They’re not just watching me. They’re watching Armen watching me.
That’s when the thought slips in, unwanted and inconvenient: I’m attracted to the man.
Not because he’s kind. Not because he’s cruel. Because he’s controlled in a place built on chaos, and because some part of me wants to know what it would take to make him lose that control.
The realization smacks me across the face. I don’t get to want things anymore. But my body doesn’t seem to care. And all I can see is him gripping my hair, pulling my head back so I can open my mouth for his big, hard?—
He steps back as if he knows what I’m thinking, creating space again, and the moment breaks, thank god. I don’t need to be thinking about this man in this way. No good will come of it, lusting after a man who doesn’t care whether I live or die.
And yet, the throbbing between my thighs continues.
“Someone will bring you water,” he says. “Food later.”
“Am I allowed to ask questions?” I ask.
One corner of his mouth twitches. “Allowed?” he repeats. “Yes.”
“And will you answer them?”
“That depends,” he says, already turning away, “on the question.” He pauses, just long enough to look back over his shoulder. “And on whether you’re asking it to learn, or to test me. And, Vi?” he says.
I meet his eyes.
“This place rewards attention, and not in a good way,” he continues. “Be careful whose you attract.”
Then he walks away.
Rogue falls into step beside him without a word. Sting lingers a beat, glancing back at me, eyes bright with something like anticipation.
I sit there long after they’ve gone, elbow still tingling where Armen’s hand had been.
Across the corridor, the echoes of the other woman’s punishment fade.
I sit there, contained but not small, pulse steady, spine straight.
Let them watch.
I’m learning who matters here. And who doesn’t.
22
VI
They don’t leaveme alone for long, but they also don’t rush back.
That’s how I know this isn’t neglect.
Time in the Rot stretches differently once the Hunt ends, at least for my part in it. Not in clean units like minutes or hours but in subtler shifts, the way footsteps thin out, the way voices drop from shouts to murmurs, the way guards stop reacting and start anticipating. The mall seems a quieter, heavier version of itself, like a satisfied predator settling down after a kill.
I’m still sitting on the concrete planter when Armen returns and as cold and hard as the damn thing is, heat washes over me so bad, I look down in case I’m turning red. My body betraying me is one thing. His finding out would be worse.
He doesn’t announce himself. No barked order, no sudden movement meant to remind me who’s in charge. One moment, I’m watching a pair of guards reposition at the far end of the corridor, the next, he’s simply there, standing in front of me like he stepped out of space itself.
He’s alone this time.
Rogue and Sting aren’t hovering nearby, though I’ve learned enough already to know absence doesn’t mean disinterest. Armen carries himself differently without them. He stops close enough that I have to arc my head back uncomfortably to look at him, and I’m acutely aware that he’s chosen that position deliberately.
“That was fast,” I say, because silence feels like something I’ll regret later.
