owned.”
I don’t answer. I set the packet down slowly, deliberately. Keep my face neutral.
She leans forward, elbows on the table. “Everyone’s talking about it. The Runt who got claimed by the half-skeleton boys. Lucky you.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Or maybe not.”
I swallow. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” She shrugs. “Just curious. Wondering what makes you so special. What you did to earn it.”
“I didn’t?—”
“Because from where I’m standing,” she cuts in, voice hardening, “you’re just another Runt who lost the Hunt. Same as me. Same as everyone else. But you got protection. You got privileges. You got a room with a real bed and blankets that don’t smell like mold.” She tilts her head. “Why?”
I don’t have an answer. Not one I can say out loud.
She straightens, arms still crossed. “You think being bound makes you safe? It doesn’t. It makes you visible. And visible means exposed. One day, those three won’t be looking. And when that happens...” She smiles wider. “I’ll be there.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. Every muscle in my body screams to shove her, to hit her, to make her stop smiling like that. But I remember Sting’s warning.
She has nothing to lose. You do.
I force myself to breathe. To unclench my fists. To step back instead of forward.
“You done?” I ask.
Her smile falters, just for a second. Like she expected me to fight. “For now,” she says. She turns and walks away, slow and deliberate, boots echoing on the tile. She doesn’t look back.
I stand there, hands shaking, chest tight with anger I’m not allowd to release.
The older woman with the shaved head is watching me from the next table over. When our eyes meet, she nods once, small, approving, then goes back to her work.
I exhale slowly and pick up another gauze packet.
55
VI
I leavethe hub as soon as my shift ends, slipping out through the side corridor before anyone can stop me. My knee protests every step like it always does all the time now, but I don’t slow. I need air. Space. Somewhere I can breathe without feeling eyes on my back.
I end up in my room the one the guys gave me. The boho space with the soft bed and the string lights and the curtain instead of a door.
I lean back against the wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor.
The anger is still there, hot and sharp in my chest. But underneath it is something colder.
Fear.
The girl was right. Being bound makes me visible. A prize. A weakness someone could use.
And I can’t fight her. Can’t defend myself. Can’t evenopen my mouth without risking everything. I pull my knees up, rest my forehead against them, and close my eyes.
The Favor is gone. The binding is real. And I’m stuck in a system where the only thing keeping me alive is three men who decided I was worth the cost.
I should be grateful. I know I should.
