My stomach turned over, threatening to empty itself.
I stared at the tray for a long moment, my throat working, saliva flooding my mouth in that pre-vomit way that meant I had about ten seconds before I lost it completely.
But I couldn't afford to be squeamish. Not here. Not now.
I forced myself to breathe through my mouth, shallow and quick, trying to bypass my sense of smell entirely. My handstrembled as I reached for the meat, and for a second I just held it there, feeling the cold grease coat my fingers, my body screaming at me to drop it and back away.
Whatever they had planned for me—and I had no illusions it would be anything good—I'd need strength. Energy. Every calorie I could force down my throat might be the difference between surviving and becoming another corpse.
I thought of Ana. Of Sebastian. Of getting back to them.
That thought was enough to make me lift the meat to my mouth.
It was cold and slick with congealed fat, and when I bit into it, the taste was worse than the smell—rancid and chemical and wrong in ways I didn't have words for.
I chewed anyway. Forced myself to swallow even as my body screamed at me to spit it out.
Every bite made my stomach rebel, but I forced it down because I needed the calories. Needed the strength. Whatever was coming, I'd need every ounce of energy I could scrape together.
The liquid went down like regret, burning my throat and sitting heavy in my gut.
When the tray was empty, I lay back on the cot and tried to sleep.
Outside, in the night, Fange City came alive.
Screams echoed through the walls—raw, animal sounds of pain and rage that made my skin crawl. Fighting. Always fighting. The clash of metal on metal, the wet thud of fists hitting flesh, the moans of the dying or the broken or the ones who wished they were dead.
I pressed my hands over my ears, but it didn't help.
The sounds seeped in anyway, crawling under my skin, burrowing into my brain where they played on repeat. Eachscream conjured an image I didn't want to see—bodies torn apart, bones breaking, blood pooling on dirty floors.
How the hell did the Prime expect me to function in this place? How did she think I'd get close to Declan, earn his trust, find a way to kill him when I could barely keep myself from falling apart?
But I knew the answer.
She didn't care if I fell apart. She cared that Declan died. Everything else was just collateral damage.
I was collateral damage. Expendable. Replaceable.
The rage hit me then—hot and sudden and so intense it made my vision blur. Not the cold, calculated anger I'd felt when considering ways to complete the mission. This was something primal. Volcanic. It burned through my chest and down my arms until my hands curled into fists and my nails bit into my palms hard enough to draw blood.
Rage at the Prime for sending me here. Rage at Declan for making me into this. Rage at myself for being stupid enough to trust him in the first place, for thinking I could save my siblings by selling out everyone else, for every choice that had led me to this cell, this city, this nightmare.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to tear this room apart with my bare hands. Wanted to hurt someone the way I was hurting—wanted to make them bleed and beg and break until they understood what it felt like to be powerless.
But all I could do was lie there in the dark and listen to the sounds of people dying while I waited for my turn.
Sleep came in snatches—minutes stolen between screams, between the sounds of violence that never seemed to stop. I'd drift off and jerk awake, my heart racing, my body drenched in sweat that hadn't to do with the temperature. Each time I woke, there was a moment—just a split second—where I didn't remember where I was.
Then it all came crashing back.
Morning arrived with another tray shoved through the slot.
Same greasy meat. Same rock-hard bread. Same horse-piss ale.
I stared at it, something hollow opening up in my chest. This was my life now. This cycle. This dehumanizing routine designed to break me down piece by piece until there wasn't left but an animal that ate and slept and waited to die.
I ate it mechanically, my mind numb, my body moving on autopilot. The taste didn't even register anymore. It was just fuel going into a machine.
