Page 11 of The Survivors (The Children of the Sun God #4)

Ciara

“I tell him nothing. Nothing. Until…”

A sound catches my attention, and I jerk my head toward it. My neck, stiff from hours—maybe days—of being chained to this wall aches from the sudden motion. Time has become incomprehensible. Each moment bleeds into the next like an endless, suffocating fog. My wrists are raw, and the skin beneath the iron manacles torn and bloodied.

In desperation, I cast a spell earlier, murmuring the incantation through dry, cracked lips. The pain I felt when I put the cuffs on told me the truth, but I refused to accept immediate defeat. I still had to try. Yet, the chains held fast. Their cold bite a cruel mockery of my efforts. There’s only one explanation for my failure.

Dark magic.

Ioannis. His descent into this abyss was inevitable. Perhaps Persephone’s response to my vision, her righteous anger, had triggered him. Or perhaps something else entirely had tainted his heart. Either way, the Ioannis I once knew—if I ever truly knew him—is gone.

I shift against the wall, trying to find relief from the relentless itch of poison ivy. The rash has spread. Angry welts twist along my arms and legs. The venom drips from my skin, pooling where I’ve rubbed against the rough stone or scraped with my feet in a futile attempt to ease the discomfort. Even where I’ve clawed the rash until the skin broke, the pain persists. A constant reminder of my helplessness.

The soft noise of approaching footsteps sends a jolt of adrenaline through me.

“Are you ready to tell me where she is?” Ioannis’ voice slices through the oppressive darkness, calm and cutting.

He doesn’t need light to see me; I know that much. “You could at least bring a lantern,” I snap, unable to help myself.

There’s a pause, then a soft chuckle that feels like shattered glass against my ears.

“Do you plan to feed me?” My voice is hoarse, and every word scrapes against the rawness of my throat. “Water, at least? I won’t last more than three days without it.”

“If you don’t tell me what I want to know,” he says smoothly, “and you survive our plans for three days, then I’ll consider water.”

Our plans .

I seize on his choice of words. “Our?”

A sharp crack fills the air, followed by the hiss of a match striking to life. The sudden flare of light stings my eyes, and I wince, turning my head away instinctively. When I look back, the dim glow of a torch illuminates the room, banishing the oppressive darkness and replacing it with something far more sinister.

Ioannis steps forward, torch in hand. The light shines on the faces of his companions. A man and a woman stand just behind him.

The man is tall with a lean, sharp-featured face and an expression of cold indifference. His presence is unsettling, like a predator biding its time.

But it’s the woman who draws my attention.

Her eyes meet mine, and I’m struck by the sheer depth of hatred burning in her gaze. It’s visceral, scorching, as though my very existence is an affront to her. Her lips curl into a sneer while Ioannis raises the torch to a sconce above my head, fitting it into place.

Sparks fly from the flames, searing my exposed skin. I clench my teeth, refusing to cry out. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“You must be the one I can thank for these chains,” I rasp.

The woman steps forward with deliberate, predatory movements. She doesn’t flinch under my defiance; instead, she seems to revel in it, as though my suffering is a prize she’s earned .

“It’s not the only thing you will thank me for,” she says coldly and dripping with malice.

Her words are a promise—a dark, unspoken threat filling the air between us.

I straighten as much as my restraints allow, meeting her gaze head-on. My body screams for relief, but I force myself to stand against the reality of their cruelty. “You think you can break me?”

The unknown man lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, it’s not about breaking you,” he says smoothly. His voice laced with condescension. “It’s about making you wish you’d broken sooner.”

Ioannis remains silent with a faint, satisfied smirk. The torchlight flickers across his face, highlighting the dark circles beneath his eyes and the sharp angles of his features.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of handling,” I say more defiantly than truthfully.

The woman crouches in front of me with her face inches from mine. Her fingers, adorned with rings that glint in the firelight, reach out to trail across the welts on my arm. I flinch, but she doesn’t pull back.

“Oh, we know exactly what we’re dealing with,” she murmurs. Her voice low but no less venomous. “The question is, do you?”

The torch crackles above us. Its light highlights the three as if they were grotesque spectrals.

I swallow hard, the taste of fear bitter in my mouth. For the first time since this nightmare began, a sliver of doubt creeps into my mind.

What if they truly have the power to break me? My only consolation—I don’t have the answers they seek.