Aidi barely had time to prepare herself when the cold steel of the knife touched her skin. It wasn't enough to draw blood yet, but the pressure was there—sharpened, calculated. The guard hovered above her, waiting for her to show any sign of weakness. But Aidi's mind was sharp, despite the fog that still clouded her senses from the earlier shock. She could feel every fiber of her being screaming for her to give in, but she refused. She would not give him the satisfaction.
Her heart raced, but her breathing remained steady. She could do this. She had to. Every time they thought they had her cornered, she would fight back. That was the only thing left—her will to endure.
Hetri watched from a distance, arms folded, his eyes calculating as though he were observing an experiment. The silence in the room was suffocating, thick with anticipation, but Aidi refused to show fear. Not yet.
"You're tougher than I thought," Hetri muttered under his breath. "But everyone has a breaking point."
Aidi's skin burned from where the knife's cold tip pressed against her, and for a moment, she thought she might feel the sting of it. The sharp edge. But she steadied her breath, focused on holding onto that tiny ember of resistance that still flickered in her chest.
The guard applied more pressure. "We're not playing games here," he said with a sneer, his voice low. "You can make this easy or you can make this hell. It's your choice."
Aidi's heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, her body tensed. The thought of pain—the real pain—flashed in her mind. But no. She wouldn't give in. She wouldn't let him see her break.
She gathered every ounce of defiance she had left and whispered, "Do your worst."
The guard's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move to cut her. For a moment, the tension in the room grew even thicker. Hetri seemed to be waiting for something. As if he were waiting for her to crack, for the slightest sign that she was done.
Aidi stayed still, focused. She couldn't think about what might happen next. She had to survive.
But her mind flickered to a memory. A quiet moment from before everything changed. Her mother's voice, soft but stern, telling her to never give up. To always fight for her freedom, no matter what the cost.
Aidi had always thought that kind of resilience came from a place of strength. But now she understood. It came from a place of absolute refusal to let the world break you. The world could take everything—her comfort, her peace—but it would never take her will.
"I won't break," she said aloud, almost to herself.
Hetri seemed to take note of her words. He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. He didn't say anything at first, just stood there, watching her with cold eyes. Finally, he straightened up and stepped away from her.
"You're a stubborn one," he muttered, almost reluctantly. "I'll give you that."
Aidi didn't speak. She didn't want to waste energy on words. Her body ached from the restraints and the threat of pain still lingered in the air, but she wasn't done yet. She still had a spark left. A chance.
The guard, however, was not done. He stepped closer to her once again, the blade gleaming in the dim light, and for a split second, Aidi felt the tension, the inevitability of what was coming. But she forced herself to remain still, keep her focus. She wouldn't let fear rule her.
But before the guard could move, Hetri waved him off.
"Not today," he said quietly. "We've got other methods for now."
Aidi exhaled, the tightness in her chest relaxing just slightly. The knife was pulled away from her skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she took a breath that didn't feel like a struggle.
Hetri nodded to the guard, who stepped back. "You've earned yourself a bit of a reprieve," he said, his tone cold but strangely satisfied. "But don't think you're getting away that easy. I'm not done with you yet."
With a final glance at Aidi, Hetri turned and walked toward the door. "We'll see how long your resistance lasts," he added, his voice lingering in the silence.
Aidi didn't look at him as he left, her eyes fixed ahead, unblinking. She had avoided pain, for now, but the threat was still there, looming in the shadows.
When the door slammed shut behind them, the room once again fell into silence. But this time, Aidi could breathe a little easier. She hadn't broken. She hadn't given in.
And that, in itself, was a victory.
But the question remained—how much longer could she keep this up? How long could she resist before her will, her body, her mind, finally gave in?
Aidi wasn't sure. But one thing was clear: She wouldn't go down without a fight. Not yet.