Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Thank the gods, they finally reached the building. White walls stretched to the sky, and it was several stories higher than any other structure around.
“This is the place?” Octavia wished she’d brought a dagger with her instead of just her walking stick.
“It is.” Flynn nodded, his shoulders tense. Blue sparks danced over his hands, and he was stiff. “Let me do the talking.”
That wouldn’t be a problem. Octavia didn’t have a death wish, and she knew the value of holding her tongue. She said as much to Flynn, and he snorted before raising his fist and knocking.
The sound barely had time to resonate before the door was wrenched open.
A towering male with greasy brown hair stood before them, violence flickering in his eyes as he glowered at them. “Yes?” he said in the Common Tongue, his words clipped and deep as though he was eating rocks.
Yeah, Octavia definitely didn’t plan to speak with this man.
Flynn lifted his chin. “I’m here for Amyla Tririver.”
A grumble ran through the man, predatory and animalistic and deep. Octavia’s dragon stood on edge, the predator within her ready to come out if needed.
The burly man stared at them for a long moment, his jaw clenched so tight a vein popped. Eventually, he nodded curtly. “Come.”
The interiorof the building was even worse than the exterior. The silence was more oppressive. The aura of wrongness was even thicker. Octavia felt like they were wading through mud.
Danger was here.
She kept her senses extended, ready to act if needed. Beside her, Flynn flexed his fingers. He hadn’t drawn his sword, but his hand rested on the hilt.
Neither of them was at peace.
The hulking man led them up a set of wooden stairs and down a hallway. They trailed him through a common area with a few ripped couches, where several women wearing little more than undergarments sat and read.
Or at least it looked like they were reading. No one spoke. No one moved. They just stared at the books with dead eyes, not even turning the pages.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Octavia shivered and pressed herself against Flynn’s side. This was not a place for her—it was not a place for any of these women. Suddenly, she wished they’d brought all the money from her hoard. How much would it cost to free all these women? Once they freed Amyla, she vowed they would come back for the others. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but they would free them.
No one should be forced to live in a place like this.
A few minutes later, Flynn was forced to repeat his request to see his sister in front of another man. This one had a scar running down half his face, his left eye cloudy as he glared at them.
“You wish to buy my property?” he snarled, his voice low and rough. His fingers dug into the desk in front of him.
Flynn stiffened, and Octavia could tell it took every ounce of restraint the witch had not to tremble with fury. “Yes,” he said through clenched teeth. “I do.”
That silence stretched and stretched and stretched as the man looked them over. Then, he raised a brow. “Fine. You want her?” He named a price. “That’s how much it will cost.”
Flynn’s knuckles whitened. They had just enough.
Octavia’s heart was a thundering drum growing louder as the minutes went by. Flynn spoke with the man, but she barely heard their words. The longer they were in this place, the worse she felt. They needed to leave.
Eventually, the scarred man stood, walked to the door, and barked an order. He turned in the doorway, his form looming over them, and he stared them down.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Every second they spent in this place was worse than the last. The walls bore down on Octavia, and the silence was almost too much to bear. Her dragon was anxious and itchy beneath her skin, her lungs too tight.
She needed to get out of here.