SYX
The clear wall between us was cold against my back.
I’d been leaning against it for the past hour, my legs stretched out in front of me, my head tilted back so I could see the ceiling—smooth concrete, industrial lighting, cameras in every corner.
The Sanctum didn’t pretend to be anything other than what it was.
A prison.
Behind me, on the other side of the transparent barrier, Yaya sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them like she was trying to hold herself together.
We’d been talking in circles for most of the morning.
About Victor. About Amai. About how the fuck we’d ended up here.
But mostly, we’d been quiet.
Because what was there to say?
We were trapped.
Watched.
Separated by a wall we could see through but couldn’t touch.
“You think today’s the day?” Yaya’s voice cut through the silence, soft and tired.
I turned my head slightly, trying to catch her reflection in the glass. “The day for what?”
“The day Amai finally kills us.”
I exhaled slowly and let my head fall back against the wall. “He’s not going to kill us.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah.” I shifted, turning so I could face her through the barrier. “I’m sure.”
Yaya looked up at me, and even through the distortion of the glass, I could see the exhaustion in her eyes. The fear she was trying to bury beneath sarcasm and deflection.
“He’s not going to kill you,” she said quietly. “You’re family. You’re blood. But me?” She shook her head. “He don’t give a fuck about me, Syx. And he’s got no reason to keep me alive.”
“Then give him one.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Give him a reason.” I leaned forward, pressing my palm flat against the glass. “Tell him whatever he wants to know. About Victor. About the money. About the war. There’s gotta be something you can give him.”
Yaya stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
“Maybe,” she said finally.
“Maybe?” I frowned. “That’s it? That’s all you got?”
“What do you want me to say, Syx?” Her voice rose slightly, frustration bleeding through. “That I’m gonna spill everything I know, and hope Amai decides to let me live? You think he’s gonna honor some bargain? You think he’s gonna look at me and see anything other than Victor’s daughter?”
“I think he’ll see someone who’s trying to survive,” I said. “Same as the rest of us.”
Yaya laughed—sharp and bitter. “You don’t know him like I do.”
“And you don’t know him like I do.” I pressed harder against the glass, like I could push through it if I just tried hard enough. “He’s not a monster, Yaya. He’s just—”
“Just what?” She stood abruptly, crossing the small space to press her own hand against the barrier, mirroring mine. “Just a man who locks people in cages? Just a man who shoots his own brother? Just a man who—”
“Just a man who’s trying to protect what’s his,” I interrupted. “Same as your father. Same as Winston. Same as all of them.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“I didn’t say it did.” I held her gaze through the glass. “But it makes it real. And if you want to survive this, you gotta work with what’s real.”
Yaya’s hand slid down the glass slowly, her fingers leaving faint streaks. “You really think telling Amai what he wants to know is gonna save me?”
“I think it’s your best shot.”
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes searching mine.
“What if I don’t know anything?” she asked softly. “What if Victor didn’t tell me shit because he knew this would happen?”
“Then you tell Amai that.” I shrugged. “But you gotta give him something. Even if it’s just the truth.”
Yaya turned away from the glass and sank back down to the floor, her back against the wall.
“This isn’t just some fuck to me,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them.
She looked up sharply. “What?”
“You and me.” I gestured vaguely between us, even though the wall made the gesture meaningless. “This. Whatever this is. It’s not just sex or some temporary thing I’m gonna forget about when we get out of here.”
“Syx.”
“I want to see where this goes,” I continued, my voice steady even though my chest felt tight. “I want to see what we could be if we weren’t locked in these fuckin’ cells.”
Yaya stared at me, and for a moment, I thought she might laugh.
But she didn’t.
“We’re not going anywhere,” she said quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re locked in cells, Syx.” She gestured around the small space. “Because you’re twenty years old and caught in a war you don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“Do you?” She stood again, her movements sharp and agitated. “You think this is some Romeo and Juliet shit? You think we’re gonna ride off into the sunset together?”
“I think we got a chance,” I said. “If we fight for it.”
“A chance at what?” Her voice cracked. “At being hunted by Victor? By Amai? By Winston? At spending the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders?”
“At being together.” I pressed both hands against the glass now, leaning forward. “At being something other than pawns in their fuckin’ game.”
Yaya’s eyes glistened, and she turned away quickly, swiping at her face.
“You’re romanticizing this,” she said, her voice muffled. “You’re young, and you think love is enough to fix everything.”
