Chapter 11
Jul 18, 2025
The doors slammed shut behind Hector with finality, leaving a stunned hush in his wake. The Matrons’ whispers crackled like dry leaves, scrawling my name across their ledgers in invisible ink that reeked of punishment.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My feet were still rooted to the floor where I’d dared to say no.
Across the chamber, a councilman stood to whisper into the High Matron’s ear. She gave one tight nod, then looked down at me with the kind of distaste reserved for defiant dogs and burning heretics.
“Lyssira Fowler,” she intoned, “your score is suspended pending council review. Further disobedience may result in formal removal from the Games.”
I raised my chin higher. Let them see the girl who wouldn’t kneel.
Two guards approached me. I half expected shackles. Instead, they escorted me in silence out the back corridor of the Trial Hall, past the shadowed walls and cold sigils carved into stone.
The air felt thinner than usual. Like even the building was holding its breath.
“Lyssira!” A whisper shot from behind a column.
Sariah emerged from the dark, her hair tied back and eyes burning. She grabbed my arm and pulled me into a side alcove before the guards could turn.
“You’ve officially lost your mind,” she hissed. “What were you thinking?”
“That obedience isn’t sacred,” I snapped, yanking my arm free. “That I’m not property.”
She didn’t flinch. “Darius and Marcus are already petitioning to have you disqualified for insubordination. They’re calling you unstable. Dangerous.”
I almost laughed. “Good. Let them be afraid.”
“No, Lyss,” she said, grabbing both my shoulders. “They’re not afraid. They’re hungry. And now they have reason to come for your throat.”
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall.
“Go,” she muttered. “Now. Before someone else corners you first.”
I nodded and turned toward the exit.
But I didn’t make it far.
“Hiding again?” a low voice drawled from the archway.
Hector stepped into view, eyes sharp and unreadable. His coat still half-buttoned. His fingers twitching at his sides.
“I’m not in the mood,” I said, brushing past him.
He caught my elbow. Not roughly. But enough.
“You risked everything,” he snapped. “You think they’ll let that slide because you looked dramatic in defiance?”
I turned on him, heart racing. “You think I was performing?”
“You weren’t protecting yourself.”
“I wasn’t pretending to be owned.”
His jaw clenched. “You think this is about pride?”
“It’s about truth,” I shot back. “You said I’m not a pawn. Then stop playing the game like I am one.”
His grip loosened.
“They were going to tear you apart,” he said, quieter now. “You gave them permission.”
“And you? You played the wounded Alpha just fine. Made me look like a feral little bitch in heat.”
“Because it was the only way I could stop them!” he thundered.
We were chest to chest now. Breath to breath. Something hot and angry and electric passed between us.
I saw it in his eyes—his need, his restraint, the sharp edge of something barely buried.
His voice dropped. “Don’t make me choose between you and survival.”
I swallowed. “Then stop pretending that’s a choice.”
He looked at my mouth. Just once.
The space between us crackled.
And then—he stepped back.
His voice shook. “If I touch you again, I won’t stop.”
The hallway suddenly felt cold.
“Then don’t,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. Just turned, jaw clenched, and walked away like he was bleeding from somewhere no one could see.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
The moonlight spilled across my floor in long silver ribbons. I lay in bed, still fully dressed, my body coiled like a wire pulled too tight.
My skin itched. Burned.
I stood, pacing, until something tugged at my awareness. A heat on my thigh. I pulled up the hem of my nightdress and froze.
Another mark.
This one curled low across my upper thigh, etched in dark silver. Sharper than the others. Older. Wilder.
A rune I didn’t recognize—but my blood did.
I traced it with trembling fingers, and the moment I did, the world shifted.
The air in the room grew heavy. Thick. And then I heard it.
Whispers.
Soft at first. Like the scrape of wind through hollow bone. Then clearer. Dozens of voices layered over each other.
You are not the first.
We burned before you.
They called us rebels. We called ourselves Luna.
I dropped to my knees.
The sigil pulsed like a heartbeat against my skin.
Don’t let them crown you. Let them fear you.
The voice wasn’t mine. But it was in me.
