Chapter 53 Judgment
Grace woke to the smell of mildew and decay.
The stench hit her before consciousness fully returned, it made her nose wrinkle and her stomach turn. It was the smell of neglect, of spaces left to rot and dampness that had seeped into every surface until the air itself felt thick and spoiled.
Her head throbbed where she’d been hit, a dull ache that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Grace kept her eyes closed for a moment, trying to orient herself through the fog of pain and confusion.
She was lying on something cold and hard. Not the linoleum of the hospital floor. This felt grittier, rougher. Concrete, maybe. Or stone that hadn’t been cleaned in years.
‘Where am I?’
Grace tried to remember, she tried to piece together what had happened after the shooting stopped.
The hospital room. Enzo bleeding out on top of her. The man who’d come to help but whose help had felt wrong. The way he’d looked at them with those cold eyes that held no concern despite the carnage around them.
Then pain exploded across her skull and darkness swallowed everything.
‘He knocked me out. That man knocked me out and took me somewhere.’
The realization brought Grace fully awake. Her eyes snapped open, her body tensing as she prepared to bolt.
She found herself staring at a ceiling covered in water stains and peeling paint. The room around her was small and windowless, lit by a single bare bulb hanging from a frayed wire. The walls were concrete, unpainted, and crumbling in places. The floor beneath her was the same, cold and filthy with years of accumulated grime.
Grace sat up slowly, her head spinning with the movement. She pressed a hand to where she’d been hit, feeling a tender lump but no blood. Her clothes were still covered in dried blood, Enzo’s blood, it was stiff and crusted against her skin.
“Enzo!”
‘Where was he? Had they taken him too? Was he even still alive?’
Grace’s breath came faster as panic started to set in. She needed to find him and figure out where they were and how to get out.
She heard something then. A sound that made every hair on her body stand on end.
Low muttering. Animalistic, coming from somewhere in the shadows beyond the reach of the single bulb.
Grace’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness. She could make out shapes now. There were chains hanging from the walls. What looked like old restraints bolted into the concrete. And there, in the corner furthest from the light, something was moving.
The muttering grew louder. More insistent. Grace could hear the rattle of chains accompanying it.
“Hello?” Grace’s voice came out as barely more than a whisper, rough from screaming earlier.
The muttering stopped.
Then Grace heard the scrape of claws on concrete, it was the sound of something large shifting position, moving with purpose.
A shape emerged from the shadows.
Grace’s scream caught in her throat as she scrambled backward, her hands and feet slipping on the dirty floor in her panic to get away.
A hound.
Not a dog. Not anything natural or normal. This thing was massive, easily the size of a small horse, with matted fur and eyes that glowed faintly red in the darkness. Its mouth hung open, revealing rows of teeth that were too sharp and too many, dripping with saliva that hissed when it hit the floor.
The hound lunged toward Grace with a snarl that sounded like grinding metal.
Grace screamed properly this time, throwing her arms up to protect her face.
The hound stopped short with a violent jerk, chain pulling taut with a sound like a gunshot. The creature thrashed against its restraints, slavering and snapping its jaws at the air between them, but the chain held. Barely. The bolts securing it to the wall groaned with the strain.
Grace pressed herself against the opposite wall, as far from the thing as she could get in the small space. Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt, her breath coming in short gasps that bordered on hyperventilation.
The hound continued to strain against its chain, its red eyes fixed on Grace with an intelligence that was distinctly unnatural. This wasn’t an animal acting on instinct. This thing was aware, it was choosing its violence.
“Down, boy.”
The voice came from somewhere beyond the room Grace was in. Male. Casual. Like he was addressing an actual pet rather than whatever nightmare creature was currently trying to reach her.
The hound’s ears flattened and it backed away from Grace, settling into a crouch in its corner. But those red eyes never left her face.
Footsteps approached. Heavy boots on concrete. Then the sound of a door opening that Grace hadn’t noticed in her panic.
The man from the hospital stepped into the small room.
Up close and in better lighting, Grace could see more details. He was maybe in his mid-thirties, with the kind of build that came from both genetics and dedicated training. His features were sharp and handsome in a way that reminded her strongly of Enzo, suggesting they were related somehow. But where Enzo’s eyes held warmth even when he was being distant, this man’s eyes were completely cold.
He looked at Grace with the same detached assessment he’d shown in the hospital room. Like she was an object rather than a person. A problem to be managed rather than a human being in distress.
Grace recognized him immediately. This was the man who’d knocked her out. Who’d taken her from the hospital and had probably taken Enzo too.
