Chapter 9
Zane
I heard it all.
The slam. The shouting. Her choked cries.
But I know better than to interfere.
Not with Myles like that. Not when the storm in him sounded like he was going to swallow the girl whole. It’d only make it worse for her.
Now, guilt hangs heavy in the morning air.
Light filters through the cracks in the blinds of my bedroom, once an old office upstairs for detectives.
I head straight downstairs to the holding room but linger at the door. Unsure what I’ll find, I take a deep inhale and open the door as quietly as I can.
There she is. Huddled in the corner of the cot, wrapped tight around herself, trembling.
When her eyes find mine, she flinches as if I’ll hurt her too.
She's awake. How long she's been awake? I don't know. Maybe all night.
Morning light filters through the windows, dust motes swirling from my movement. But I’m paralysed in the middle of the room, lost for words.
Yesterday she was wary. Skittish. Today... she looks wrecked. Haunted. Eyes red-rimmed and wide.
There are bruises forming on her wrists, and one higher on her arm in the shape of fingerprints. Another one, faint but there, beneath her collarbone. Her shirt—or what's left of it—is shredded. She clings to it like a lifeline, attempting to cover her body.
She's exposed. It feels wrong to look at her.
“Ivy,” I whisper. Her name catches in my throat like a prayer I don’t deserve to say. It feels too gentle for this place, too fragile for what’s been done to her.
I wish I could offer her more than this. God, I wish she knew that she’s more than just someone I’m trying to protect. That she’s starting to feel like the only thing worth protecting.
She doesn’t even react. As if she’s somewhere else entirely—retreated somewhere deeper than I can reach.
I don't have the words to comfort her from this. She barely trusts me to move in her presence anyway.
It guts me to see her like this. I’ve seen it plenty of times before. But this is different. She’s not broken from what happened before we found her... she’s broken from what happened in here.
Inside our walls.
Realising I'm staring too much, I avert my gaze and look at the things I brought her. Seeing my fists clenched tight around the bundle, I force them to loosen, focus on calming my breath.
The urge to punch the wall, scream, throw something, is like lava coursing through my veins, ready to erupt.
I’m furious with Myles for laying hands on her like this. So much I could rip his head from his shoulders.
But I can't lose my temper. Not now. Not in front of her. I swore I’d never be that man again.
This isn’t then. She’s not one of them. And I don’t want her to see that side of me.
Ever.
I take a tentative step forward and crouch by the bars.
“I brought you something,” I say, voice tight.
I lay the bundle gently at the edge of the bars. Clean clothes I dug up from the locker room. A hoodie, too big but soft and warm. Drawstring pants. Socks. An old book from the bookcase in the lounge room. Something to distract her from her situation.
Fuck. I wish it was enough. But how do you even begin to rebuild someone when they’re still mourning the ruins.
She doesn't reach for them. Doesn't even blink as she watches me as if I might explode as well.
Kneeling slowly at the bars, I try to make myself smaller. Less threatening.
“It's ok,” I say gently. “You don't have to put them on right now. Just... when you're ready.”
Her breathing is shallow. Measured. Holding everything inside, like she’s afraid if she lets it out it'll shatter her.
Sitting down fully, I keep my back against the bars, arms resting loosely on my knees. My back to her so she doesn’t feel so exposed in her vulnerability.
I know what it’s like to feel like your body isn’t your own. Like it doesn’t belong to you anymore. I remember that feeling all too well.
My nostrils flare now that my back is turned. I noticed the swelling on her bottom lip, the faint red marks on her neck.
What the fuck did you do, Myles...?
Flashes of his head snapping back as my fists connect with his face fly through my mind.
Gritting my teeth, I shove those thoughts back down and force my voice to soften. “I haven't… read the book. I can get you a different one. If you don't like it.”
Still nothing.
But that’s ok.
I want to say something. Anything. But I know nothing will bring her out of whatever haze she’s hiding in. She’s not blinking, not responding.
I’ve seen this defence mechanism enough—experienced it myself—to know that sometimes it’s more comfortable than reality.
Letting the silence fall between us, I don’t press any more conversation on her. Simply staying with her, showing her that I'm not the same as him. That maybe, even if she can't trust me yet, I’ll keep the pieces of her from falling any further apart.
She was finally starting to whisper small sentences to me. Now it’s back to square one. And I’d trade anything to hear her voice again. Even if it was only to tell me to leave.
Something fragile and precious was crushed just as it started budding.
Whatever Myles destroyed; I'll rebuild. Even if it takes everything I have. Even if it kills me.
This caged girl is both taking me back to those dark days and reawakening fiercely protective instincts that I wasn’t prepared to feel.
I don't know how long I sit with her. The silence stretches thin. Heavy. But I stay until her shaking slows and her breathing evens out. Until she blinks again.
Then I get up and quietly leave.
