Chapter 34 Cal
Cal
Location: Underground Detention Site — Isolation Wing
Time: Unknown
The dark doesn’t fall all at once.
It creeps.
The light above my cell flickers—once, twice—then steadies just long enough to make me think it was nothing.
Then it cuts out completely.
Cold slams into the room like a living thing.
Not a chill.
Not discomfort.
Real cold. The kind that sinks into bone and stays there, stealing strength with every breath.
My teeth chatter before I can stop them.
“Easy,” I mutter to myself. “Easy…”
The chains hum softly as the temperature drops. Condensation forms on the stone, damp seeping through my clothes. My fingers go numb first. Then my toes.
This isn’t random.
This is organized.
That’s when the sound starts.
At first it’s just static—low, crawling, everywhere at once. It feels like it’s inside my skull instead of the corridor.
Then breathing.
Slow. Ragged. Panicked.
My stomach clenches.
That’s not machinery.
That’s a man.
The breathing stops.
A second later, a scream tears through the walls.
It’s short. Abrupt. Cut off like someone snapped a switch.
My entire body locks.
No.
No, no, no—
They didn’t do this before.
Not like this.
Another sound replaces it—metal scraping, chains rattling, a low thud that makes my chest vibrate.
Someone is being dragged.
Someone resisting.
I press my forehead to the cold stone behind me, forcing air into my lungs. Don’t imagine faces. Don’t assign names.
That’s how they win.
The scream comes again—different pitch this time. Younger. Desperate.
Then silence.
The lights snap back on without warning.
My vision blurs from the sudden brightness. I blink hard, fighting nausea.
Across the corridor, I see movement.
A door slides open.
They drag a man past my cell.
I only see him for a second—but it’s enough.
Bare feet scraping uselessly against the floor. Head lolling. Arms shackled in front of him instead of overhead.
Alive.
For now.
Our eyes meet.
Just for a heartbeat.
And in that instant, something passes between us—recognition without familiarity. Shared hell. Shared endurance.
You’re not alone.
The guard notices.
He slams the baton into the bars, inches from my face.
“Eyes forward!”
The man is hauled away.
The door slams.
Darkness follows again—this time complete.
The sound system hums.
Static.
Then the breathing starts over.
Different cell.
Different man.
Same message.
I close my eyes and grit my teeth until my jaw aches.
This is escalation.
They’re not interrogating anymore.
They’re demonstrating.
I swallow hard and whisper into the dark; the words barely sound.
“They’re scared.”
Because this isn’t control.
This is panic dressed up as order.
Malenkov wouldn’t do this unless something slipped.
Unless someone reached us.
Unless—
A faint pulse of warmth flares in my chest.
Ronan.
If you’re alive…
If you’re listening…
Then hurry.
Because this place is bleeding men dry, one scream at a time.
The static cuts out.
Silence crashes down.
I sag against the chains, shaking—not broken.
Not yet.
Because fear travels fast in a dungeon.
But so does hope.
And somewhere above ground, I know it now with bone-deep certainty—
The man they’re afraid of is already moving.
And when Ronan Pierce comes for us?
This dungeon won’t survive the night.