But she just stands there.
Watching.
Silent.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then she steps into the room, her steps slower than usual, deliberate. Her gaze doesn’t sweep over the others. Doesn’t bark for attention.
It’s all trained on me.
"You’re pathetic," she says, voice low and biting.
I lift my chin. Force my spine straight even though every cell in my body is screaming.
"I’m still standing," I rasp.
Something flickers in her eyes.
Not pity.
Not anger.
Something heavier. More dangerous.
Recognition.
Silpha exhales through her nose, like the weight of the whole Spine just settled on her narrow shoulders.
"You think you’re special because you’re stubborn?" she says, but her tone’s off. Like she’s not aiming at me anymore. Like she’s aiming at herself.
I don't answer.
I don't need to.
She knows.
Silpha glances around the cellblock, eyes narrowing at the filth, the stink, the hopeless faces turned away from us.
She shifts her weight. Arms tight around herself now, like she's holding something in.
"I used to be like you," she says, voice flat. "Before Petru."
The confession drops between us, heavy as a hammer.
I blink, unsure if I heard right.
She laughs—sharp, humorless. Like glass breaking.
"Didn’t matter how smart I was. How fast I learned. Petru decided what I was worth." Her jaw tightens. "Just like he decided for you."
"You chose to stay," I whisper, the words scraping out before I can swallow them.
She snaps her eyes back to me, and for a second, I think she’s gonna hit me.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, her face crumples—only for a blink, just a crack—and then she locks it back down so tight you’d think it never happened.
