Oh shit.
I ran.
I raise my arm as far as the chains allow, connected to an old cement wall behind me, and glance again at the iron restraints.
These aren’t chains meant for humans...
They’re meant to hold down a beast.
Only now I start glancing all around frantically, trying to absorb every detail. Someone must’ve knocked me out after I ran—and somehow, I ended up here.
But where the fuck ishere?
I can’t see clearly—the only lightbulb in the center of this dark room keeps flickering, dying slowly. The stench of mold thickens the air, sour and rotting, confirming what I already suspect: I’m underground. I know this smell too well. This is how my father keeps his storage rooms. I’d never miss it.
Shit.
Is this one of his places? No. No, no—
NO.
“Help!” I scream into the void, knowing better than to expect a response—but a girl has to try.
My breath turns heavier with every second. Each new realization slaps me harder.
I’m back under my father’s hold.
Fuck.
I didn’t get Diana.
“No…” The word is a cracked whimper, caught in my throat like I’m choking on it. Tears start welling in my eyes before I can stop them.
“Who’s there?”
A woman’s voice jolts through the silence, and I snap my head back toward it, eyes locking on a dirty cement wall. My gaze trails up toward a small, rusted window, crisscrossed with iron bars.
“Are you chained too?” I ask quickly, pulse spiking. I’m not alone here—there’s another hidden cell.
“Ye—” she coughs. “Yes.”
“Are you hurt?” I ask again. I don’t even know why—it’s instinct. Desperation.
“Yes. You’re the first female voice I’ve heard here in a very long time.” Her voice is so faint, like she’s barely holding on. I know that kind of pain. Too well.
I’ve lost count of how many times I wished death on my father. But now? I don’t want him dead—I want himrotting. Rotting in his own body, unable to move even a finger, still breathing so he’ll never escape this nightmare he created.
No. Notfather—Fedor. I’m not using that word anymore. I don’t have a father.
“I just got here,” I say, trying to keep the conversation going, anything to keep her awake, alert. Anything to stop her from slipping away before we can find a way out.
Therehasto be a way out. Diana is waiting for me.
“I’m Roran,” I offer.
“I’m Orbit,” she says quickly, her voice growing weaker by the second. I can’t tell if her accent is distorted or if she’s just that far gone. “Princess of Sur-El Royal House.”
I nearly choke.
