Page 144 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

She fell to the ground. Shouts. A scuffle. Another gunshot. Ryker crying out.

“No,” Brynleigh moaned. “No, no, no.”

Her handler must’ve killed Ryker after he shot her.

Was that what he meant when he said rules are rules?

It was the only thing that made sense.

He shot Ryker, and then he… did something to Brynleigh.

Where was she? Part of her wished she could keep her eyes closed a little while longer and remain oblivious, but she couldn’t. She needed to know. To understand.

Ice coated Brynleigh’s veins as she opened her eyes despite the pain. A whimper rose in her throat. The shirt wasn’t a shirt at all, but a black jumpsuit. That wasn’t the worst of it, though.

Gray and black stones rose above her on three sides. Iron bars blocked the only entrance on the fourth wall. There were no windows. There was no light except a single violet Light Elf orb suspended from the ceiling. Condensation dripped down the stones, falling onto the ground in the rhythm she’d heard earlier. Something resembling a toilet and a sink sat in one corner. No bed. No blanket. Nothing else.

A fucking dungeon.

Brynleigh scrambled into a sitting position, moving to the corner of the cell so she could see if anyone walked by.

Her heart was a mallet shaking her entire body, but she didn’t cry out to Isvana or Ithiar. There was no point in begging the goddess of the moon or the god of blood for help. She’d gotten herself into this mess, and there was no one to blame but herself.

Brynleigh didn’t even realize they still had dungeons in the Republic of Balance. Their society was supposed to be evolved. They had technology now, for the gods’ sake.

But this?

This place looked like it belonged in the stories of the fallen Rose Empire. Black manacles hung from the walls, the cell across from her looked like it housed a skeleton, and the breeze carried faint moans to her ears.

Yes, this was definitely a dungeon, and she was definitely a prisoner.

Because Ryker was…

He was…

He was…

Dead.

Brynleigh’s breaths started coming in short gasps. Her head pounded. She drew her knees to her chest and hugged them close. Tears burned her eyes.

Captain Ryker Waterborn was dead.

Because of her.

This was all her fault.

Dead.

The word echoed in her mind, getting louder and louder and louder.

She wheezed, sipping air as a fist compressed her lungs.

Something strange happened in her chest. An ache grew in her heart. She tried to ignore it, to gather the emotion and shove it away, but she couldn’t.

The box was broken.

She was broken.

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