The space was small. Smaller than I'd expected. The walls seemed to press in from all sides, and for a moment—just a moment—the claustrophobia from the vents surged back.
But this was different.
This wasn't a trap. Wasn't a prison. This was a refuge. A sanctuary. A place Ahrick had built with his own hands so he could escape the suffocation of the city and breathe.
I forced myself to take a slow breath. Then another. The panic eased, replaced by something else. Something warmer.
It was sparse. Utilitarian. A cot in one corner, its thin mattress covered with a faded gray blanket. A small table, rough-hewn and uneven, its surface scarred with knife and burn marks. A few supplies stacked against the wall in neat rows—water containers made of dented metal, sealed ration packs with faded labels, a thick woolen blanket folded precisely into a square.
But it was clean. Organized. Safe.
A cold thought struck me. "Does Persico know about this place?"
Roone glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Many know Ahrick lives in the wastelands," he said carefully. "It's no secret he keeps to himself, that he has places beyond the city walls." He paused, then added with quiet emphasis, "But only a select few know this location. Persico isn't one of them."
Roone's boots thudded against the floor as he crossed to the center of the room. He knelt down and pulled up a section of the floorboards with both hands, revealing a hollow space beneath. "If anyone comes—anyone at all—you hide here. Understand?"
I looked down at the hiding spot, my stomach clenching. It was small. Dark. Cramped. Barely big enough for me to fit, even if I curled myself into a tight ball and held my breath.
But it might save my life.
"I understand," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
Roone replaced the floorboards carefully, making sure they sat flush with the rest of the floor, then stood. He brushed the dust from his knees and looked up at me with those large dark eyes, and for the first time since I'd met him, I saw something like sympathy flickering in his expression.
"Why are you helping us?" I asked, the question tumbling out before I could stop it. "Why risk this? You don't know me. You don't owe me anything."
Roone was quiet for a long moment, his gaze drifting to the window and the darkness beyond. Then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "Seven years ago, Persico's men came for my family. My mate. My younglings. They said we owed money. Said we'd been stealing supplies from the compound, siphoning off credits."
His voice was flat. Emotionless. But I heard the pain beneath it, the raw wound that had never quite healed.
"We hadn't stolen anything. Not a single credit. But it didn't matter. The truth never matters to people like Persico. They were going to kill us anyway. Make an example. Show everyone what happens when you cross them."
"What happened?" I asked softly.
"Ahrick happened." Roone's ears swiveled forward, alert and focused. "He was there that night. Saw what was happening in the street. And he stepped in. He didn't have to. Didn't know us. But he fought Persico and his men anyway, gave Persico the jagged scar across his face he still wears today."
My chest tightened.
"Persico backed down," Roone continued, his voice gaining strength. "Because everyone knows you don't fight a warrior like Ahrick unless you want to die. Ahrick saved us that night. Saved my mate. Saved my younglings from being murdered in the street like animals." He looked up at me, holding my gaze. "I owe him my family's lives. This—getting youto safety, protecting you—it's the least I can do. It doesn't even begin to repay the debt."
I didn't know what to say. Didn't have words for the gratitude and fear and desperate hope churning in my chest like a storm.
"Thank you," I finally managed, my voice thick with emotion.
Roone nodded once, sharp and decisive. "I'm going back now. Going to help Ahrick finish this."
"Be careful," I said, knowing how inadequate the words were.
"Always am." He moved toward the door with quick, purposeful strides, then paused, his hand on the crooked frame. "Three days, lady. He'll come for you in three days. Maybe sooner if things go well."
"I know."
And then he was gone, slipping out into the night like a shadow, silent and swift, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stood alone in the shack, surrounded by Ahrick's sparse belongings, his carefully organized life.
After the chaos of the pits, the screaming crowds, the ventilation system's echoing metal, the crunch of gravel beneath my feet through the wasteland—the sudden absence of sound felt wrong. Disorienting. Like my ears were still ringing from noise that was no longer there.
