The cold hit first—not the kind that bites the skin, but the sort that seeps through your bones and nestles there, like it's been waiting all along.
Elias landed hard against the wooden floor of the cage, his shoulder slamming into Thorn's side with a grunt neither of them could voice. The iron bars clanged shut behind them, a sound far too smug for lifeless metal.
His wrists burned from the rope, and the gag tied tight across his mouth made breathing an exercise in patience. Just great. Couldn't even curse.
The wagon jolted into motion, creaking like an old man being forced out of bed too early. With every bump, splintered wood scraped against raw skin. Elias shifted, trying to find some spot—any spot—that didn't ache. No luck. Whoever built this thing wasn't big on comfort. Probably the same kind of people who thought cages were a reasonable solution to every problem.
He met Thorn's eyes.
There was a flash of guilt there—no, not guilt. Something heavier. Recognition. Thorn's mouth was bound too, but his eyes said enough: I've seen this before. Elias had known Thorn for a while now. He joked too easily and kept too much to himself. But that look—that hollow, breaking look—was new. And it made him uneasy.
Mira sat in the corner, knees drawn up, her forehead resting against the bars. Even gagged, she radiated fury. It rolled off her in waves, but beneath it was fear, barely hidden and razor-thin. She kept glancing at Lutz, who was curled into her side, shivering more from shock than the cold.
Elias wanted to say something. It'll be fine, or We've gotten out of worse. Which was a lie, technically. They'd never been caged like livestock. Never been ambushed like amateurs. And they sure as hell had never uncovered a slave shipment in the middle of a theft.
Funny how stealing grain seemed noble just a couple of moments ago.
Outside, muffled voices barked orders, and bootsteps thudded past. Every so often, one of the guards would knock against the cage with a stick, like they were reminding them who held the keys—or maybe they were just bored.
Elias exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. He couldn't panic. That was rule one. Panic made mistakes. Mistakes got people killed. Mira had drilled that into them since day one, and for once, he was grateful for her ruthless standards.
A glance toward Jace revealed the bigger teen staring at the floor, unmoving, his expression unreadable. He looked calm, almost too calm.
That made Elias nervous. Jace was the kind of person who didn't crack when things got bad. He cracked after. And when he did, it wasn't pretty.
Elias shifted again, trying not to groan at the bruises, and leaned his head against the cage wall.
This was bad. Worse than bad.
They'd planned everything down to the second. They'd watched routes, timed guards, prepped distractions—hell, Mira had even memorized a patrol schedule like it was scripture. But none of that had prepared them for this.
Slavery.
Who the hell trafficked slum rats in Vel'Tharn? And how had they missed the signs?
He closed his eyes for a moment, the clatter of wagon wheels grinding against his thoughts.
No one was coming to help. That was clear. In Vel'Tharn, justice had a price, and nobody was rich enough to pay it for gutter rats like them.
They'd have to save themselves. Somehow.
And if Elias had learned anything in the streets, it was this: cages don't hold forever.
You just have to wait for the right moment.
And when it comes…
Make damn sure you run faster than the fire you light behind you.
...
...
It had been a day and a half. Thirty-six hours of nothing but swaying wheels, dry mouths, and the sort of silence that wrapped around the bones like a funeral shroud. Hunger had long since stopped being a gnawing thing. Now it just sat there—patient, cruel, and oddly imaginative.
At some point, Elias could've sworn Thorn's arm had started to look like a roasted leg of lamb. Glazed. Tender. Ridiculous. And yet, entirely believable in the right state of delirium.
Mira had stopped glaring somewhere around the twenty-hour mark. Now she just stared, unblinking, like she was saving energy for something—something after. Lutz had cried himself to sleep three times. The third time, even the guards hadn't bothered to hit the cage.
And then—
A jolt. Subtle, but jarring in the way all hope-starved bodies react to change. The wheels slowed, the creaking stilled. A stop.
Now, there had been stops before. Too many to count. The kind where someone yelled, something thudded, maybe a sack of something got loaded or tossed. But they'd always resumed the grim march minutes later. Not this time.
There was a pause. A long one. The kind of silence that slithered in just before something breaks.
Then, the heavy clunk of the wagon doors being unlatched.
Metal scraped wood. Boots shuffled. And then came the voice—coarse, impatient, bored.
"On your feet. Out."
No one moved at first. Not out of rebellion, but disbelief. Like someone had cracked the sky open and told them they could fly.
The cage opened with a groan.
The guard—square jaw, sun-darkened skin, eyes like cold water—gestured with the butt of his spear. "I said move. Before I make you."
They moved. Slowly. Each motion a negotiation between aching limbs and rusted joints. Elias was the first out, mostly because he didn't trust anyone else not to fall and give the guards an excuse to yell at them. Thorn followed behind, hand steadying Lutz, who looked dazed and dream-heavy.
The sunlight slapped them across the face. It was blinding after the hours spent in half-darkness. The air was fresh here—cleaner too. Forest, maybe? Somewhere far from the trade roads, and even farther from mercy.
Mira stumbled on the step and caught herself on Elias's arm. Her lips moved behind the gag—probably a curse, or maybe just his name. Hard to tell with her.
Jace was last. He took his time, not in defiance, but with a strange sort of poise. Like he'd decided if this was the end, he'd meet it standing straight. Which, knowing Jace, might've been exactly it.
They stood in a rough clearing. A stone building stood ahead—old, maybe repurposed. Not quite a prison, not quite a fort. But definitely unfriendly.
More guards stood around, bored and smoking or checking weapons. One leaned against a tree, carving something into a piece of bone with the kind of focus reserved for the indifferent.
Elias squinted. The cage inside the wagon had been small, but the world out here felt smaller.
This wasn't a pit stop.
This was a destination.
And whatever waited inside that building wasn't freedom. Not even close.