chapter 4
853 Words
ARIADNE’S POV
Days bled into nights, and the ache of losing Mel became something I wore like my coat: heavy, familiar, and necessary.
I went back to training alone in the warehouse.
No guidance.
No voice correcting my stance.
Just my fists and the dull echo of concrete.
There were no more jokes.
No more “Lower your guard, Aria,” or the way she’d flick my braid mid-sparring just to throw me off.
Only silence, broken by the sound of my knuckles connecting with sandbags and the occasional hiss of my breath when I hit too hard.
I bruised more now.
But I also got faster.
I worked double shifts at the diner.
The manager didn’t question it — cheap labour didn’t need explanations.
I wiped tables with robotic precision, served plates I could barely remember holding, and smiled through customers barking orders like I owed them the world.
I slept less. Ate less.
My body grew leaner and sharper.
But inside, I was unravelling — a thread pulled too tight, losing pieces of myself along the way.
Sometimes, I caught glimpses of warmth I couldn’t afford to want —
the glow of a birthday candle through a diner window,
the easy way strangers leaned into each other without flinching.
I didn’t linger.
Didn’t fantasize.
I just noted it like one might note the weather: distant, irrelevant, and dangerous to touch.
I saw girls like me disappear.
One vanished from the shelter without a trace.
Another showed up two days later, limping and glass-eyed, then never came back.
Everyone had their own way of surviving.
Mine was simple: keep my head down, walk fast, trust no one.
But even that wasn’t always enough.
The night it snapped began with rain threatening from the sky, heavy clouds pressing down like the city itself wanted to suffocate.
I worked until close at the diner.
My bones ached.
My feet felt like bricks.
I took the leftovers they offered — lukewarm fries and a chicken sandwich — and stuffed them into my tote.
The streetlamps flickered as I walked.
The shelter wasn’t far, but the air felt wrong —
like something was holding its breath.
I passed the alley by the liquor store — the one I usually avoided.
Tonight, I was too tired to care.
Just a shortcut.
Just ten minutes faster to the shelter.
I told myself that.
Halfway through, I sensed it.
Not a sound at first.
Just instinct.
A shift in the air.
The kind of silence that meant I wasn’t alone.
Then came the click.
Low. Metallic. Close.
My pulse spiked.
I turned slowly — and saw them.
Three men.
Moving like shadows.
Controlled. Focused.
No shouting. No threats. Just presence.
I backed away slowly, hands lifting instinctively. “I don’t want trouble.”
No one answered.
“Whatever this is, you’ve got the wrong girl,” I said, my voice sharper now.
The one in front raised a gloved hand.
“Don’t scream,” he said calmly, voice smooth, accented faintly — Italian, maybe.
“We don’t want to hurt you.”
“Too late,” I growled — and ran.
One of them lunged, covering the distance in a heartbeat.
But I had the element of surprise.
I twisted, elbowing him in the face.
I heard the sick crunch of bone.
He stumbled back, blood already spilling from his nose.
“s**t, Marco — she broke your nose,” one of them muttered.
He grabbed me again; I ducked, slammed my knee into his gut, and drove my fist into his jaw, splitting my knuckles.
Mel’s voice echoed in my head: Quick. Don’t hold back. Make it count.
He reeled.
“She’s got fire,” the calm one noted, almost impressed. “Careful with her.”
I bolted again, this time toward the open street —
but the third man caught me by the hood and yanked me backwards.
I hit the ground hard.
Pain exploded in my shoulder.
I kicked wildly, catching his shin with the heel of my boot.
“She’s not going quietly,” one muttered. “Should’ve brought the sedative.”
“Boss said no drugs unless absolutely necessary,” the leader snapped. “He wants her to be aware.”
Blood trickled from my temple — warm and sticky against my skin.
I opened my mouth to scream —
A cloth clamped over my face.
Sweet. Sharp. Suffocating.
Pressed tight.
Drenched in something chemical, something wrong.
I held my breath and struggled, jerking my head from side to side, but my strength was fading fast.
I cannot be taken like this.
I will fight until I can’t.
I grabbed a broken metal rod from the ground and swung —
It connected with the side of his head.
He didn’t even flinch.
“Merda!” the one pinning me cursed.
The one whose nose I broke was still holding his face, blood seeping through his fingers.
“She broke my damn nose,” he hissed.
At least I’d left a mark.
The only mark I could.
Then everything tilted.
And the darkness took me.
- Writer
