He was nearly bigger than Slade. He was broader than the door itself.
He worked for Mother Ashford, always had as long as I had known him. But he’d always been kind to me. That counted for something here.
His dark eyes met mine as I approached, unreadable.
“I wondered if we’d see you tonight,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
“Hey Jasper,” I sighed. “Been a long time.” I didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch.
“It has. I can’t say I’m happy to see you back,” he said, his voice calm.
I let out a laugh. “You and me both.”
“Elle – “
“She’s expecting me,” I said coldly.
Something flickered in his expression—regret, maybe, or warning. “I’ll need your weapons,” he said finally.
“Will I get them back?” I asked.
“Hopefully,” he sighed. I handed them over without complaint.
Jasper gave a slow, sympathetic nod. “Go right up, Elle.”
He pulled the heavy door open, and the moment I stepped inside, the sound hit me like a wave.
Up the narrow stairwell I went, my boots thudding against worn stone. The air grew hotter with each step—thick with sweat, smoke, and bloodlust. When I reached the upper tier, the noise became a living thing, echoing off the cracked walls and caged rafters. Shouts, laughter, the metallic clang of weapons. The crowd roared for violence like they were starving for it.
Below, in the dirt-streaked arena, two fighters tore into each other with wild, animal fury. Blood slicked the ground, spraying as one landed a vicious blow. I didn’t know either of them—and it didn’t matter. This wasn’t about names. This was a spectacle. And Mother Ashford was its queen.
I spotted her ahead, seated in her private box like a spider in the centre of her web. It was glass-walled, elevated just high enough to keep her safe from the chaos, but close enough to watch every drop of blood spilled for her entertainment.
Two bodyguards flanked her—hulking, still, and dangerous.
At the door stood another man I recognized—Felix. He looked older than I remembered, more lined around the eyes, but just as sharp. He clocked me instantly and held up a hand to stop me.
“Wait here,” he said.
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Felix leaned in through the sliding door to inform her of my arrival.
And I stood there in the heat and noise, shadow-wrapped and still, waiting to be summoned into the lion’s den.
The door slid open with a low hiss.
Felix stepped aside. “She’ll see you now.”
I walked in without hesitation.
Mother Ashford’s private box was everything I remembered—lavish in a way that made your skin crawl. Velvet-lined walls. Gold trim flaking at the edges. A table of untouched delicacies laid out like a banquet for a corpse. And at the centre of it all, in a high-backed chair like a throne, sat Mother.
She didn’t rise. She never did.
Instead, she sat perfectly poised, legs crossed, one gloved hand wrapped around a crystal glass half-full of dark wine. Her other hand toyed with the edge of a letter opener—gleaming silver, razor sharp.
“Elira,” she said, her voice smooth as silk over broken glass. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”
