Sara-fin's steps echoed as the guards led her through a polished, fancy lobby. Her anxiety climbed with every step, her mind racing to figure out what this was all about. The walls were clean and shiny, adorned with framed paintings of landscapes she couldn't place. This was far from the dark, damp cell she'd been thrown into since her capture, and the sudden change in scenery put her on edge.
She didn't know where they were taking her, but she braced herself for the worst.
At the end of the lobby, the guards pushed open a heavy set of doors. Inside was a dining room, luxurious and extravagant, unlike anything Sara-fin had ever seen in her life. A long table stretched across the room, piled with plates of food that filled the air with an enticing aroma. It smelled of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and warm spices, all of which only made her stomach churn with suspicion.
Sitting at the head of the table was a young boy. He couldn't have been older than seven, his legs dangling slightly from the chair as he watched her enter. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his sharp, observant eyes followed her every move.
The guards gestured for her to sit, but she stayed standing, glaring at the boy and the feast before her. The boy tilted his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
"Please, sit," he said, his voice calm and polite, though there was something unnervingly confident about him.
Sara-fin stayed rooted for a moment, her eyes darting between the boy and the guards who loomed behind her. She didn't trust this for a second, but refusing wouldn't do her any favors. Reluctantly, she sat down at the other end of the table, her body stiff, her senses alert.
"You must be hungry," the boy said, gesturing toward the food. "Eat something."
Her stomach growled at the sight of the food, but she didn't reach for it right away. Her instincts screamed at her to stay cautious. "What is this?" she demanded. "Why am I here?"
The boy ignored her question, his amused smile unfaltering. He gestured again toward the spread. "Eat," he insisted.
Sara-fin's hesitation stretched for several moments. The hunger clawing at her insides finally won. She picked up a piece of bread, tearing into it cautiously. Her movements were slow and deliberate, her sharp eyes fixed on the boy.
Satisfied that she was eating, the boy leaned back in his chair. "I am Shaun," he said finally, his tone steady. "Son of Lord Dominic."
The bread nearly stuck in her throat. She coughed slightly, her hand instinctively twitching toward the knife beside her plate. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped it, her mind briefly entertaining the thought of driving it into his throat. But she stopped herself. Killing him here would do her no good not with the guards standing just outside the door.
Her voice was sharp, barely concealing the rage bubbling beneath the surface. "What do you want from me?"
Shaun's expression didn't change, his calm demeanor unwavering. "I just want to help."
Sara-fin scoffed, leaning forward slightly. "Help?" she repeated bitterly. "Then get me out of here."
The boy's lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes almost pitying. "I can't do that," he said simply. "But I can make your stay here... more comfortable."
Her suspicion deepened. "Why? What's your aim?"
Shaun shrugged lightly. "No aim. You're not like the others. You're... different. And besides, this isn't personal. None of it is."
His words hit a nerve. Sara-fin's jaw clenched, and her grip on the knife tightened. She couldn't decide whether the boy's calm, detached attitude made him a harmless child or a calculating threat.
"Fine," she muttered after a long pause. "Make me comfortable. Let's see what that means to you."
Shaun smiled again, this time standing from his chair. "Come with me."
Sara-fin hesitated but eventually pushed herself to her feet, her eyes never leaving him. The guards flanked her once more as Shaun led her out of the dining room and into another hallway.
The corridor was just as extravagant as the dining area, with polished floors and intricate light fixtures overhead. They passed several doors, all heavily guarded, before Shaun stopped in front of one near the end of the hall.
"This will be your room," he said simply, gesturing for one of the guards to unlock the door.
When the door swung open, Sara-fin froze. The room inside was nothing like the cold, empty cell she'd been kept in. It was spacious and decorated with luxury plush rugs, silk curtains, and a bed that looked impossibly soft. A large window overlooked the Ministry's courtyard, where she could see soldiers gathering in neat rows, their movements precise and disciplined.
Her eyes flicked back to Shaun, her suspicion mounting. "What's the point of this?" she asked.
He turned to her, his expression neutral. "You'll stay here from now on. It's better than a cell, isn't it?"
Sara-fin stepped cautiously into the room, her mind racing. The bed, the furniture, the view it all felt surreal. For someone who had spent her life in the rugged conditions of rebel camps, this level of comfort was alien. She felt a pang of unease, as though the room itself was trying to trap her in a false sense of security.
Shaun lingered at the doorway, watching her with the same unnerving calm. "Don't try to escape," he said softly. "It won't end well for you."
With that, he stepped out, and the door closed behind him with a heavy thud.
For a moment, Sara-fin stood in the center of the room, her eyes darting around. The room was beautiful, yes, but it wasn't freedom. She walked to the window, resting her hands on the sill as she gazed out at the courtyard below.
She spotted Lord Phil barking orders to a group of soldiers, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight. The sight made her stomach churn, a stark reminder of everything she had lost her father, her brother, the rebels. And Wilson.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The anger and grief bubbled to the surface, threatening to consume her. She had lived her entire life fighting for survival, and now she was trapped in the heart of her enemy's stronghold, surrounded by luxury that felt more like a mockery of her existence.
Finally, she stepped away from the window and sat on the edge of the bed. The soft fabric beneath her hands felt foreign, almost wrong. She lay back slowly, staring up at the ornate ceiling as her mind raced.
The weight of everything pressed down on her like a crushing force. She had no idea what Shaun's true intentions were, what game Lord Dominic was playing, or whether her father and the rebels even knew where she was. For now, all she could do was wait and try to keep her resolve intact.