Page 4 of Fifth
They walked away, leaving the two of them in silence. Ashort while later, the guards returned and shoved a dented tray through the bars, holding coarse bread and a bowl of greasy stew. The smell was sharp and unappealing, but it was food, and Hannah’s eyes flicked to it warily while Fifth noted the meager portion.
He pushed the tray toward her. “Eat,” he ordered. “You will need strength for tomorrow.”
She didn’t move. “What about you?”
“I do not need it.” Vettians burned clean. He could go days on stored reserves. He didn’t say how the scent of her, warm and fierce and frightened, filled him more than food would. “Eat.”
She hesitated, then obeyed, forcing each bite down. When she gagged at the grease, he tilted the bowl and kept it near so she didn’t have to reach. “Small bites,” he said. “Again.” She obeyed because her body wanted to live. He valued that more than any outward beauty.
He didn’t touch the food, choosing instead to watch her, his own hunger secondary to making sure she was fed. When she finished, he set the tray aside, his decision made. Her survival came first. If there was a second portion tomorrow, he would fight for it. If there wasn’t, he would stealit.
Outside, the slavers laughed and drank, their voices carrying into the night. Wagers clinked: coin, cartridges, rings pried from other people’s fingers. Afiddle scraped a crookedtune.
When Hannah finished eating, he set the tray aside and pulled her closer again. Outside, the men roared and the fiddle shrieked, but inside the cage he created a wall of heat and protection for her to rest against. “Now you will sleep,” he ordered softly. “Curl against me. Iwill keep watch.”
She tensed, pride holding her stiff. Then exhaustion broke through and she shifted into his side, her cheek resting just beneath his collarbone. He wrapped his arm around her, fitting her beneath it, his other hand braced on the bars behind to guard themboth.
“You think we’ll survive this?” she whispered into thedark.
“Affirmative,” he said with certainty he willed into truth. “I will see you through every trial.”
She shivered at the echo of laughter outside, the guards trading bets on how soon they would die. Dawn, some said. An hour into the first trial, others sneered. That she would strike him first, another guessed. The sound carried into the cage like knives. Hannah pressed closer, and Fifth drew her tighter.
“They are wrong,” he promised. “We will make them choke on their wagers.”
Her breath slowed against his chest, her body yielding to weariness despite the fear that still clung to her. He listened to the rhythm of her heartbeat until it steadied. Only then did he allow his own eyes to half-close, resting without ever loosening hishold.
Beyond the bars, the preserve gates loomed. At first light, they would open. The first trial would begin.
And when it did, he would still be holdingher.
Chapter 2
A BATONcracked against iron, waking them sometime in the middle of the night.
The bars rang like a struck bell and the camp’s noise surged in reply. Hot light slashed between the slats of the cage, cutting the dark, silvering the grime on the floor. The scent of sweat, smoke, and unwashed men drifted close, mixing with the faint metallic tang that clung to cages meant for slaughter.
Hannah flinched in the corner. She masked the movement by lifting her chin. Her eyes cut sharp, tracking like a blade. She measured the gate. The guards. The limp coil of chain under his boot. She measured him. The stubborn lift of her chin told him she refused to break despite the tremble of her body. She had the look of prey refusing to run, aware of predators, but too proud to give them chase.
“On your feet,” a guard barked. Keys scraped. Boots scuffed. Laughter broke close to the bars, harsh and ugly, feeding on the promise of humiliation.
Locus rose without hesitation. His shoulders filled the space, brushing iron. Heat rolled off his skin, his presence filling the cage. He reached down and closed his hand around Hannah’s forearm. Her pulse leapt against his palm, quick and bright, but she didn’t pull away. Her scent spiked, fear mixed with fury. Despite everything, she refused to cower. He admired that even as he catalogued the speed of her heartbeat, the tension in her muscles, the angle of her jaw as she silently daredhim.
One guard shoved a hand through the bars, reaching for Hannah’s arm as if to drag her forward. Locus moved before the touch could land. His voice cut the space, flat and unyielding. “Do not touch her.” The guard froze, his hand suspended, then withdrew. The nearest man stepped back before he knew why. Even through bars, authority carried.
The lock clanked and the cage door screeched open. Rough hands motioned them forward, shoving them into the open. Cold nighttime air rushed across Hannah’s bare skin as they were released from confinement at last. Then they were herded across the yard into a corridor of light.
Torches hissed as they passed, their flames snapping in the dry air. Floodlamps blazed overhead, throwing stark shadows across the packed dirt. Acrude platform loomed ahead, ringed with cameras on rattling poles, lenses already whirring to catch every angle.
Men pressed into a ragged semicircle, their jeers rising, eager for spectacle. The air stank of oil and liquor, breath sour with expectation. Locus’s gaze swept the crowd once, registering rifles, knives, exits. He fixed on anything that edged too near Hannah, each threat weighed and measured. Their gazes devoured her, and his blood heated with a warning growl he keptcaged. Every angle became calculation—who might reach first, who would shoot first, who would die first.
The scarred leader lifted both arms to the cameras as though addressing honored guests. His voice boomed, drawing every eye. “Welcome to the preserve, boys. This is the ground where wagers are won and lives are lost. Three trials await. One rule binds them all.” He let the silence stretch a beat, then his grin flashed yellowed and cruel. “Survive.”
The chant rolled through the yard. Aman shook a bucket of credit chips until they chimed. Another tapped at a battered tablet, taking wagers, shouting odds. The calls sharpened as faces turned toward Hannah and toward him, the alien who had walked into their camp as if he owned it. He let them stare. Better their eyes on him than onher.
“Let us give the crowd a better look,” the leader said, voice slick. “Strip them.”
Noise struck like a wave. Rough hands lunged forward. Hannah went rigid, her breath fast and shallow. Her fists clenched white, and her eyes flashed humiliation as cruel as a dagger. The chant rose louder.
