Chapter 57
ARMEN
The work hub goes quiet the moment Vi walks in.
I’m not surprised she elicits this reaction from people. She probably always has.
I watch from my usual spot near the supply coordinator’s station, arms crossed, tracking her movements. She’s limping worse today, bad knee protesting after too many stairs yesterday, but she keeps her head up, shoulders squared. Doesn’t try to hide it.
The older woman with the shaved head glances up from her station, eyes following Vi for half a second before returning to her work. A few other Runts pause mid-motion, then resume. Whispers start near the far wall, low, quick, then die when I shift my weight.
I’m about to turn back to the coordinator when movement catches my eye.
The troublemaker.
She’s at the far end of the hub, near the water filter station.
She starts walking. Straight toward Vi’s table.
I push off the wall, already moving, but I don’t rush. I need to see what she does. How far she’ll push.
The girl stops a few feet from Vi’s table, close enough to be noticed but not touching. She doesn’t speak at first. Just watches.
Vi stiffens but doesn’t look up. Keeps sorting. Hands steady.
She leans in slightly. “Heard you turned down Jax’s invitation. Kind of rude of you to refuse. I wish he’d invite me over.”
Vi’s hands slow but don’t stop. She sets a gauze packet down carefully. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” The girl shrugs. “Just checking in. Making sure you’re still... intact.”
Vi finally looks up. Her gaze is flat, controlled. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” The girl’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Because I’d hate for something to happen to you. Accidents happen down here. All the time.”
The threat is clear. Public. Deliberate.
Vi’s hands curl into fists at her sides.
I’m already halfway across the hub when the girl makes her mistake.
She steps forward, too close, and shoves Vi’s crate off the table. It hits the floor with a sharp crack. Gauze packets scatter across the tile.
The hub goes completely silent.
Vi stares at the mess, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Pick it up,” Vi says.
The girl laughs. “Make me.”
Vi moves fast, faster than I expect. She lunges forward, grabs the girl by the front of her shirt, and yanks her in close. Their faces are inches apart now, breath mingling.
“I said pick it up,” Vi repeats. Voice low. Dangerous.
She grins. “Or what? You’ll hit me? Go ahead. Your boys aren’t here to save you this time.”
Wrong.
I’m already behind her. Sting appears at Vi’s left, Rogue at her right. We don’t speak. Don’t need to.
Her grin falters when she feels my presence at her back.
“Let go of her,” I say to Vi.
She releases the girl’s shirt immediately, stepping back. Her hands are shaking but not from fear. Adrenaline.
The girl turns slowly, eyes flicking between the three of us. “This is neutral ground. You can’t—”
“This isn’t neutral ground,” Sting interrupts. Voice flat. “This is our hub. And you just threatened what’s ours.”
“She started it.”
“No,” Rogue says, stepping closer. “You did. The moment you walked over here.”
I lean in, voice dropping so only she can hear. “You have two choices. Walk away now. Or we make an example of you.”
The girl holds my gaze for a long beat. Then she looks past me at Vi.
“This isn’t over,” she says.
“Yes,” I reply. “It is.”
“Get out of here, you nasty cunt,” Vi hisses.
The woman backs up a step, then another. Then turns and walks toward the exit. Slow. Deliberate. Like she’s refusing to show fear. But I see it in the way her shoulders hunch slightly. The way her hands tremble before she shoves them in her pockets. She disappears into the corridor.
The hub exhales. Conversations restart, quieter now, more careful. People return to work, but eyes keep flicking toward Vi.
I turn to her. “You good?”
She nods once, but her breathing is still uneven.
“Okay.” I step back, give her space. “Clean this up. Then take a break.”
“I’m fine—”
“That wasn’t a request.”
She scowls but crouches down and starts gathering the scattered packets.
Sting and Rogue exchange a glance, then move toward the exit without a word. I stay long enough to make sure no one else approaches her.
When Vi finishes cleaning up, she straightens, meets my eyes across the room. There’s something new in her gaze. Not fear. Not anger. Resolve. She turns and walks toward the service corridor, limp pronounced but steady.
I follow at a distance. Because I know where this is going.
And so does she.