36. Valaria
Valaria
The red streak woman enters.
Her braid swings behind her—the streak redder than it was yesterday.
“You wanted closure. I have it for you.”
It doesn’t take a Harvard graduate to know a trick has arrived.
She presses her remote.
The door hisses open.
And I see him.
My mighty and fierce Pietro. Sprawled, limp and lifeless as a ragdoll.
The trick.
I don’t react.
“Recognize him?”
“No. Should I?
It’s the only way to keep him alive.
Behind her, Pietro rises.
Sways. Bleary eyed.
He’s disarmed except for one.
He pulls a switchblade from his tactical vest.
The red streak woman turns. Amused.
“Pietro. Remember?”
I squint to look at him.
“Whoever he is, he means nothing to me.”
Pietro’s weapon lowers just slightly—just enough for me to see what I’ve done
He flinches like I slapped him.
But I can’t explain now.
Not in front of her.
I give him the look.
The one he knows. The one that means: Trust me.
And thank the gods—he does.
He backs out of the room.
Turns to escape.
Armed guards circle him like an animal caught in a snare.
I hold my gaze steady, curious—waiting for the kill.
He surrenders without a fight. His blade clatters to the floor. Kneels.
Seeing him so vulnerable—so willing to be humiliated kills me.
My heart kicks against my ribs, wild and useless.
The door seals shut like the lid of a coffin.
The red-streak woman— smiles faintly.
I breathe slowly. Deliberately.
Because the longer I play their game, the closer I get to breaking it.