That morning, for the first time since he had woken in this room, God Mervous tried to sit up.Not because he felt sufficiently recovered. Far from it. This body still felt like ruins that had not yet finished collapsing, every small movement reminding him of wounds that had not closed, every deep breath feeling as though something was gripping from inside his ribs and refusing to let go. But lying still without doing anything was beginning to feel more torturous than the pain itself. He had spent too long on his back staring at the ceiling, letting his thoughts circle the same place without going anywhere.*Enough.* He pushed his body slowly upward, bracing on his right elbow. The muscles along his back protested immediately, a sharp pulse radiating from his left shoulder down beneath his shoulder blade, making him stop for several seconds, waiting for the sensation to ease slightly before continuing.Finally he managed to sit upright, his back resting against the cold wall behind th

Edrick had made his decision.It wasn't a decision that came suddenly — not like lightning striking in a clear sky. The decision had come slowly, dripping little by little over the past several days, like water seeping through cracks in stone until the drops finally accumulated enough to fill a pool.Asking the guards hadn't worked. Bribery hadn't worked. Begging hadn't worked.So he would do it himself. His own way.---The opportunity came on the fourth day after he'd made that decision, a day when the slaves' work schedule was changed because a large shipment of building materials had to be unloaded on the west side of the compound. All the guards were redirected there, leaving several watch posts on the east side with unusual gaps.Edrick had noticed it since morning.He worked with his head down and his body moving like a machine, lifting, moving, lifting again, while his eyes kept scanning. The pattern of guard rotations. The corners invisible from any watch post. The gap betwee

Edrick didn't sleep again that night.Not because his mind was too busy like the nights before, this time it was different. This time there was something concrete he was holding onto, something real and something he could aim for. No longer just a resolve floating without direction.The last room at the end of the south corridor.Those words were driven into his mind like a nail into wood. Every time he tried to redirect his thoughts, the words pulled him back, patiently, stubbornly, in a way that gave him no choice but to keep thinking about them.But alongside that, doubt didn't leave either.That guard, the young man with unreadable eyes, could have been baiting him. Giving information specific enough to sound convincing, easy enough to follow, then waiting around the corner to catch him showing up in the wrong place with intentions he couldn't explain.That was the most logical thing for someone to do if they wanted to trap a slave who had repeatedly behaved suspiciously.But then

Teresa had tried to sleep.Twice already she'd closed her eyes, controlled her breathing, let the darkness behind her eyelids become the only thing that existed — and twice she'd failed, because the sound kept going.Not a loud sound. Quite the opposite.The sound of slow, irregular footsteps. Forward a few steps, stop. Back. Stop again. Like someone who wanted to go somewhere but didn't know how, or couldn't, and that inability produced aimless movement that was somehow noisier than a purposeful stride.Teresa opened her eyes.From under her blanket, she could see the silhouette of the God Mervous still there — no longer standing at the window now, but moving in the dark of the room in a way that made the muscles between Teresa's shoulder blades start to tighten.She closed her eyes again.Opened them.Closed them.Opened them."That's enough."Teresa pushed her blanket aside and sat up straight on her bed. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her eyes still heavy with sleep she hadn't

Teresa didn't know why she was still standing there.Her feet should have carried her away by now — away from this corridor that smelled of damp air and rusted iron, away from the swaying lantern light and the shadows it cast on the stone walls. The sound of the guard's footsteps she'd heard earlier had faded, whether turning down another passage or heading back to their post. No one could see her here.This was her chance to leave without consequence.But her hand was already on the cold iron bars, and her eyes couldn't tear away from the body lying in the cell — from the slow, uneven rise and fall of that chest, from the wounds that were clear and deep even in this poor light.Teresa took a long breath.Then her hand moved to the cell key hanging on the wall — the guard who'd brought her here apparently hadn't been careful enough to take it with them. Or maybe they hadn't expected anyone to come down here at this hour.The key was heavy and rusted, creaking as she fit it into the loc