Chapter 27
VROK
The cell smells like old blood and damp concrete.
Not fresh. Not dramatic. Just stale violence baked into stone.
They put me beneath the main yard—sublevel holding. Reinforced steel bars, not energy fields. Chains bolted into the floor and walls. Smart choice. I can short a field with brute voltage and patience. Steel requires time I don’t have.
My wrists are shackled above shoulder height now. Ankles too. Spread just wide enough to strain the hips. Not painful yet.
Just uncomfortable.
Deliberate.
They want me upright.
On display.
The first time they drag me out, it’s not subtle.
Four Hooves soldiers. Two on chains. Two with shock batons just itching for a reason. I don’t give them one. I let them haul me up the stairs, boots scraping over concrete, each step sending a dull vibration through my ribs where Skip’s punches landed.
Sunlight hits like a slap.
The courtyard is half-repaired from what I did to it. Charred walls. Blown-out windows. One of their watchtowers leaning slightly off-kilter. They haven’t cleaned the blood yet. Good. Let it stink.
They shove me to my knees in the center.
Workers stop hammering. Guards stop walking. Civilians—slaves, mostly—freeze mid-task.
Marj steps out onto the balcony above, draped in something expensive and absurdly clean. Rings glinting on every finger.
She spreads her arms.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she calls, voice amplified through a crackling loudspeaker, “behold your hero.”
A boot cracks into my shoulder. I stay upright.
“He thought he could charge in here alone,” she continues, pacing slowly. “Thought death would make him noble.”
She looks down at me.
“You got a thing for dying meaningful, don’t you?”
I raise my head.
“Wasn’t tryin’ to die,” I say, voice rough from dust and blood.
She laughs.
“Oh honey. Don’t lie to me. I know a suicide charge when I see one.”
Her eyes sharpen.
“You came here with no exit plan. No backup. No support. That ain’t strategy. That’s theater.”
That one lands.
Because she’s right.
I don’t react. Not outwardly. But I feel it—like something sliding under my ribs.
She gestures lazily and one of her guards steps forward, smashing a baton into my thigh. The voltage hits. Muscles seize. I bite down hard enough I taste copper.
“Don’t pass out,” she chides. “You’re the main event.”
They drag me through the compound after that.
Not discreetly.
Every corridor. Every work pit. Every armory.
They shove me forward so people can see my face. See the bruises. The blood dried under my jaw. The chains.
“Look at him,” one guard jeers. “Big bad Butcher. Looks smaller now.”
I don’t give them a reaction.
But I catalog everything.
Door placements. Guard rotations. Camera placements. Structural weaknesses in the west support beams where my earlier blasts compromised the frame.
Escape routes.
There aren’t any.
Not for me.
They throw me back into the holding chamber an hour later. My shoulders burn from the strain. My ribs ache with every breath. The silence presses in thick and heavy.
I lean my head back against the steel.
Idiot.
The word echoes.
I replay the charge in my mind. The way I stormed the perimeter. The way I ignored cover. The way I followed Kaella straight into the tunnel without confirming heat signatures.
I wanted to burn.
Wanted to make enough noise that Marj would have to respond personally.
Instead, I handed her a stage.
I handed her spectacle.
And she’s better at spectacle than I’ll ever be.
Boots approach again. Slower this time. Measured.
The door slides open and she enters alone.
Large Marj doesn’t hurry. Doesn’t need to.
She stops a few feet away, examining me like a trophy already mounted.
“You know what I like about you?” she asks conversationally.
“I don’t much care.”
She smiles faintly. “You’re honest about your flaws. That’s rare.”
She crouches. Close enough that I can smell her perfume under the iron tang of the cell. Something sweet rotting at the edges.
“You thought dyin’ here would protect her.”
I don’t respond.
“You thought if you burned bright enough, I’d focus on you and forget about the little legend.”
My jaw tightens.
She leans closer.
“Here’s the thing. I don’t forget. I collect.”
She stands again.
“We’re gonna hold you for two days. Long enough for word to spread. Long enough for fear to fester.”
My pulse shifts.
Two days.
“She’ll come,” Marj says lightly.
I don’t let the reaction show.
“She loves you, doesn’t she?”
Silence.
Marj tilts her head.
“Oh yes. I’ve seen that look before. Makes people predictable.”
She turns toward the door.
“When she arrives—and she will—we’ll unmask her in front of everyone. Either she’s the Butcher, and I get to break her publicly… or she’s not.”
She glances back over her shoulder.
“And then I get to kill you both.”
The door seals shut behind her.
The silence afterward is louder than her voice.
I sag against the chains.
Because she’s right about one thing.
Roxy will come.
I can feel it.
Not just instinct. Not just hope. Something deeper. That bond she mentioned before I left—the thing she felt stirring under her skin.
I felt it too.
And now it’s pulling.
Like a wire strung tight between us.
She’s angry. Afraid. Determined.
I close my eyes.
“Don’t,” I mutter under my breath. “Don’t be stupid.”
But I know she will.
Because I was.
And that’s the worst part.
I thought a reckless charge would protect her. Thought if I died loudly enough, Marj would be satisfied.
Instead I gave Marj exactly what she wanted: a public villain, chained and bleeding, center stage.
And an invitation.
I flex against the restraints again. Test the give. There isn’t much.
Steel doesn’t care about willpower.
Hours pass. Maybe more. They drag me out again before sunset. Paraded through the compound once more. This time the crowd is larger. Word’s spreading. Slaves whisper. Guards laugh louder.
“Smile for the cameras,” one of them says, shoving my head up.
I bare my teeth.
Not for them.
For her.
Because if she’s watching—if she intercepted the broadcast like I know she did—I want her to see I’m still standing.
Still breathing.
Still fighting.
They chain me back in place.
Night settles heavy and humid. The cell grows colder.
I lean my forehead against the steel and breathe through the ache.
You absolute idiot.
You were so busy trying to die for her you forgot she’d never let you.
And now she’s walking straight into the trap you built.
I close my eyes.
And I wait.
Because if there’s one thing I know about Roxy—
She doesn’t run.