~Twelve Lunar Arcs Before~
It's a hell of a way to die.
But you know what? Some people just earn it.
Take this asshole, for example. Big guy. Shoulders like a damn brick wall. Real tough-looking until you snap his jaw and watch him hit the floor just by a skinny girl. He's drooling blood all over the tiles now, wheezing like a punctured bellows. That makes me smile, all sharp and mean, the way you do when you know you've already won.
The tray is still in my hand, dented from where I slammed it into his head. Twice. Felt good. I let it dangle at my side. Around us, the crowd's losing their minds- jeering, cheering, pounding fists on the tables like this is some kind of cage match.
They want more.
I don't.
He's done. Out cold. The fight's over.
I step back, and wipe my face with the back of my hand. There's blood there- some mine, some his, some I don't care to find out. A voice in the back of my head says to keep moving, but another part of me wants to give the crowd something. A little bow, just for kicks. Like I'm the star of this messed up circus act.
I'm halfway through the thought when someone's boot slams into my gut.
I double over, air punching out of my lungs. They don't stop there, of course. Another kick hits the back of my legs, dropping me to my knees. Hands yank my arms behind me, and the cuffs come out. Not the regular ones, either- the Thornes kind. The cuffs bite deep into my skin, little iron fangs drinking every twitch I make. Someone in the high palaces thought of these, no doubt. Someone who never had to wear them.
Yeah, it's perfect to handle the low lives with much darker criminal records.
I'm shoved face-first into the floor. The taste of blood in my mouth, sharp and salty, mixed with the grit of dirt from the ground. Nice touch.
Six months. Six fucking months I've been keeping my head down in this shithole, and now it's all shot to hell because of this bastard. Worth it. Still worth it.
They haul me back to my feet, and for a second the whole room tilts like a ship in a storm. My knees almost give out, but I stay upright. Just barely. Through the haze, I catch sight of Maroon and Axle in the crowd. They're both frozen, staring like I just pulled the pin on a grenade.
Maybe I have. But cowards!
I flash them a grin-bloody and crooked- and watch their eyes go even wider. Not that it matters. They'll keep their heads down, just like always.
"Move it," One of the guards barks. That's Rion. I know him. He is also a big guy. Cocky. The kind of guy who looks at someone bleeding on the ground and thinks, hey, let's make it worse. He grabs my arm and yanks me forward, hard enough to make my shoulder scream.
I stumble, nearly dragging him down with me, which would've been funny if I was not already halfway to blacking out.
"Easy there," I mumble under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't like that- his hand tightens, pressing right over the half-healed burn on my wrist. I wince but don't give him the satisfaction of a sound.
We're going somewhere new this time. Not my usual cell. We're heading down- deeper than I've ever been. Deeper than any of someone similar has ever gone. Each step echoes off the stone walls, and the air grows colder with every second. It smells damp down here, like rust and mold. The kind of place they send you when they don't plan on bringing you back.
Good. Let's see how far they're willing to go.
Rion's grip doesn't loosen the whole way down. I can feel his eyes on me, smug and steady, like he's already imagining how this ends. He's got this stupid little strut to his walk like he thinks he's untouchable. The others are quieter- guards who just follow orders. He's the only one enjoying this.
The hallway ends at a heavy iron door. The warden's already there, fumbling with a ring of keys that looks older than his gramps. He's got this nervous little mustache that twitches every time the keys jingle.
The lock grinds, and the door creaks open. The sound is loud enough to make the ghosts stir- if this place has any, probably does.
"She's the quiet one," The warden mutters glancing back at me.
"Not today," Rion says, his voice full of that smugness I hate. He shoves me forward into the cell, hard enough, blood dripping from my chin onto the floor. The floor is already red though. The cell's dark- except for the flicker of a silver flame in the hallway outside.
I lean on the wall when I hear Rion step in after me. The door slams shut, his massive shadow looming over me. I look up at him pressing my tongue against the cut in my inner cheek.
"Ugh! Look at her eyes..." Warden mumbles but his voice echoes as he backs away. "Careful..."
Rion lets out a small chuckle at him, his eyes never leaving mine. His hand gripping the baton on his belt and he dramatically pulls it out. "Your questioning never happened, right?" He says. "And you demanded one"
I sniffle glancing at the shadows of guards getting longer and longer in the corridor. "Now," Rion pulls his sleeves up. "Let's have one, shall we?"