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Chapter Four

A ries

The holding cell’s bars press in close, reminding me of another cell from annums ago. At least this time I’m alone. No one else will suffer for my mistakes.

Footsteps echo down the corridor—three sets, one hesitant, one determined, and the solid step of the guard. They stop outside my cell. The energy barrier shimmers, distorting the figures beyond it until the guard adjusts the visual settings.

Callie.

She looks smaller than I remember, though it’s only been a day since I last carefully avoided her in the dining hall. Petra hovers protectively behind her, pink and blue hair creating a sharp contrast against the metallic bars.

“Ten standard minutes,” the guard announces, adjusting the barrier to allow sound while maintaining containment.

My throat tightens. This isn’t part of the usual routine—our elaborate dance of avoidance perfected over five annums . She shouldn’t be here. Doesn’t need to see this. My time is almost up.

“You should not have come. I told the attorney this.” The words scrape out formal and rough.

Behind the familiar barriers I’ve built, something cracks at the sight of her—my careful walls threatening to crumble when I need them most. She represents everything I don’t deserve, everything I’ve spent years convincing myself I can’t have.

When was the last time I spoke directly to her? That night in the cell, when I made my choice to protect her the only way I knew how—by becoming someone she couldn’t possibly want?

“Strange.” Her voice softens, a blend of disbelief and sorrow threading through it. “After all this time keeping our distance, I never imagined I’d be standing here, watching you face death for a past you’ve never spoken of.”

A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. This was always coming. It just took longer than expected.

“We found a way out.” She steps closer to the barrier, close enough that I can see the subtle trembling in her hands. “A legal way.”

“Callie…” Petra starts, but Callie cuts her off with a sharp gesture.

“There’s an old religious law on this planet.

It’s so strong it overrides extradition to other planets.

It’s called the Redemption Rites. A death sentence can be commuted through marriage to a galactic citizen of good standing.

” The words tumble out fast, like she’s afraid she’ll lose her nerve if she slows down.

“Three months of supervised trials to prove the relationship is genuine. If we pass—”

“No!” I thunder, as though I have the right to give her an order. The thought of trapping her in another cell, forcing her into another unwanted bond… “Absolutely not. When the attorney explained this, I told him to tell you not to come.”

“It’s not your decision.”

“No one else carries this but me!” Rising from the narrow bunk, I force myself to meet her eyes for the first time in annums . They’re still that impossible shade of green that haunted my dreams after we were separated. “You don’t owe me anything, Callie. Especially not this.”

“This isn’t about owing anyone anything.” Her chin lifts in that stubborn way I remember from before—before everything went wrong. “This is about not letting one of our crew die when there’s another option.”

“An option that traps you for three months with someone you can barely stand to be in the same room with?” The words taste like acid. “I won’t do that to you. Not again.”

Her sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve hit a nerve. Good. Better she hate me than suffer through three months of forced proximity. Besides, whatever these Redemption Rites are looking for, I won’t pass. I am not redeemable.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me.” Her voice drops lower, meant for my ears alone. “Not this time.”

The echo of our shared past hangs between us. All the choices I made, thinking I was protecting her. All the walls I built, thinking they would keep her safe.

“The trials aren’t easy,” I try again. “The attorney just came in and explained them. If we fail—”

“Then you die anyway.” She presses her palm against the barrier, sending ripples through the energy field. “But if we succeed, you live. Isn’t that worth trying?”

“Not at the cost of your freedom. I’ve done enough damage.” My hands clench at my sides, fighting the urge to mirror her gesture, though flesh cannot touch through the protective barrier.

“The person I killed—” My voice cracks. “You don’t know what happened.”

“No, I don’t. Because you’ve never told anyone.” Her eyes search mine. “But I know you. Five years fighting beside you, watching you train younger gladiators, seeing how you protect the crew even while keeping your distance. Whatever happened, whatever you did… you’re not the same person anymore.”

“Callie.” My voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this. I did the deed. I will pay the price. You should remain an innocent bystander and not get caught up in my mistakes.”

“Give me a better reason than ‘I’m not worth it’ and I’ll walk away right now.

” The challenge in her voice cuts through my defenses.

“Tell me you truly don’t want to live. Tell me you deserve to die for whatever happened.

No! Don’t just tell me, Aries.” I believe this is the first time she’s said my name in five annums . “Make me believe it.”

The words stick in my throat. Because the truth is, I don’t want to die.

Not anymore. Not since finding a place among this makeshift family of former slaves and gladiators.

Not since watching Callie build a life for herself despite everything that happened in that cell.

Not since I’ve dreamed of her at night while avoiding her during the day—for annums .

“Time’s up.” The guard’s voice startles us both.

“The attorney needs an answer soon,” Callie says quickly. “We’ve asked him to draw up the forms. Just… think about it? Please?”

I watch her walk away, Petra’s arm around her shoulders. The cell feels colder somehow, emptier. My reflection stares back from the barrier’s surface—a blurry killer who ran from justice, a slave who fought for freedom, a coward who pushed away the one person who might have understood.

The worst part is, she’s right. I don’t want to die. But the thought of spending three months trying to convince everyone—including ourselves—that there could be something real between us…

The memory of that cell rises unbidden. The way she looked at me before I made my choice. The trust I betrayed, thinking I was protecting her. The walls I built that somehow became a prison for us both .

Three months to either fix what I broke or lose everything.

Maybe that’s exactly what I deserve.