The van hit a pothole hard enough to make my teeth rattle. I didn't flinch, didn't move. Just stared ahead, hands clenched in my lap as the forest blurred by. Another mile down, maybe ten more to go. Maybe twenty. Maybe I didn't care anymore.
Nine was in the back. In a crate. Bent in on himself, probably shivering, or asleep, or quietly suffering, and there was nothing I could do. Not without tipping the balance. Not without risking everything.
You're going to break your teeth if you keep clenching like that, Nyx muttered.
Then let them break, I answered, too tired to hide the bitterness.
She growled. You're angry at the wrong person.
I know.
I knew exactly who deserved my rage, and he was sitting in his office, probably already preparing his reports for the Supreme Leader. Or maybe he was laughing, remembering the way Nine whimpered under his boot.
I shut my eyes, breathed in slowly. The stench of the transport was thick—hybrid musk, sweat, metal, piss. But underneath it all, I still caught it—his scent. Nine's scent. Faint. Fainter than it should've been.
He'll make it, Nyx whispered, quieter this time. He has to.
I wanted to believe that. I did.
But I kept seeing the way he'd been yanked around like a ragdoll. How they'd dragged him out of his cell like he wasn't even a person. How he hadn't made a sound—just stared at me like I was the last thing anchoring him to this world. And maybe I was.
The image of the crate being loaded stayed burned in my skull. The worker had kicked it, hard, just before locking the latch.
"For good measure," he'd laughed.
I hadn't laughed.
Nine hadn't looked at anyone else. Only me. Even with the metal bars cutting into his skin. Even with the too-small space that didn't let him stretch his legs. Even then, he hadn't blamed me.
That was the worst part.
We'll get through this, I told myself. Told him. Told Nyx. Somehow.
Nyx didn't say anything. But I felt her shift inside me, coil tighter like a spring wound too far.
The driver turned the radio on. Static first. Then music. Something upbeat. Inappropriate.
I stared out again as the trees thinned.
And then—there it was.
In the distance, looming like a dream and a threat all at once: the Supreme Leader's compound. Not a palace, not a fortress—no, it looked like some sleek, sterile complex with towers and mirrored windows, built into the hills like it had grown there naturally.
My stomach twisted.
Because I knew. I knew Nine would be delivered to one of those upper floors. Groomed. Displayed. Gifted.
I couldn't stop any of it.
But I could still try to hold on.
You'll keep your promise, Nyx said softly. You always do.
I didn't answer. I just kept staring as we drew closer, my heart thudding out the slow rhythm of dread.