Page 94 of Obsession & Oath

I stretch out my legs beneath the metal bed and try to wriggle beneath it, for a change of scenery, ha!. The walls beneath are bare, except for the faintest of scratches carved into the stone. I trace my fingers along them, feeling the jagged edges of each mark.

At first, I don’t recognize them. But as my eyes adjust to the dim light, something clicks, and I realize what I’m looking at: the scratches made by the last person who occupied this cell.

Mia.

The thought hits me like a wave. She was here. She washerefor months.

The scratches on the wall are small and desperate. They show a progression, a slow decline from time spent locked away, each new line a reminder of the hours, days, months she spent in this very cell.

Then there, right in the corner, the words:

“Fuck you, Rubio.”

The below, slightly smaller:

“Not you, Carmen.”

A bubble of laughter bursts out.

Red.

It was all so Red. Memories of our whirlwind friendship rise to the surface of my mind. I’d never met anyone like her, someone I could trust to have my back in a world where anyone might take a stab at it.

Even her, in the end.

But that wasn’t the end, was it? Mia had vouched for me when the Guild caught me. She suffered for me in this cell for months.

She smiled at me at the exchange, and God, it felt like not a moment had passed since we were dancing in clubs together and feeling like the world was ours for the taking.

Her captivity wasn’t a brief respite like mine. She wasn’t given the grace of sunlight or freedom to wander the grounds. She was kept in the dark, forgotten, probably beaten into submission.

And for what?

The sound of footsteps outside the cell cuts through the silence, and I scramble out from under the bed and press my back against the wall in the corner, trying to make myself as small as possible.

The door creaks open with a sound that feels too final, too heavy.

His figure fills the doorway, tall and imposing, his face twisted into an expression of cold fury. It’s been days, and yet when his gaze settles on me, the weight of his disappointment hits me like a physical blow.

“Carmen,” my father says, his voice low, deadly calm.

“Papá,” I just need to stay calm and reasonable. Remain obedient. “I’m thirsty.”

Amos stalks toward the empty cup perched on the bed and knocks it to the floor. For a moment, the sound of it clumsily bouncing across the floor fills the brutal silence between us.

I try not to close my eyes. I try to keep my back straight and my mouth set.

I try not to cry.

“Papá.”

“Do you understand what it is you have done?”

I know better than to reply.

“You’ve sullied yourself. I never thought you’d be so weak, sostupid.” His words slice through the air, each one a barb aimed at my soul. “You’ve betrayed everything we stand for.”

I bite down hard on my lip to keep from making a sound.

---