Page 23

CHAPTER 23

S he lay on the bed-thing, staring at the unbroken stretch of metal ceiling above her.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. No hum of traffic. No soft rustle of trees outside a window. Just silence and the occasional low pulse of the ship’s systems—a mechanical heartbeat she couldn’t decipher.

The dress the alien had given her clung to her like a second skin. Too soft, too warm, too damn comfortable —which only made her angrier. She hated how good it felt against her skin. Hated that it didn’t scratch or constrict or suffocate. It moved when she moved. Shifted like liquid.

She wanted to tear it off just to feel like she had a choice.

The walls were seamless. No door handle, no control panel she could see. No windows. Just smooth curves and pale lighting, like the inside of some quiet, endless machine.

She was alone.

Locked away like a possession.

Owned.

Her stomach turned at the thought of him—that towering, armored figure who radiated danger and control without speaking a single word. He hadn’t hit her. Hadn’t even raised a hand. And compared to the other creatures—the ones who’d ripped her from Earth, who’d pawed at her, appraised her, auctioned her—he’d treated her well.

But that didn’t mean he saw her as equal .

Not even close.

No attempt to communicate. No gesture of understanding. Just silent commands and that terrifying stare behind his helm. He wanted obedience, nothing more. Just another object to carry out his will.

Sylvia clenched her fists against the bed. Anger pulsed under her skin, stronger than fear now.

Fine. You want a fight? You’ll get one.

She wouldn’t let this break her.

She would adapt. Learn. Endure. That’s what she’d always done. She was pragmatic. Rational. Grounded. Even if her world had cracked in half and spilled her into the stars, she could survive this.

There are aliens. Whole civilizations. It's all real.

It still felt impossible. But it was happening.

She would need to find a way to communicate. To show him she was more than just a body. More than something to be fed and dressed and controlled.

She would change the game.

Somehow.

She was just beginning to feel the first flicker of determination reassemble itself in her chest when the ship shuddered.

The bed beneath her vibrated. The floor lurched. A deep, groaning sound echoed through the walls like something ancient being torn apart.

She sat up— “What the ? —”

The ship jerked , hard.

Then—

The bed came to life.

Seamless restraints emerged from the frame, wrapping around her wrists, her ankles, her waist. Smooth and silent. Alien tech. No sharp edges. No locks she could see.

Just grip .

Firm. Absolute.

She screamed. “ Hey! No—no, no, no! Let me go! What the hell is this?*”

No answer.

The restraints held her tight.

Not painfully—but completely. She couldn’t even twist her wrists.

Was this him? Did he do this?

But no—he hadn’t appeared. No masked figure. No silent motion through the door. She was alone.

Then why the restraints?

The ship groaned again. Somewhere above, something boomed . A distant impact. Metal rang with the sound of stress—of shields failing, maybe.

“ Oh god— ” She thrashed, panic slicing through her thoughts. “ Is this how I die? ”

No one answered.

She was alone. Strapped to an alien bed. No idea what was happening. No idea if the ship was going to rip apart. No idea if that monstrous, armored brute even knew she was restrained like this.

She’d been angry.

Now, she was terrified.

She pulled against the restraints—futile, desperate.

Her voice cracked as she cried out again, “ Please… someone… ”

But there was no one.

Just the tremble of the ship.

And the sickening knowledge that she had no control at all.