The cell stank of rust, damp and blood that had long since dried into the cracks between stones. Lucia sat against the wall, her posture still as if she were in parade rest, though her uniform was torn and her wrists bore raw marks from the metal cuffs that chained her to the pipe above. Across from her, Orion leaned against the opposite wall, his silver hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes half-lidded but alert beneath the grime.
The air hummed with exhaustion.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Not hurried, not slow, just deliberate. Lucia's eyes flicked toward the sound, every muscle tightening in preparation. Orion tilted his head, his mouth curving faintly despite everything.
"Showtime," he muttered.
The iron door screeched open. Three guards entered first, rifles raised though unnecessary, followed by a tall man in a dark uniform, his boots polished to a cruel shine. He was older then the leader torturing them; the kind of man who had stopped seeing faces and started seeing leverage.
"Lieutenant Castella," he said in a thick accent, his tone laced with disdain. "And Sergeant Rossi. You've caused us quite a bit of trouble."
Lucia didn't answer. She didn't even look up.
The commander's eyes narrowed. "Still so quiet. Perhaps we'll start with your men."
He gestured and the guards yanked the others to their feet, Ward and the two privates who had survived the ambush. The younger one stumbled, earning a sharp kick that sent him sprawling. Lucia's jaw tightened but she didn't move.
Orion's voice was low, warning. "Lucia—"
She gave a small shake of her head. A command in silence.
The commander's grin was slow and reptilian. "I admire discipline. But it is wasted here."
They were dragged away, boots scraping the floor. Ward caught Lucia's gaze as he passed. A silent apology or goodbye. The door slammed behind them, leaving only the hollow clatter of the lock and the hum of fluorescent light overhead.
Then, silence.
It wasn't peace. It was the kind of silence that pressed down, that made every breath too loud. Hours blurred into days.
Lucia counted time by the flicker of the single bulb outside their cell and by the slow, rhythmic drip from a pipe somewhere above. She didn't speak. She didn't sleep much either, her body rested in fragments, always listening.
Orion tried to talk at first, to fill the emptiness. He stopped when he realized she wasn't going to respond. The third day came like the first; endless, gray, stripped of all measure.
By then, they were ghosts of themselves. Bruised, hollow-eyed and starving, but unbroken.
When the footsteps returned, they were heavier this time. Lucia's gaze sharpened immediately. Orion looked up too, his muscles tensing.
The door opened again. The same commander entered, flanked by two subordinates. Their boots made small echoes in the confined space.
He looked them over with the expression of a man inspecting animals.
"Three days," he said. "And not a word. Not a single name, not even a hint of regret."
Lucia's golden eyes lifted to him, unreadable.
He smiled faintly. "You know, Lieutenant, I expected more… fire. You have the reputation of being ruthless, efficient, calculating. But here you sit. Quiet, obedient…"
She said nothing.
He turned to Orion. "And you. Rossi, isn't it? You talk too much in your reports, yet here you've gone mute. Perhaps I should take that as loyalty."
Orion's lips twitched. "You can take it up your ass, commander."
The man's expression hardened. He moved closer, crouching until his face was inches from Orion's. "You think this is bravery? It's foolishness. You'll die here, both of you. And your team — what's left of them — will wish they had spoken."
Orion stared right back, his voice calm. "We've been called worse."
A long silence followed, the kind that stung the air. Then the commander stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve.
"Let them rot," he said. "They're worth more to me alive than dead. For now."
As he turned to leave, one of his subordinates, the younger man with trembling hands, shifted awkwardly. In his haste to follow, something slipped from his clipboard and clattered faintly on the stone floor.
A paperclip.
The commander didn't notice. The guards didn't either. The door slammed shut.
Lucia's gaze flicked downward for only a heartbeat, catching the faint metallic glint half a meter from her boot. Then she relaxed her posture, letting her head drop as if in exhaustion. When she moved her foot, it was slow, careful. A soldier's precision even in captivity.
She dragged the paperclip under her boot. The motion made no sound. Orion's eyes followed, green irises glinting in the dim light, but he didn't speak. He knew better than to ask.
The day passed into night, though time had little meaning anymore. The lights dimmed, the hallways grew quiet. Lucia waited.
When she was certain the last footsteps had faded, she exhaled softly, a controlled release of tension. She bent her knees, maneuvering her legs in an almost impossible angle until the paperclip was trapped between her feet. Slowly, she lifted it, guiding it up until she could twist her body enough to reach with her bound hands.
Her fingers brushed the cold metal.
She began to bend it.
Orion watched in silence, the sight of the clip being reshaped almost amazed him in the stillness. He could see the calculation in her every movement, the patience, the meticulous control.
When she finally slipped the paperclip into the lock of her handcuffs, her breathing slowed. The first attempt failed. The second too. But Lucia Castella did not fail three times.
A faint click broke the silence.
Her wrists fell free.
She stayed still for a moment, just breathing. The cuffs lay open beside her knees. She flexed her hands, wincing slightly as circulation returned. Then she crawled across the cell toward Orion.
He gave her a look halfway between disbelief and admiration. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Keep quiet," she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady.
He raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't planning on serenading you, Lieutenant."
She ignored him, taking his wrists and working the lock with the same careful precision. It took longer this time. Her hands trembled from exhaustion but at last, the metal yielded. The cuffs clattered softly against his lap.
Orion inhaled sharply, flexing his wrists. "Remind me never to play cards against you."
Lucia didn't answer. She slumped back against the wall, chest rising and falling with slow, ragged breaths. The adrenaline had burned away, leaving only fatigue and the faint ache of returning freedom.
For a while, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn't empty anymore. It was full of relief, of exhaustion, of everything unsaid.
Orion eventually shifted closer, his voice low. "We'll wait for the guard rotation. Then we move."
Lucia nodded once, eyes closed.
He glanced at her, at the bruises along her jaw, the torn sleeve, the unbroken steel in her posture even in stillness and felt something twist in his chest.
"You should rest," he said quietly.
She opened those golden eyes slowly, meeting his gaze. "So should you."
The faintest smile ghosted across his face. "You first, ma'am."
For the first time in three days, her lips curved. Just barely, but it was there. A ghost of defiance.
The cell fell silent again. Outside, the night stretched long and merciless. Inside, two soldiers lay side by side on the cold stone floor, free but not yet safe.
Lucia's eyes traced the ceiling, the rust lines running like veins above them. Her mind was already working, counting steps, memorizing patterns, rehearsing exits.
Orion closed his eyes, listening to her breathing, steady and measured like the ticking of a clock.
For now, that was enough.
They were alive.
And for soldiers like them, that was victory enough for one night.