She stops at the door.
“A few days,” she says, too quickly. “Petru’s been planning something. Trying to impress him.”
“Do I even get a say?”
Silpha doesn’t turn around. “You never have.”
She leaves.
I stare at the silver dress. Shiny, cheap, thin enough to dissolve in moonlight.
So this is it.
Not a parade. Not another smug show of control. This time, he’s done waiting. Petru’s ready to cash in.
I press my hands to my face. It’s shaking. My whole body’s shaking.
I always knew this day would come. I just didn’t think it’d feel like this.
Not rage. Not even fear.
Just a hollow space. Like something inside me just stepped out.
I stand up and pick up the dress. It slinks through my fingers like a lie.
I get ready slowly. Every movement mechanical. Hair brushed, face rinsed. The dress clings in all the wrong places. I don’t look in the mirror. I don’t need to see the mask Petru likes best.
But as I sit back down on the cot, waiting for the guard who’ll escort me wherever I’m supposed to go, something sparks. Small. Stupid. Defiant.
If Petru’s really handing me over to some mercenary—someone new, someone who’s never been part of this sick little fantasy—then maybe this is my chance.
Maybe if I’m not “pure” anymore, he’ll get bored. Toss me out. Sell me off. Let me rot with the others. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll find a crack big enough to slip through.
I can’t fight my way out. I know that.
But maybe I can ruin what he values.
I’ve never had a weapon before. But maybe this body—this stupid, polished, untouched thing—is a weapon.
And tonight, I get to aim it.
The guards come right on cue. Two Kiphians, bulky and grim. One gestures with a nod. “You know where to go.”
Yeah. I know.
I follow in silence.
The halls are humming louder tonight. Music from below, the scent of alcohol and perfume curling through the vents. The party’s already started.
They lead me through back corridors, then up a private stairwell. Higher than I’ve been before. I feel every step in my bones. Every inch of carpet under my bare feet.
They stop outside a velvet-draped door.
One guard knocks. The other mutters something into a commlink.
A moment later, the door hisses open.
“Go,” one says.