“Punishment.” I pull my bound wrists to the side and nod toward them. Aurelius and Raven exchange a glance before she gestures for the other Keeper to free me.
“Punishment?” Raven’s dark ponytail sways as she tilts her head. “I thought you said sheneededto run.”
The Keeper fits a blade beneath the rope, cold steel skimming the knotted bone of my wrist. It scrapes just enough to make the tendons jolt tight. “She did, but she also needs to know that actions have consequences… Nothing too severe, just enough to deter her from trying to escape again.”
And enough to make you people the obvious villains.Because the gap between us is not yet clear.
The way Luna looked at me in the forest… I don’t know how, but I lost her trust.
As the rope breaks, I bring my hands to my sides. Resist the urge to rub the sting from my raw wrists, even as my hands prickle with returning blood flow.
Loud, heavy stomps enter the room—Thorne covered in blood.
“I’m sure our friend here wouldn’t mind doling it out.” I flick a hand at the giant who walks obediently to Raven’s side, loyal attack dog he is.
“I agree,” Aurelius says. “Actions have consequences.”
Raven gives him a look that makes me think she disagrees. After clearing her throat, she nods curtly. “Very well, then… Elijah!”
I turn to watch the Keeper haul Luna into the room by her arm. His fingertips carve dents so deep they blanch the skin around them. Whiter than she already is.
Luna stares at the floor—uncharacteristically submissive, vulnerability weaponized. Her chest quakes with breaths so deliberately patterned, I’m taken back thirty years. Sunken into a cardboard thin mattress, the sour scent of unwashed linen, the scratchy comforter thrown over my head while I practiced manipulating my breaths. Three sharp bursts in, one shallow exhale. I’ve met monsters who love to kick the weak, but most angry drunks just don’t like being challenged. He hit less when you cowered.
The memory loosens the muscles coiling my chest more than my hands being freed. It scratches an itch deep in my mind, the kind that comes from unpredictability, the unknown being uneasily read.
That’show she’s doing it.
As they approach, the Keeper throws Luna toward me. I catch her as she stumbles, only for her to quickly rip away.
“I’m sorry,” I say to her, pinching my eyebrows with mock concern. “It’ll be over soon, I promise.”
Creases jut from her squinted eyes—confused, calibrating. Without another word, I go to stand next to Aurelius.
When he looks at me expectantly, I shake my head. “I’m not a Keeper… Someone else has to do it.”
A second passes. But then he turns to Thorne.
“What?” Thorne asks. Wilcox’s crusted blood fissures along a new furrow in his forehead. Disgusting. Disturbing. But somehow … not terrifying. He could kill me with one hand, but it’s hard to fear those you don’t respect.
Raven raises onto her toes to whisper in his ear. His eyes bulge. He twists to fully face her while shuffling backward. “No.No.” He stabs a finger at me. “He’sthe one who let her get away. He’s the one who should be punished.”
“Thorne,” Aurelius warns.
The splotch of his cheek not covered in blood or tribal paint turns deep red as Thorne shakes his head. He tightly crosses his arms. For a moment, I think he’ll actually refuse, but then his eyes glare at the wall in stewing resignation. Never mind the fact that he just tortured a man, he can’tbearthe idea of hurting a woman.
Seconds pass while he seethes, but then Raven places a hand on his arm. In an instant, his face softens. The bloody furrow smooths. His arms slowly uncross. He’s obviously at the top of the food chain here, butthisis why he’ll never be more than a soldier. Moral code … until someone asks nicely.
He rolls his shoulders before stepping toward the girl. “Fine.”
Luna’s eyes burst wide. Her legs draw her back into Elijah who grips her shoulders tight. He forces her to her knees.
“No,” she whines, eyes searching for someone to implore. Landing on me.
I tell myself I won’t look away, but after two agonizing seconds, I crack. My gaze drifts to a painting on the wall—a field of wildflowers cast beneath a muted sky. Thorne’s belt buckle jingles.
“No,please.”
A muscle jumps near the hinge of my jaw. But the plea is nothing compared to her scream when Elijah forces her face to the floor, leaving her backside lifted.
