I didn't stop walking.
The cafeteria, the fight, Sebastian's wounded expression—I left it all behind me, my sneakers pounding the pavement in a rhythm that matched the hammering of my heart. The sun was too bright, the air too thick, but I didn't slow down. I just needed to *move*.
Footsteps pounded behind me.
"Mia— wait."
Zaire's hand closed around my wrist, pulling me to a stop. His chest heaved, his dark eyes scanning my face like he was searching for cracks. "You okay?"
I yanked my arm free. "What do you think?"
He didn't flinch. "I think you're pissed. I think you have every right to be." A beat. "But running won't fix it."
I laughed, sharp and hollow. "Neither will talking."
Zaire opened his mouth—probably to argue, probably to say something infuriatingly reasonable—when the screech of tires cut him off.
A black van skidded to a stop beside us, the side door already sliding open.
My body moved before my brain could catch up. I grabbed Zaire's arm, yanking him back as a gloved hand shot out, grasping at empty air where we'd just stood.
"Run—"
Too late.
Two figures lunged from the van—masks, dark clothes, movements too fast to track. A hand clamped over my mouth, the scent of chemicals flooding my nose. Zaire shouted, his fist connecting with someone's jaw before another man tackled him from behind.
The world tilted.
My knees buckled as the drug burned through me, heavy and sweet. The last thing I saw was Zaire's panicked eyes before the darkness swallowed us whole.
---
The first thing I registered was the smell - mildew, blood, and something metallic. My head pounded like a war drum as I blinked against the dim light. Concrete walls. A single flickering bulb. And ropes biting into my wrists so deep I could feel my pulse throbbing against the restraints.
Zaire slumped next to me, his dark hair matted with blood from a gash above his temple. I nudged him with my knee, my whisper raw. "Zaire. Wake up."
His eyes flew open - no disorientation, just immediate, terrifying clarity.
The door creaked open.
"Ah. The persistent little investigator."
The masked man moved like oil on water, his featureless black mask swallowing the light. He crouched before me, leather gloves creaking as he tilted my chin up. "Did you think we wouldn't notice you sniffing around, Mia Jenkins? That we wouldn't correct your behavior?"
I spat at his mask.
The backhand sent white-hot pain through my skull. Zaire lunged against his restraints with an animal snarl.
"Tsk tsk." The mask tilted. "Your mother had the same fire. Right before we put her in the ground."
Zaire's voice dropped to something inhuman. "You're going to wish you hadn't said that."
A masked goon drove a fist into Zaire's ribs. I heard the crack. Zaire just laughed, blood spraying between his teeth.
"Pathetic," he wheezed. "My turn."
The second blow split Zaire's lip. My scream tore at my throat. "Stop! Please!"
The leader backhanded me again. Stars exploded behind my eyes.
Then Zaire spoke.
Not shouted. Not screamed. Just... stated.
"I'm going to carve the skin from your bones while you watch. I'll peel it slow, just enough to keep you alive through the shoulders. When you beg for death, I'll whisper your mother's name in your ear." His smile turned feral. "And then I'll start on your children."
The room temperature dropped ten degrees.
Even through the mask, I saw the leader's throat bob.
Zaire leaned forward, ropes straining. "You think this is a threat? No. This is a promise. And Mia?" His black eyes flicked to me. "She's the only reason I haven't broken these ropes already."
The masked man's laughter slithered into my ears like oil. I hated how familiar it sounded—like I'd heard it in nightmares before waking.
"Look at this," he crooned, circling Zaire like a shark. "The rabid dog finally found a leash." His gloved finger pointed at me. "And it's *her*."
I felt Zaire tense beside me, the ropes creaking ominously.
The masked man turned to his guards with a theatrical sigh. "Break them if you have to." Then he was gone, his footsteps fading down some unseen corridor.
Two guards remained. One leaned against the wall, picking at his nails. The other, taller, with a spiderweb tattoo peeking from his collar, started circling us.
"Who was that?" I whispered to Zaire. "His voice sounded... artificial."
"Voice modulator," Zaire muttered. His eyes tracked the circling guard like a predator sizing up prey. "He knows us."
Spiderweb Guard stopped in front of me, reeking of cigarettes and cheap whiskey. "Aww, sharing secrets?" He crouched until his hot breath hit my face. "Don't worry, sweetheart. You'll be screaming plenty soon enough—"
"Finish that sentence."
Zaire's voice wasn't his own anymore. It was something from a grave.
The guard froze.
I turned slowly. Zaire was *smiling*. Not the lazy grin I knew, but something that showed too many teeth.
"I want you to touch her," Zaire purred. "Because when I get free—and make no mistake, I *will*—I'm going to carve you open from groin to throat. I'll make you watch as I feed you your intestines." His head tilted. "Slowly."
The guard stumbled back. His buddy dropped his casual act.
I stopped breathing.
This wasn't the Zaire who laughed at my stupid jokes. This was something feral that had been hiding beneath his skin all along.
Spiderweb Guard recovered, swinging a fist at Zaire's face.
The crack of knuckles on bone made me flinch. Blood dripped from Zaire's mouth.
He licked it away, never breaking eye contact.
"Good," Zaire murmured. "Now I have your scent."
The guards exchanged a look. For the first time, they looked afraid.
And I realized with dawning horror—
I should be, too.
---