My hands won't stop shaking with fury, but I keep them by my sides.
I want to find Myles. Drag him into the holding room and replicate every bruise he gave her while she watches. So she knows I won’t let that shit happen.
But that’s what the old me would’ve done. Made a show of violence, an eye-for-an-eye. And if I start, I won’t stop at just a few bruises.
The only other option I can think of in this blinding rage is finding Phoenix. If anyone can handle Myles without leaving blood on the floor, it’s him.
Their dynamic is an odd one.
Phoenix dominates but Myles is far from submissive. I used to like watching when they fucked. The brutality of their play was exactly what I needed. Familiar. And free from the guilt of non-consent.
When I decided abstinence was better for my mental health they didn’t push me.
Jerking off wasn’t hard to stop until this week. It’s creeped back into my routine and is the only thing keeping me from breaking.
Storming down the hall, my chest feels like it's wrapped in barbed wire, pulling tighter with every step. Flinging the lounge room door open, I find Phoenix reclined on the armchair.
I hate how relaxed he looks, sitting in his usual spot by the fire like some kind of King of the ashes. Legs spread wide, elbows on his knees, a blade dangling from his hand. But he’s just another beast trying to stay in control.
“Phoenix.” My voice comes out strained. “I need to talk to you.”
He doesn’t look up. Staying fixated on the light bouncing off the blade as if it's the only thing worth noticing in this place.
I step further into the room. The air feels hotter near him, like even the fire knows better than to flicker without permission.
Biting down my frustration, my voice tightens. “It's about the girl.”
When he finally speaks his voice casual as ever, almost amused. “She bite you?”
“No,” I growl. “But Myles did more than that to her.”
There’s a pause in the movement of his blade. A flicker in his eyes. Finally giving me more than indifference. I know he heard the commotion last night.
So I keep going. “She barely moves. She's not sleeping. I just checked on her and—”
My hands rake through my hair as my chest heaves.
“Fuck, Phoenix. She’s barely there anymore. Just a shell. Trying not to breathe too loud. And it's not some fucking raider or scavenger that did it. It was Myles.”
Guilt coils around my heart and squeezes, until I can barely breathe around my own words.
Phoenix exhales through his nose, leaning back and resting the knife on his thigh. “Did he hurt her?”
“She's bruised, Phoenix,” I snap. “Shirt torn off her. Fingerprints all over her. What the hell do you think happened?”
His throat works, jaw clenching tight. “You know Myles. He doesn't think. He reacts.”
“Yeah, well, that reaction damn near broke her.”
I take a step forward, not threatening, but close enough that he has to look at me. Meet my eyes. “Are you just gonna let him destroy her? And then what? Throw her back into the world when he's done, to be picked apart by scavengers?”
Phoenix’s face is unreadable. The same cold apathy etched into every line. But I know him. He's not as numb as he pretends to be.
“Sounds like you're getting attached,” The corner of his mouth pulls back in amusement.
My jaw tenses. “Don't start.”
“Didn't.” Phoenix flips the knife once, catching it by the hilt. “Just sayin’—you're the one sneaking her food. Blankets. Water. You sure you're not softening her up for something yourself?”
Something in me flares at his accusation but I choke it out before it has time to break me apart.
Eyes darkening, I step forward again. “I'm trying to keep her human.” I growl, low and deadly.
Silence settles between us again, heavier this time.
Glancing back up at me, he takes a deep breath. “You think if we coddle her, she'll survive?”
“I'm just trying to do what you did for me,” I say quietly. “You pulled me out when I didn't even remember how to ask for help. When my choice had been taken from me too.”
Phoenix doesn't say anything, but he is listening. The way his fingers tighten slightly on the hilt of the knife makes it clear.
Taking a breath, my voice wavers. “I just... I don't know how to reach her. And now it's gotten worse. I sit with her, and she looks at me like she's underwater. Like even blinking hurts.”
Phoenix stands slowly, the fire crackling behind him as if feeding off his energy. He doesn't speak for a long time. Then his eyes meet mine, tired, shattered, but resolute.
“I'll talk to Myles,” he says.
His jaw tics once. It’s more of a reaction than I expected.
Blinking back my surprise, the relief that hits me isn't clean. It's tangled up in everything else, rage, helplessness, guilt.
But I nod once. “Thanks.”
Turning away, he stops after a few steps, voice coming out low and gritty. “I'm not doing this for her.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat and lift my chin. “I know.”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “You're not the only one who wants to redeem the past. But it’s not always possible.”
Before I have a chance to respond, he leaves, blade swinging casually in his hand, but his shoulders are tense now. Less relaxed. As if the weight of everything we're not saying is finally starting to press down.
Standing alone in the low firelight, I clench my fists, chest tightening.
I couldn't save her from him.
But if he ever lays a hand on her again, I won’t hold back.