Page 9

KELLI

M orning comes heavy and mean.

I don’t sleep anymore. I just drift in and out of fever dreams, floating somewhere between pain and cold reality.

My stomach knots before I even sit up. Sweat slicks my forehead. I swallow hard, breathing through my nose like it’ll help.

It doesn’t.

The nausea surges so fast I barely make it to the rusted drain in the corner before I’m heaving everything I don’t have onto the cracked tile.

The sound echoes. Loud. Ugly.

Someone curses from the other side of the bunk rows. A few muttered insults. No one moves to help.

I don’t blame them.

I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my uniform and sit back on my heels, shaking.

The world spins.

Through the dizzy haze, I catch movement at the doorway.

Silpha.

Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Boots gleaming even in this pit.

I brace for it—a slap, a barked order, another humiliation to layer onto the growing pile.

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.

"You think there’s a choice?" she snarls. "You survive, or you die."

I drag myself to my feet, dizzy and shaking but upright.

"I’m surviving," I say, voice steady even if my knees wobble.

"At what cost?" she spits.

Her words are a slap, but they’re not cruel. They’re raw.

Bitter.

Like she’s talking to herself more than me.

A long silence stretches.

Silpha’s hands tighten at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

Quieter, "It never leaves you, you know. The shame."

I meet her eyes.

For the first time, she doesn’t look like Petru’s iron lieutenant.

She looks like a prisoner.

Just like me.

The nausea claws up again, but I swallow it back.

"I’m not ashamed," I say, even if my voice cracks. "I’m still fighting."

Her mouth twists like she wants to call me a liar.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she turns sharply on her heel and strides out of the cell, the door slamming behind her like a gunshot.

I slump against the wall, sliding down until I’m crouched on the floor, every muscle trembling.

But inside?

Inside there’s a small, stubborn spark lighting up again.

Because I saw it.

Silpha looked at me—and didn’t see a pawn.

She saw herself.

And that’s a crack I can work with.

One breath at a time.

One heartbeat at a time.

I'm not done yet.

Not by a long damn shot.

The next night, everything changes.

It happens fast. Quiet.

I'm half-asleep, curled into the thinnest shape I can manage on the filthy bunk, when I hear it—soft steps. No boots. No shouting.

Just a figure slipping through the dark like a ghost.

Silpha.

She taps my shoulder once, hard and fast.

"Move," she mutters.

For a heartbeat, I think I’m dreaming. Fevered. Hallucinating.

But then her fingers dig into my arm, urgent.

"I said move, girl."

I stumble to my feet, heart hammering.

No one else stirs. No alarms blare. Somehow, she’s made it so the guards don’t see. Or maybe they’ve been paid off. Or threatened. I don’t know.

I don’t ask.

Silpha presses a finger to her lips, signaling silence.

Then she pulls me along through the dark corridors, through winding maintenance tunnels that smell like rust and old water. Every few feet, she glances over her shoulder, tension locked tight in every line of her body.

I don't speak. Don't dare.

We pass through old service doors, ones I didn't even know existed. Down past kitchens, past storage rooms, deeper into the guts of the Spine.

We reach a small, forgotten maintenance chamber.

The walls are cracked. The air’s damp. But it’s dry. Hidden. Empty.

Safe.

Silpha shoves me inside.

"This is where you stay now," she says, voice sharp. "At least until I figure something better out."

I blink at her, still shivering, still waiting for the catch.

"Why?" I rasp.

She looks away, jaw tight.

"Because you’re carrying something bigger than you understand," she says. "And because... I’m tired of watching Petru destroy everything he touches."

Her voice breaks a little on the last word. Just a hairline fracture, but it's there.

She tosses a bundle onto the floor—blankets, two protein packs, a battered canteen of water.

It looks like nothing.

It feels like salvation.

"Eat," she snaps. "Drink. Rest."

I nod, throat thick with something I can't name.

Gratitude.

Fear.

Hope.

All tangled up so tight I can barely breathe.

Before she leaves, she pauses in the doorway.

"You tell no one," she says. "Not a word. Not a whisper."

I meet her eyes, fierce and sure even as my body shakes.

"I won’t."

She studies me a second longer, something unreadable flashing across her face.

Then she slips away into the dark.

I’m alone.

But not abandoned.

And maybe that spark in my chest isn’t so small after all.