Chapter 13 The Woman She Met In Las Vegas
Night in the deeper quarter of Las Vegas didn't soften itself for anyone. The neon that ruled the surface streets above bled downward here in fractured streaks, slipping through narrow grates and broken vents to stain the underground in dull reds and purples. It did not illuminate so much as distort, turning shadows into something heavier, something that lingered too long against the walls.
Monica Club stood above it all like a polished illusion—music, laughter, bodies moving in rhythm—but beneath it, the truth settled into damp concrete and rusted bars.
Skylar had lost track of time.
The poison hadn't fully left her system. It clung stubbornly to her veins, dulling her senses, making every movement feel just slightly delayed. Hunger gnawed at her with a persistence that made her stomach twist painfully, while thirst scraped her throat raw each time she tried to swallow.
She had thought the worst thing that could happen to her was being trapped inside the palace. She had been wrong.
The memory of the driver still sat bitter at the back of her mind, replaying in fragments she wished she could erase. The way he had spoken so casually. The way she had believed him—if not fully, then enough to step inside that car and let it carry her away from Estines.
Skylar curled slightly into herself in the farthest corner of the cell, her back pressed against the cold wall as if she could disappear into it. The concrete beneath her was damp, the chill seeping through her clothes, settling into her bones until she could no longer tell where the cold ended and her own weakness began.
They had stopped trying to persuade her. After she refused. After she made it clear she wouldn’t become a damn prostitute they wanted her to be. They had simply locked her here, an underground prison—Left her with nothing.
No light beyond the faint, flickering glow that barely reached the corner she occupied.
At some point, the tears had stopped coming properly. Now they came in quiet bursts, slipping down her face without warning, leaving behind the dull ache of something she couldnt release fully.
Jesse’s face refused to leave her thoughts; fragile, still—ependent on a treatment she could no longer ensure.
And yet, in the midst of all that fear, something else kept slipping through. The woman who had entered her room when she first arrived here. The one who had spoken gently, as if she didn't belong to a place like this at all. Skylar didn’t know her name. And still— there had been something in the way she looked at her.
A sound broke through the silence. Skylar stiffened slightly, but she didn’t move from her corner. Her body no longer had the strength for sudden reactions, and her mind had grown too tired to expect anything good from the sound.
“Hi, young flower.”
The voice came low and warm, carrying a softness that did not belong in a place like this. It reminded her, strangely, of something vast and distant—like standing at the edge of something deep and endless, where the surface seemed calm but held more beneath it.
Skylar remained where she was, half-curled into the shadow, her eyes barely lifting. The door creaked open, and the woman stepped inside. Skylar recognized her immediately, even through the haze clouding her thoughts.
Without hesitation, the woman closed the door behind her and locked it again—from the inside. The sound echoed faintly in the small space. Skylar didn’t understand why she did that.
The woman moved closer, her steps unhurried, and only then did Skylar notice what she carried. A paper bag, and a bottle of water. The smell reached her before the sight fully registered.
Her stomach reacted instantly, tightening painfully, her body betraying her before her pride could intervene. The woman stopped a short distance away and crouched slightly, holding out the food.
“You look like I’m here to poison you,” she said, a small smile touching her lips.
Skylar’s gaze flicked between the food and the woman’s face. Her voice, when it came, was quiet and flat. “Who knows?”
“I have a habit,” she said lightly. “Every time someone new arrives.”
Skylar’s brows drew together faintly. “What habit?”
The woman shifted slightly, setting the bottle beside her before extending the food again.
“I feed them,” she said. “The ones who end up here after refusing to cooperate. I talk to them. I remind them that starving themselves won’t change anything—except make things worse for them. So no, I’m not here to poison you.”
The memory of the palace surfaced immediately—the taste of food turning bitter, her body rejecting it violently, the realization that even something as simple as eating could no longer be trusted.
Her fingers didn’t move at first. But then the smell reached her again, her body reacted before her mind could argue. slowly, she reached out.
The first bite came almost carefully, the second didn’t.
Hunger took over quickly, stripping away hesitation, stripping away control. She ate faster than she intended, each bite a mixture of relief and something sharper—something that hurt almost as much as it satisfied.
Tears slipped down her face without warning, she didn’t try to hide it. Skylar swallowed hard, her hand shaking slightly as she wiped at her face with the sleeve of her jacket.
The same jacket. The one she had worn when she walked out of the palace. Faintly, almost imperceptibly, a familiar scent still clung to the fabric. It caught her off guard.
For a second, her chest tightened—not with anger, not with fear, but something far more complicated. Something she didn’t want to name.
“I want to go home,” she said suddenly, her voice breaking under the weight of it. “I want to go back to Estines.”
The woman’s head snapped up, her gaze locking onto Skylar with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.
“What? Y-You’re from Estines?!”