The wheels groaned over rough earth, each jolt rattling the cage bars and running a faint tremor up my spine. The air was stale—smell of sweat, fear, and the tang of rusted iron filling up the space.
Outside, the traffickers muttered in low voices, words swallowed by the creak of wood and slap of reins. Hooves kept a steady beat. A cough came from the back—dry, brittle. To the far side, someone whispered a prayer too quiet to catch.
I stayed still.
Stillness is not weakness. Stillness is a blade. People notice when you don't flinch. They start to wonder. Wondering is the first crack in control.
The crack didn't take long.
From the far corner, a figure uncoiled from a crouch. Broad shoulders. Neck thick as a tree trunk. Scars lined all over his arms like pale rope. His face was all blunt edges and shadowed eyes.
When he stood, the cage around him seemed smaller.
His bare feet shuffled over the boards, and prisoners pulled back. The silence thickened, heavy and wet.
He stopped where the torchlight hit him.
"New blood," he said, staring straight at me. His voice was gravel dragged in a metal pan. "Name's Garruk. I run this place."
I tilted my head, shooting him a look irritation, the way you do at something ugly stuck to your boot. "How charming."
His mouth twitched, but not into a smile. "Every cage. Every scrap of food. Every drop of water. It all goes through me first. You breathe here, you breathe on my terms."
He turned his eyes to the others, raising his voice like a priest with a sermon.
"Three rules. Rule one — don't annoy me. Rule two — don't disobey me. Rule three — break one or two and you pay."
Chains in words. No one moved.
I smiled, thin as a knife's edge. "That's adorable."
The nearest prisoners froze. Garruk's brow creased. "What?"
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, voice just low enough that they'd have to strain to hear. Straining meant they'd remember.
"Rules are for people who need permission to act. I don't."
He stepped closer. "You think you're different?"
"I don't think," I said. "I know. Your first mistake is thinking you run this place just because you're the loudest animal in the cage."
The air tightened—fear, but something else underneath. Garruk saw it too.
He moved in until the bars were all that kept his hands off my throat. "You got a mouth. Let's see how long it lasts."
"I'll last as long as I want. And by the time I'm done here, Garruk…" I let the pause stretch, well enough for anyone with a brain here to process it. "…you'll be quoting my rules."
His jaw flexed. Then he stepped back. "Tomorrow," he said, "you'll learn."
"Tomorrow," I said, "you'll regret."
He turned away, but his shoulders had tightened. The seed was planted—not just anger. Doubt.
The torch swayed with each bump, shadows crawling over the cages. Eyes stayed low, but I felt them on me.
An older man with a scar down his cheek slid closer to the bars. His voice was paper-thin. "You shouldn't have spoken to him like that."
I looked at him like I was bored. "And yet I did."
"You don't understand. Garruk's been here for years. Guards leave him alone. He decides who—"
I cut him off with a flick of my hand. "Say his name again and you'll start to sound like you belong to him."
The man flinched, shook his head , his face somewhere between awe and confusion and sank back. Good. There was no point talking to someone who had already picked their leash.
When the traffickers stopped for the night, they didn't open the cages. Just shoved a bucket of water inside and tossed a few stale crusts of bread.
Garruk caught the bread before it hit the floor, breaking it unevenly. Bigger chunks to the obedient, crumbs for the rest. When the bucket came, he drank last—after every mouth—but longest.
I didn't touch the bread. Didn't touch the water. Just watched.
It didn't take long.
"No appetite, pretty boy?" Garruk called.
I leaned back, slow grin, eyes steady. "I'm just waiting."
"For what?"
"For the day you have to beg me for a piece."
A couple prisoners bit back laughs. That was enough. The smallest shift in loyalty starts with humor—when it's aimed at the right target.
Before dawn, the wheels rolled again. The night had been long—creaks of wood, distant howls, sick lungs coughing in the dark. I'd slept light, eyes half on Garruk. He'd been watching me too.
By midday, I'd started my own game. Asking for water like it was already mine. Passing it on without drinking. Looking at Garruk while I did it. Letting him see I didn't need what he controlled.
He didn't move yet. The clever ones wait. They think they're choosing the moment. Really, they're walking right into the one you've already set.
The road funneled into dark woods. Trees pressed close, turning the sky into a bruised strip overhead. The air was cold, damp with moss and rot. Somewhere ahead, water rushed fast.
The carriage slowed. Too slow for the ground.
The traffickers' voices sharpened. Reins pulled tighter. One of them looked back—not at the cages. At me.
Garruk shifted, planting himself between me and the door like he already knew.
I smiled.
The road might belong to the traffickers.
The cages might belong to Garruk.
But whatever waited in those shadows ahead?
That was mine.