The Broken Bridge
The silence from Toni was the loudest thing in the house.
Before the audition, they had shared something a friendship—a fragile understanding forged in the shadow of the Vale name. It hadn't been loud or obvious, but it had felt real.
Or so Runa had believed.
Now, Toni was a ghost.
When they passed in the hall, Toni kept her eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders hunched as if even the air around Runa was something she needed to escape. The girl who had once been a sunbeam in a morgue had gone dark, and the cold that rushed in to replace her warmth was absolute.
Runa tried to tell herself she deserved it.
She had tried to apologize once.
She cornered Toni in the library, the tall shelves casting long shadows, the scent of old paper thick in the air.
"Toni, please," Runa whispered, her hand lifting—then stopping just short of Toni's sleeve. "I was desperate. I didn't think—"
"That's the problem, Runa," Toni snapped, spinning around.
Her blue eyes—so like Eli's, yet usually so much softer—were red-rimmed and burning.
"You didn't think about what happens to me if Father finds out," Toni said. "You didn't think about the fact that my dream was the only thing I had that didn't belong to him. You didn't just use a distraction. You used me."
"We're friends," Runa pleaded. "I swear."
Toni laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"It doesn't feel like it," she said flatly. "Friends don't burn down each other's dreams just to find a door."
She walked away.
She never spoke to Runa again.
If Toni became absence, Eli became gravity.
She didn't scold Runa for the escape attempt. She didn't mention Marcus Thorne. She simply existed—constant, suffocating—an unyielding force Runa could neither escape nor confront.
Runa had never meant to like Eli.
It had crept in quietly—in the way Eli always positioned herself between Runa and danger, in the way her voice never shook, in the way her presence made chaos feel momentarily survivable. Somewhere between fear and gratitude, something warmer had taken root.
Something stupid.
Something human.
Runa told herself it wasn't real. That it was just safety masquerading as affection.
But now—
She would be in the conservatory, trying to lose herself among the greenery, and catch the glint of sunlight off Eli's tactical watch through the glass. In the dining room, Eli sat at the far end of the table, silent and watchful, noticing the way Runa held her fork, the way her pulse jumped in her throat.
Always watching.
Never reaching.
One evening, Runa found Eli at the Vale shooting grounds.
The air smelled of oil and cold metal. Eli was cleaning the sleek black pistol—the same one she had used in the industrial district—her movements precise, methodical.
"Did you know?" Runa asked quietly. Her voice shook despite her effort to steady it. "About Marcus Thorne? When you pulled the trigger… did you know who he was?"
Eli didn't look up. The cloth slid over the barrel in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
"I knew he was a threat to the asset," she said. "I knew he was taking you somewhere we couldn't follow."
"But he was a serial kidnapper," Runa pressed, stepping closer, desperate for something—anything—human. "You saved me from something horrible. Doesn't that matter? Doesn't it make you feel like… like a good person?"
Eli stopped.
She lifted her head, her gaze cold and piercing—like winter water.
"I'm a Vale, Runa," she said. "We don't save people because it's right. We protect what belongs to us. Whether that man was a saint or a monster, the outcome would have been the same."
She snapped the magazine back into place.
The metallic clack echoed through the range, sharp enough to rattle Runa's teeth.
"Don't look for heroes here," Eli added. "You'll only break your heart."
And it did.
Something inside Runa shattered—not loudly, not cleanly, but in a way that left jagged edges everywhere.
She saw Eli clearly then: not a protector, but a weapon forged for ownership and obedience.
The girl Runa had almost let herself hope for—someone capable of choosing her—had never existed.
Toni was a victim of the Vales.
Eli was their blade.
And Runa—
Runa was the prize they were sharpening the knife for.
That evening, the wedding gown arrived.
It came in a trunk-sized box carried by two silent staff members. When it was opened, layers of white silk and hand-stitched lace spilled out, shimmering beneath the chandelier.
It was exquisite.
A masterpiece.
And to Runa, staring at the heavy veil and sweeping train, it looked exactly like a shroud.
Then Althea summoned her.
The private office smelled of old paper, expensive gin, and cold air conditioning that hummed faintly in the walls.
"The invitations have been sent," Althea said without looking up. "The ceremony is in five days. You will be briefed on the vows, the families attending, and the security protocols."
She rose and stepped closer, heels clicking—measured, deliberate.
""Soon you will be part of the Vale," Althea said calmly. "While your father betrayed you, I will not. Family is important to me, and I will protect you."
Runa nodded.
Did she believe Althea valued family? Yes.
Did she believe Althea would protect her? No.
Ever since she had arrived, only one person had made her feel safe—and that was Eli. And even that safety now felt like a lie.
The Vale family radiated danger. Every corner of the estate whispered it.
Runa thought of the dress upstairs.
Toni's turned back.
Eli's gun.
"I understand," she said, her voice hollow.
In five days, she would wear her wedding gown.
In five days, the ceremony would begin.
In five days, Runa would stop being a person.
She would become property.
The countdown to the wedding had begun.