Chapter 193

Chapter 193
Citlali's POV

I hesitated, then decided not to tell her about Rowan.

She had enough to worry about without adding my grief to her burden.

"Nothing," I lied. "I'm just thinking about how to escape."

I turned to her, forcing my mind back to practical matters.

"Has anyone ever escaped from here?"

Layla shook her head, her expression bleak.

"No. Never. There are too many guards, and silver is everywhere."

She gestured at the bars, at the manacles still locked around my wrists.

"Our abilities are almost completely suppressed. We're barely stronger than humans."

"And even if someone did get out of this building, the whole city is full of guards. Where would they go?"

"There has to be a way," I insisted, refusing to accept defeat.

"There's always a way."

Layla gave me a sad smile, the kind of smile that belonged on someone much older.

"If there was, those women would have found it by now. Some of them have been here for months."

"They've tried everything. Fighting, pleading, trying to pick the locks, even trying to starve themselves."

She shook her head.

"Nothing works. The guards are too many, too strong. And the silver makes us too weak."

I asked about the other prisoners, needing to understand what we were facing.

"The other women... have they all given up?"

Layla nodded slowly.

"Most of them. They just... exist now. Waiting for each night to end, then starting over the next day."

She paused, her voice getting quieter.

"Some have gone completely numb. Like walking corpses. They don't cry anymore, don't fight, don't even react."

"And the pregnant ones... they only care about the babies inside them. They've convinced themselves that if they can just keep the baby safe, it'll all be worth it."

I felt sick.

"Don't they hate those children? They're products of rape."

Layla's expression was complicated.

"Some do. I've heard them crying at night, begging the moon goddess to let them miscarry."

"But others..." She trailed off, searching for words.

"Others have decided the baby is their only hope. Their only reason to keep living."

"They talk to their bellies, sing to them. They've made themselves believe that loving the child will somehow make this bearable."

The tragedy of it was overwhelming.

These women, so broken that they'd learned to love the children forced upon them.

Because the alternative—hating both their rapists and their unborn children—was too much to bear.

I thought of Aldric, Dorian, Lysander, Branimir.

They must be searching for us. Trying to find a way to rescue us.

But how could they possibly locate this place?

And even if they did, how could four wolves—even strong ones—break through the defenses of an entire city?

The despair threatened to overwhelm me, but I fought it back.

I couldn't give up. Not while Layla needed me.

Not while there was even the smallest chance.

Layla squeezed my hand, as if sensing my thoughts.

"At least we're together now," she said softly.

"I'm not alone anymore."

I looked at this nine-year-old girl who'd endured so much, who'd seen things no child should ever see, and felt a fierce protectiveness surge through me.

"I'll protect you, Layla," I said, my voice fierce. "I swear it. I won't let them hurt you."

She gave me that sad, too-old smile again.

"How, Citlali? You can't even protect yourself."

The words stung because they were true.

But I refused to accept them.

"I'll find a way," I said through gritted teeth.

"I will. I promise you."

She leaned against me, and we sat there in silence, drawing what comfort we could from each other's presence.

Two girls trapped in a nightmare, clinging to the fragile hope that somehow, someway, we would survive this.

---

Night fell again, and we heard the familiar sounds in the corridor.

Footsteps. Doors opening. Men's voices, eager and anticipating.

I pulled Layla close, wrapping my arms around her protectively.

"Don't be afraid," I whispered. "I'm here."

She trembled against me, her small body shaking.

"Will they... will they come to our cell tonight?"

"I won't let them touch you," I promised, even though we both knew it was an empty promise.

If they came, there was nothing I could do to stop them.

The sounds began again, all around us.

Closer now, more distinct.

I could hear every word, every sound, every moment of violation happening in the cells around us.

And I was helpless to stop any of it.

Then, cutting through the other sounds, I heard a voice in the corridor.

Familiar, but wrong somehow. Changed.

"Lord Snow wants to see the new one tonight."

My heart stopped.

"The white-haired girl. The one who just arrived."

Layla looked at me, her eyes wide with terror.

"They mean you..."

Footsteps approached our cell, and I stood, positioning myself between Layla and the door.

If they were coming for me, I would face them standing.

A figure appeared beyond the silver bars, backlit by the corridor lamps.

I couldn't see the face clearly at first, just a silhouette in an elaborate dress.

Then she stepped closer, and the lamplight fell across her features.

I looked up and saw her face.

Kira.

She wore a gown of deep crimson silk, the kind of dress I'd only seen on noblewomen.

Her hair was elaborately styled, pinned up with jeweled combs.

Her face was painted with cosmetics—rouge on her cheeks, kohl around her eyes, color on her lips.

She looked like a lady of the court. Like royalty.

Beautiful and terrible and completely transformed.

But her eyes...

When she saw me, shock flashed across her face, her carefully composed expression cracking.

Her mouth fell open slightly, her eyes going wide.

Then a cascade of emotions flickered across her features in rapid succession.

Recognition. Disbelief. Guilt. Fear. Shame. Resignation.

All of it there and gone in the span of a heartbeat, before her mask slammed back into place.

But I had seen it. That moment of raw, unguarded reaction.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

We stared at each other across the silver bars.