Chapter 54
VI
The work hub feels different today.
Not the space itself, same cracked tile, same flickering lights, same smell of cardboard and old metal. But the air has changed. Thicker. Heavier. Like everyone’s holding their breath waiting for something to break.
I’ve been here an hour, sorting medical supplies at my usual table, and I can feel eyes on me. Not constant. Not obvious. Just... there. A glance that lingers half a second too long. A conversation that stops when I pass. Whispers that start up again once I’m far enough away.
They know.
I’m walking through the hub like I’m wearing a sign: BOUND TO ARMEN, STING, ROGUE.
Protected. Owned. Untouchable.
And a target.
I keep my head down, hands moving on autopilot. Pick up gauze packet, check seal, set in bin, chalk mark on crate. Repeat. My knee aches from standing too long, but I lock it straight. I’m not sitting. I’m not showing weakness.
Not here. Not now.
I’m reaching for another packet when I feel it, that shift in the air that means someone’s too close.
I look up.
She’s standing across the table from me. The girl from the Hunt who I punched in the stomach. The one who followed me and Sting through the corridors, who spat at me, who smiled when Sting pulled me away.
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.