He sighed, a sound that might have been disappointment or resignation, and lifted her into his arms, carrying her toward the door with unexpected care, cradling her as if she were something fragile rather than broken.
The evening air hit her face, cool and sharp, cutting through the fog of pain like a blade. Through her blurred vision, she could make out a large vehicle parked in front of the house, a bus of some kind, painted dark gray, its door hanging open like a waiting mouth ready to swallow her whole.
From inside, she could hear crying. Whimpering. The sound of other girls, other voices joined in shared misery, a chorus of despair that spoke of many households, many fathers, many choices made in the name of survival.
Other prey.
The wolf carried her up the steps and into the bus's interior. It was dim inside, lit only by a few weak overhead lights that cast everything in sickly yellow tones, making everyone look ill, making the whole scene feel unreal. Rows of seats stretched toward the back, most already occupied by young women in various states of distress. Some sobbed openly, their faces buried in their hands, their shoulders shaking. Others sat in shocked silence, staring at nothing, their eyes glazed and distant. A few bore marks similar to Liora's, bruises blooming across their faces, split lips, blackened eyes, torn clothing. Evidence that they, too, had resisted. That their families had also chosen violence over compassion.
The wolf deposited her in an empty seat near the back, checking her bindings once more with efficient movements before stepping away, his duty fulfilled, his role in this particular tragedy complete.
Liora slumped against the window, her body folding in on itself, seeking the smallest possible space to occupy. In the glass, she could see her reflection, ghostly and unfamiliar in the dim light. She barely recognized the battered face staring back at her, the swollen left eye already purpling, the blood still trickling from her lip, the expression of shocked betrayal that she couldn't seem to erase.
Around her, the other girls whispered and cried, their voices blending into a background hum of suffering. One of them, sitting across the narrow aisle, met her eyes briefly before looking away, shame and fear written across her features in equal measure, as if acknowledging another's pain might somehow make her own more real. They were strangers, but they shared the same fate now, bound together by circumstances beyond their control.
All chosen. All bound for tomorrow's Hunt.
The bus engine rumbled more loudly, preparing to depart, vibrating through the seats and into Liora's aching bones.
Through the window, Liora caught one last glimpse of her father standing in the doorway of their small home, backlit by the lamp inside, his silhouette dark against the warm glow. He didn't wave. Didn't watch them leave. Didn't offer any final word or gesture that might have suggested some lingering connection, some regret, some acknowledgment of what he'd just done.
He simply turned and went back inside, closing the door behind him with casual finality, the movement no different from any other evening, as if nothing significant had occurred.
Shutting her out of the only home she'd ever known.
He beat me, Liora thought distantly, the full reality of it still not quite settling into her consciousness, her mind protecting itself by keeping the truth at arm's length. My own father beat me unconscious and gave me away to be hunted like an animal.
Because she wasn't his daughter. Not truly. Not in his eyes, not in his heart.
She was just the illegitimate result of a servant woman's brief, invisible existence, a woman whose death had been as mysterious as her life had been meaningless to those around her. No one spoke of how she'd died. No one cared enough to ask. No one had demanded answers or justice or even basic acknowledgment. And now her daughter was paying the ultimate price for ever having drawn breath, for having the audacity to survive when perhaps she should have died with her mother all those years ago.
The bus lurched forward, carrying them all away from their old lives and toward whatever fresh horror awaited with tomorrow's dawn, toward a forest where they would run and hide and die while wolves hunted them for sport.
Liora closed her eyes, every part of her body screaming in pain, every breath an effort that required conscious thought and willpower. She tried not to think about the fact that she was expected to run for her life in less than twelve hours, tried not to consider how she would manage it when she could barely remain conscious, when her ribs protested every breath and her face throbbed with every heartbeat.
But even through the pain, through the fear, through the overwhelming sense of betrayal that threatened to drown her, something harder began to crystallize in her chest.