“Where the hell am I?” Grace demanded, trying to inject some strength into her voice despite the fear still coursing through her. “What did you do with Enzo? Where is he?”
The man didn’t answer. He just crossed the room with measured steps and gripped Grace’s arm. His fingers dug in hard enough to bruise, making it clear this wasn’t a request for cooperation but a command.
“Let go of me,” Grace tried to pull away but his grip was iron. “I said let go!”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the man said, his voice completely flat. “Now walk.”
He hauled Grace to her feet with strength that seemed effortless. When she tried to resist or plant her feet and refuse to move, he simply dragged her. Her shoes scraped uselessly against the concrete as he pulled her toward the door.
Grace twisted in his grip, trying to break free, but it was like trying to escape from a steel trap. The man’s fingers never loosened, never showed any sign that her struggling affected him at all.
He pulled her through the doorway and into a corridor that was just as run-down and abandoned-looking as the room she’d been in. More concrete walls. More flickering lights. The smell of decay even stronger here, mixed with something else Grace couldn’t identify. Something chemical.
They passed other doors, some of the doors were closed and others hung open to reveal spaces similar to the one Grace had woken in. They were empty concrete rooms with chains on the walls and stains on the floors that Grace tried very hard not to think about.
“Where are you taking me?” Grace asked again, her voice breaking slightly. “Please, just tell me what’s happening. Where’s Enzo?”
The man said nothing. Just kept walking and continued to drag Grace along despite her continued attempts to resist.
The corridor opened into a larger space. It took Grace’s eyes a moment to adjust to the brighter lighting here, to make sense of what she was seeing.
It looked like some kind of courtroom. Or at least, someone’s attempt at recreating one in this abandoned building. There was a raised platform at one end with a long table, behind which sat several chairs. Rows of benches faced the platform, like pews in a church or seating for an audience.
And occupying those chairs at the raised table were people.
Older people, most of them, ranging from perhaps forty to seventy. Men and women both, all dressed in formal clothing that looked out of place in this decrepit setting. They sat with straight spines and stern expressions, looking down at the space before the platform where Grace was being pulled.
The man dragged Grace to a spot directly in front of the raised table and released her arm. She stumbled slightly, catching herself before she fell.
Grace looked around wildly, trying to understand what was happening. Trying to find any familiar faces or any indication of where Enzo might be.
But there was nothing. Just these stern-faced strangers staring down at her with expressions that ranged from disapproval to outright hostility.
“What is this?” Grace asked, her voice rising with panic. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.”
One of the people at the table, an older woman with silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, lifted something. A small wooden mallet, as judges use in actual courtrooms.
She brought it down hard on the table. The sound echoed through the space, sharp and final.
“Order,” the woman said, her voice carrying authority despite her age. “This tribunal will come to order.”
“Tribunal?” Grace repeated, the word feeling foreign on her tongue. “What tribunal? I don’t understand what’s happening.”
The woman’s eyes, pale blue and cold as ice, fixed on Grace. “You are here to be judged for your crimes, girl. To answer for what you’ve done and face the consequences of your actions.”
Grace felt the floor tilt beneath her feet. Crimes? What crimes? She hadn’t done anything nor had she hurt anyone. Rather, she’d been the victim in all of this, not the perpetrator.
“I haven’t committed any crimes,” Grace said, her voice shaking. “There’s been a mistake. I don’t even know who you people are or where I am or what you think I’ve done.”
The people at the table exchanged glances. Several of them had expressions that suggested they found Grace’s confusion amusing in a dark sort of way.
“Ignorance is not innocence,” another voice spoke up. An older man this time, with a beard more grey than black. “And your bloodline carries debts that must be answered for.”
“My bloodline?” Grace’s mind was spinning, trying to make sense of any of this. “What are you talking about? What debts?”
The woman with the mallet raised it again, clearly preparing to continue whatever proceeding this was supposed to be. Her expression suggested she had no interest in answering Grace’s questions, no concern for her confusion or fear.
“You stand accused,” the woman began, her voice taking on a formal quality. “Of crimes inherited and crimes committed. Of bloodline transgressions and personal violations. Of—”
“I don’t understand!” Grace interrupted, her voice cracking. “I don’t know what any of that means! Please, someone just tell me what’s happening. Why am I here? What do you think I’ve done?”
But no one answered. They just stared down at her with those cold, judgmental eyes. And Grace realized with growing horror that they didn’t care whether she understood or not. Didn’t care that she had no idea what she was being accused of or why.
They were going to judge her anyway.