“And you’re scared,” I shot back. “You’re scared that if you let yourself believe we could have something real, it’s gonna hurt worse when it gets taken away.”
She spun back to face me, her expression raw. “Of course, I’m scared! You think I’m not terrified every second we’re in here? You think I don’t know what Amai’s capable of?”
“Then let me help you.”
“You can’t help me, Syx.” Her voice broke. “You can barely help yourself.”
The words hit harder than I expected, and my shoulders dropped with a sigh.
“You think I’m using you,” I said quietly. “For comfort. For distraction. For something to hold onto while we’re stuck in here.”
Yaya didn’t answer.
“Maybe I am,” I admitted. “Maybe we both are. But that doesn’t make it fake.”
She looked at me through the glass, and I saw the war playing out behind her eyes—the part of her that wanted to believe me fighting against the part that knew better.
“I don’t know if we have a future outside the Landry family,” she said finally. “I don’t know if either of us do.”
“Then let’s figure it out together.”
“How?” She laughed but wasn’t shit funny. “How are we supposed to figure anything out when we’re trapped in here?”
“We start by surviving,” I said. “And then we take it one step at a time.”
Yaya opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of a door opening somewhere in the distance cut her off.
We both froze.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Deliberate. Getting closer.
Yaya’s countenance tumbled into something dark. “Syx!”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly, even though my heart was pounding. “Just—just remember what I said. Give him something. Anything.”
The footsteps stopped.
A door opened—closer now, just outside the corridor leading to our cells.
And then I heard his voice.
“Syx.”
Amai.
I turned toward the sound, my body tense, every instinct screaming at me to protect Yaya, even though there was nothing I could do.
The door to the observation area opened, and Amai stepped inside.
He looked at me first, his expression unreadable, and then his gaze shifted to Yaya.
The conversation was over.
Amai didn’t say anything else.
He just moved to the control panel on the wall and pressed a button.
The lock on my cell door disengaged with a sharp click.
“No.” The word came out before I could stop it. “Amai, wait!”
The door slid open.
“Get up,” Amai said, his voice flat. Empty.
I didn’t move.
“Amai, listen—whatever you think I did—”
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
There was no anger in his voice. No heat. Just cold, absolute certainty.
And that was worse.
I stood slowly, my legs shaking, and stepped toward the opening.
“Syx, don’t!” Yaya’s voice cracked behind me. “Amai, please—please don’t hurt him!”
Amai’s eyes flicked to her cell, and for the first time since he’d walked in, something shifted in his expression.
Surprise.
He looked at Yaya—really looked at her—and then back at me.
“Interesting,” he said quietly.
“Amai—” I started, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the cell.
I tried to pull away, twisting against his grip, but it was like fighting a steel trap.
“Let go of me!”
“Amai, stop!” Yaya was at the glass now, her palms pressed flat against it, her face streaked with tears. “Please—he didn’t do anything—this is between you and me!”
Amai stopped walking.
He turned slowly, still holding my arm, and looked at Yaya through the barrier.
“You care about him,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
Yaya’s breath hitched. “Don’t hurt him. Please. I’ll—I’ll tell you whatever you want to know—just don’t—”
“You’ll tell me anyway,” Amai interrupted, his voice calm. Clinical. “But it’s good to know you have something to lose now.”
“Amai—”
“Your concern should motivate you,” he continued, his gaze locked on hers. “When I come back for you, you’re going to tell me everything you know about Victor. About the money. About the war. And you’re going to do it quickly, because the longer you make me wait, the worse this gets for him.”
“I don’t know anything!” Yaya’s voice broke. “I swear—my father doesn’t tell me shit.”
“Then you better hope you remember something useful.” Amai’s tone didn’t change. “Because I will get my answers. And I will have my revenge. The only question is how much pain you’re both willing to endure before I do.”
He turned and started walking again, dragging me with him.
“Syx!” Yaya screamed, her fists pounding against the glass. “Syx, I’m sorry—I’m so sorry!”
I looked back at her, my heart racing, my throat closing.
“It’s okay,” I tried to say, but the words came out strangled. “It’s—”
Amai yanked me forward, and Yaya’s cell disappeared from view.
The corridor stretched ahead of us—sterile white walls, fluorescent lighting, cameras in every corner.
I knew this hallway.
I’d walked it a dozen times before.
But never like this.
Never as the one being dragged.