Page 21 of Glutton for Punishment

Arwen

Aloud click snaps through the darkness as the heavy steel door wrenches open. It’s the first sound I’ve heard in twenty-four hours.

Light slams into my eyes, burning my retinas. I hiss and turn my face away as spots burst across my vision, my head pounding as sensation crashes back all at once. For a second, my body forgets how to exist in anything other than nothing.

I’ve spent the last day in Greed’s idea of a sensory deprivation cell.

Greed’s form of torture is… Honestly?

Fucking hilarious.

Sure, it’s boring. Mind-numbing, even. And I would have committed minor crimes for a sip of water. But as far as torture goes, this is laughable. Cushy. Soft. Typical Greed—obsessed with psychological theatrics and utterly allergic to real suffering. Wrath would’ve broken bones by now.

The worst part wasn’t even the silence or the dark. It was the lack of a toilet.

I held it as long as I could, out of sheer stubbornness, until biology staged a coup. When I gave in, I walked as far away from where I’d been sitting as possible and did my business like an animal. Unapologetic.

I wonder who has to clean it up…

I hope it’s Doctor Plinth.

A smile blooms on my face at the thought. Universe; that alone makes the entire experience worth it.

Hands grab my arms, hauling me upright before my legs remember how to work. The room tilts, my vision swimming in nauseating circles as two guards lock their grip, metal gauntlets biting into my skin. I let my weight hang between them, conserving what little strength I have left.

My gaze goes straight to the wall of monitors, scanning frantically until it lands on his cell. My breath catches. He’s there—alive, no visible blood, no guards crowding him. But he’s sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the weight of this entire damn facility. The tightness in my chest eases just enough to let me breathe again, even as something else twists deeper.

He doesn’t look great.

He’s sitting on the floor, back against the bars, head buried in his hands. His shoulders are pulled tight like he’s holding himself together through sheer will.

The sight hits harder than any punishment. More than the deprivation, the hunger, the drugs, or the waiting. Knowing he’s trapped there, powerless, imagining everything they might have done to me these past 24 hours. I’m sure they haven’t been giving him regular updates on my health.

I don’t know when I stopped despising Atticus Willshire. Somewhere along the way, hatred softened into tolerance, and tolerance slipped into something more dangerous.

I care about Atticus Willshire and his safety.

He stood up for me in front of the entire council. Claimed me as his bond without hesitation, knowing what it would cost him. He tried to use his power for me against his own father, and when that still wasn’t enough; he followed me into what was supposed to be my exile.

Atticus has completely altered his life. For me. No one would do that without a reason.

And yet… trust still doesn’t come easily. Not after a year of cruelty. Not after understanding precisely the sting of a bond being weaponized. And especially not after Ryker. But whatever is growing in the cracks of my defenses — I can’t ignore it.

Dr. Plinth performs the same ritual as yesterday once the guards shove me into his hands. The same clipped instructions. The same cold appraisal, like he’s checking the integrity of a tool instead of a person.

Councilor Blaise doesn’t even bother to show up.

That tells me everything I need to know. They already expect me to fail.

I stand in the center of the marked circle again and reach inward. I search for that familiar burn, that violent swell — and find nothing but hollow space. Smoke where fire should be.

Plinth watches without comment as the seconds stretch and snap. When it’s clear nothing is coming, he speaks, voice calm.

“Councilor Blaise anticipated this outcome.”

Of course he did.

He adjusts his glasses, an excited gleam in his eyes.