They didn't leave us in the cells for long.
I'd barely had time to assess my injuries—the gash across my shoulder, the bruised ribs, the throbbing ache in my skull—when the guards returned. They hauled me from the cell without a word, their grips bruising as they dragged me down the narrow corridor.
Down the bond, I felt Cullen's surge of alarm. His heartbeat spiked, matching the sudden acceleration of my own. They were taking him too.
The holding chamber was deep in the shuttle's belly, a place designed for one purpose: extracting information through pain.
The walls were bare metal, cold and unforgiving, lined with restraint systems and monitoring equipment. Overhead lights cast harsh white illumination across every surface, leaving no shadows to hide in. In the center of the room stood two chairs—heavy, reinforced, equipped with magnetic restraints at the wrists, ankles, and throat. Medical monitors flanked each chair, their screens dark but ready.
Waiting.
They forced me into the left chair. The restraints activated with a hum, magnetic fields locking around my limbs. I couldn't move. Couldn't even shift my weight. The collar aroundmy throat made breathing difficult, each inhale a conscious effort.
Across from me, they secured Cullen in the second chair.
His face was a mess—one eye swollen nearly shut, blood crusting his split lip, bruises blooming across his jaw. But his gaze found mine immediately, and I saw the same defiance there that I felt burning in my own chest.
We're not done yet.
The guards activated the medical monitors. Sensors attached to our skin, measuring heart rate, blood pressure, neural activity. The screens flickered to life, displaying our vital signs in cold, clinical detail.
And that's when I heard it.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Two heartbeats, perfectly synchronized, displayed on the monitors for anyone to see.
My blood turned to ice.
Riuondo entered the chamber with the casual confidence of a predator who knew his prey was trapped. He'd changed from his combat gear into something more formal—a dark uniform that bore the insignia of a Romvesian general, though he had no right to wear it anymore. His gaze swept over us, lingering on the monitors.
Then he smiled.
"Well, well," he said softly, moving closer to study the readouts. "This is... unexpected."
He tapped one of the screens, watching the twin pulses rise and fall in perfect unison. His smile widened.
"True mates." The words dripped with mockery and something darker—satisfaction. "The great Lady Prime has found her true mate. And it's ahuman." He laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. "A disgusting human lover. How... poetic."
I said nothing. Just stared at him defiantly.
"Do you know what this means?" Riuondo circled us slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. "It means I have leverage. Perfect, beautiful leverage." He stopped in front of Cullen, studying him like a specimen. "Tell me, human—do you understand what a true mate bond entails? The connection?"
Cullen's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer.
"No?" Riuondo's smile turned vicious. "Allow me to educate you."
He moved to a control panel on the wall and activated something. A device descended from the ceiling—sleek, mechanical, bristling with neural probes and energy emitters. It positioned itself behind Cullen's chair, humming with barely contained power.
My heart rate spiked. The monitors betrayed my fear, and Riuondo noticed.
"Ah, there it is." He turned to me, his expression almost gleeful. "You know what this is, don't you, Lady Prime? A neural stimulator. Designed to inflict maximum pain without causing permanent damage. Very useful for interrogations." He paused. "Or demonstrations."
"Don't." The word came out hoarse. "Whatever you want, I'll—"
"What I want," Riuondo interrupted, "is very simple. I want you to abdicate. Willingly. Publicly. You will announce to the Alliance Council that you are stepping down as Prime, and you will name me as your successor."
"The Council will never accept—"
