Chapter 56
VI
Later, I don’t know how much later, I force myself up. Sitting here alone in the dark isn’t helping. I need to move. To see something other than these four walls.
I slip out of my room and head toward the neutral zone.
The old food court is always busy this time of day with Rotters trading supplies, Runts moving between shifts, the low buzz of activity that never quite stops. It’s one of the few places in the Rot where you can blend in. Where being bound doesn’t automatically make you the center of attention.
I slip in through the side corridor, keeping my back to the wall. The emergency lights are brighter tonight, casting harsh white pools across the cracked tile. The smell of old grease mixes with cigarette smoke and something musty.
I don’t plan to stay long. Just long enough to breathe.
But then I hear voices. Low. Quiet. Efficient. I turn toward the sound.
Three men. One girl.
They’re in the far alcove, half hidden by an overturned counter. Not making a scene. Not drawing attention. Just... handling business.
Another young girl. Hands trembling at her sides. I recognize her from the hub. She works the same shift I do. Quiet. Keeps her head down.
One of the men steps forward. He doesn’t speak. Just looks at her.
She doesn’t look back. Her eyes are fixed on the floor. Submissive and obedient.
The second man pulls something from his pocket, a small notebook, worn at the edges. He flips it open, scribbles something with a stub of pencil, then snaps it shut.
The scarred one speaks. Voice flat. Final. “You’re bound. To us. Permanent. No reversal.”
The girl nods once. Small. Mechanical. No ceremony. No celebration. Just words and a ledger entry somewhere. The men step back. She stands there for a moment, then wipes her eyes quickly and goes back to the crates she was sorting before. Like nothing happened.
My chest tightens.
That could have been me if Armen, Sting, and Rogue hadn’t sealed their claim first. If I’d been just another Runt sorting crates. If I hadn’t been worth the risk.
I step back, about to leave, when a voice stops me. “Hey.”
I freeze.
A man steps into view, tall, lean, acne scars covering his cheeks. I don’t recognize him. He’s not from Armen’s crew. Not from anyone I know.
He smiles, slow, friendly. “Didn’t expect to see fresh faces out here.” His eyes flick over me, linger. “You’re the one they’re talking about. The bound girl.”
I don’t answer.
He steps closer. “Name’s Jax. My crew’s got a quiet spot not far from here. Better light. Warmer. You look like you could use a break.” He gestures vaguely toward the far exit. “Come see. No pressure.”
His tone is casual. Almost kind. But there’s something underneath it. Something that makes my skin crawl.
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
He laughs. “Come on. Don’t be like that. Just talk. See how the other side lives. Your guys won’t mind.”
“I said no.”
His smile fades. He steps closer, close enough I smell his rotten teeth. “You think your binding makes you untouchable? Three men against a lot more. One day, it won’t hold.”
My pulse hammers. I back up a step.
He follows. “You think you’re special?” His voice hardens. “You’re just another Rot—”
Then a hand lands on my shoulder. Firm. Familiar.
Sting.
He doesn’t speak to Jax at first. Just stares, cold, unblinking.
Jax’s bravado falters.
Sting’s voice is low. “Walk away.”
Jax hesitates, then smirks. “Just talking. Making friends.”
Sting’s grip tightens on my shoulder. “Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Ever.”
Jax raises his hands, backs off. “Message received.” He turns and disappears into the crowd.
Sting doesn’t let go until Jax is gone. Then he looks at me—eyes dark, voice rough. “What are you doing here?”
“Breathing,” I say.
“Breathe somewhere else.” He releases my shoulder but doesn’t step back. “You don’t come to the neutral zone alone. Ever. You understand?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“Good.” He turns, waits for me to follow.
I glance back at the girl. She’s already crouched over her crate again, hands moving mechanically through supplies. Bound. Just like me. But not protected. Not claimed by anyone powerful enough to make others back off. Just... stuck.
I follow Sting out of the food court, back through the corridors, back toward my room. He doesn’t speak until we reach my curtain door.
“You can’t wander anymore,” he says. Voice quieter now. “Being bound means you’re ours. But other crews will test it. Push boundaries. See how far they can go before we react.”
“And if they push too far?”
“Then we remind them why binding matters.”
I swallow. “By hurting them.”
“By making examples.”
The words sit heavy between us.
I pull the curtain aside, step into my room. He doesn’t follow.
“Vi,” he says.
I look back.
“You’re safe,” he says. “As long as you stay close.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
His eyes darken. “You don’t get that choice anymore.” Then he’s gone.
I step inside, let the curtain fall closed, and sink onto the edge of the bed. The binding is real. The protection is real.
And so is the cage.