She staggered in, nearly tripping over the threshold, breath tearing out of her in ragged, painful gulps.
Sweat plastered her dark hair to her forehead, soaking the thin fabric clinging to her body. She was heavier than me—softer, fuller—her body punished more harshly by hunger and exhaustion. I was honestly stunned she’d outrun Bianca to reach the shed.
“I’m... tired,” she wheezed, bending forward, hands braced on her knees. Each breath sounded like it cost her something vital.
Fear spiked sharp and cold in my gut.
“No,” I said quickly, moving to her side. “Not now. You’re almost there.”
She swayed, legs trembling violently. I slipped an arm around her waist, feeling how thin she was beneath the softness, how fragile her strength truly was.
“Just a little more,” I murmured into her ear. “Just one step. Then another.”
She leaned into me, trusting me with her weight, her survival. Together we moved—half guiding, half dragging—toward the opening.
Her shin scraped against the jagged stone as she squeezed through. Blood welled instantly, dark against pale skin.
She hissed in pain—but she didn’t stop.
She made it through.
Gone.
For half a heartbeat, the shed was silent.
Then screams tore through the night.
I spun around.
The elder Kompania brother had Bianca pinned against the far wall. One massive hand was locked around her throat, lifting her just enough that her feet barely brushed the ground. Her body bucked uselessly, arms clawing at him, eyes wide with terror and fury.
Our master barreled toward me from the yard, face twisted beyond recognition, rage pouring off him in waves. His boots pounded the earth like war drums.
I looked at the hole.
I could leave right now.
Slip through. Disappear into the forest. Join the others. Save myself.
The thought tasted like ash.
Bianca.
The one who had been here longest. The one whose body carried the map of every cruelty this place knew how to inflict. The one who held us together when despair nearly crushed us. The one the younger Kompania brother had already claimed as his property.
If I left her—
“You bitch!” our master roared, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
My chest caved in on itself.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I met Bianca’s gaze across the shed. “I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes found mine. Even now, even like this, there was no accusation in them. Just understanding. And something like forgiveness.
“Stay alive,” I breathed. “I swear on my life—I’ll come back for you.”
Then I turned and dove.