She will be executed.
The words echoed inside my skull, relentless and sharp, like whispers from a madman I couldn't shut out. I could almost hear them slithering around my thoughts, wrapping tight until my breath came shallow and my chest ached.
It didn't feel real. None of this felt real.
"You have your answer now, Vivien. Leave."
Finn's command came cold and clipped, every syllable sharpened with authority meant to cut.
I shook my head. My tears were hot against my skin, sliding unchecked down my cheeks, but I didn't move away. I couldn't.
Instead, I stepped forward towards Stella.
"Tell me," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Tell me it wasn't you. Tell me you couldn't do this."
Her head remained bowed. Strands of tangled hair veiled her eyes. She didn't flinch. Didn't even breathe in a way I could hear.
The silence scraped at me worse than any confession.
"Stella, look at me!" My voice cracked, climbing higher. "I know you couldn't do it! You're the only person in this place who—" My throat closed before I could finish.
The only person who ever made me feel like I wasn't entirely alone here.
I gripped the bars until the cold bit into my palms. "Please. Just say something."
Still nothing.
She didn't even twitch.
It was like watching the life drain out of someone while they were still upright. Like whatever made her Stella had been pulled away, leaving only this hollow, silent thing behind.
"Enough," Finn's voice cut in, low but sharp.
I turned toward him, glaring through my tears. "She didn't do this. You're making a mistake!"
He didn't blink. "The mistake would be letting a confessed traitor live."
Confessed. The word burned. I wanted to throw it back at him, to shout that it wasn't real, that it had been beaten or broken out of her. But before I could, Finn made a small gesture with his hand.
Two guards stepped forward.
"Restrict her," he ordered.
"No—!" I tried to pull back, but rough hands closed around my arms. The sudden force wrenched my shoulders, and I stumbled as they dragged me away from the cell.
"Let go!" I twisted against their grip, my boots scraping the floor, my nails clawing at the leather of their gauntlets. It didn't matter. Their strength was immovable.
They hauled me several paces back until I stood near Finn, who regarded me with the impassive calm of someone watching a storm from behind glass.
"Since you don't want to leave," he said, voice flattening into something almost cruel, "then watch as we deal with a criminal."
The word criminal landed like a slap. As if he was reminding me of my father's crime.
He didn't give me time to respond. Instead, he looked past me toward the hall. "Bring it."
A warrior stepped into view. Broad shoulders. A whip coiled loosely in his hand, the leather black and gleaming in the dim light like a serpent waiting to strike.
"No—" My voice was hoarse now, nearly gone from the shouting. "You can't—"
But the guards held me still.
The warrior entered the cell.
The first sound Stella made was a small, pitiful exhale when the whip brushed the ground beside her. Not even pain yet, just dread. Her head lifted a fraction, and her gaze flicked once toward me.
And then the whip cracked.
The sound was like the world splitting open. A sharp, ugly rip that echoed off the stone walls.
Stella's scream followed a heartbeat later, raw and jagged.
It tore through me.
I lurched forward, but the guards yanked me back, their grip biting into my arms until I thought they'd leave bruises.
"Stop!" I shouted. "Finn, stop this! You've already beaten her—"
He didn't answer.
Another crack. Another scream.
The leather sang through the air before each blow, the sound cruel in its anticipation. Stella jerked with each strike, chains rattling against the wall. Her wrists bled where the metal bit into skin.
"Please!" My voice broke entirely now. "Finn! She's innocent—"
Still, nothing.
He stood with his arms behind his back, watching the scene like a king overseeing a duty, not a punishment.
The third blow landed across Stella's shoulders. She sagged, her head hanging again, but I could see the tremor in her frame. Every shiver matched the beat of my own racing heart.
"I said stop!" I screamed. I didn't care if my voice cracked, if my throat tore. "You're killing her for nothing!"
The warrior didn't pause. The whip rose again.
Something inside me burned — a heat that had nothing to do with rage and everything to do with the helplessness boiling over in my chest.
The whip cracked again.
The last lash landed with a dull, wet sound.
By then, Stella's screams had faded into broken gasps. Her body sagged in the chains, trembling so faintly I could barely tell if she was conscious. Her head lolled to one side, her cheek pressed against the cold wall.
I hoped Finn would call it off. That he'd decide she'd had enough. That somewhere in that frozen heart of his, a spark of mercy still lived.
But when his voice came, it was as merciless as before.
"End it."
The warrior uncoiled the whip from his hand, tossing it aside. Another man stepped forward now — this one carrying a blade. Not a sword for battle. A shorter, curved weapon meant for swift, efficient killing.
"No." The word ripped from me like something primal, tearing through my throat. "No, no, no—"
The guards didn't loosen their grip. If anything, they held me tighter, their hands iron around my arms.
"She hasn't even had a fair trial!" My voice cracked under the weight of it. "You call yourself Alpha, but you're nothing but an executioner—"
Finn's gaze slid to me, calm, cold, cutting. "Justice does not need your permission, breeder."
The executioner entered the cell. His boots scraped against the floor, each step pounding against my ribcage like a drumbeat counting down to the end.
I struggled harder, twisting until my wrists ached. My nails dug into the guards' leather bracers, trying to tear free, to move toward her, to put myself between that blade and Stella.
But the distance between us felt endless.
She finally lifted her head. Just a little.
And through the veil of her hair, I caught her eyes.
They weren't blank now. Not completely. There was a flicker there — faint, but enough to burn itself into me. Regret. Fear. And something that felt like apology.
I shook my head at her, tears blurring my sight. "Don't," I whispered, though I wasn't sure what I meant.
Don't give up. Don't leave me. Don't let them win.
The executioner reached for her chains, unlocking them one by one. The heavy metal fell away with dull clinks that seemed to echo too loud in the still air.
Her arms dropped to her sides, limp and useless.
He caught her by the back of the neck, forcing her to kneel.
"STOP!" I screamed, the word so loud it burned.
Finn didn't even flinch.
The blade rose.
For a heartbeat, all I could hear was the pounding of my own pulse. My chest heaved. My vision narrowed until the world was nothing but Stella, the curve of steel above her, and the cold, damp air between us.
Then the blade came down.
It was quick. Too quick.
The sound it made was sickening, a muffled crack followed by the soft thud of her body hitting the stone.
Something inside me broke.
The guards released me, but my knees gave out. I hit the floor hard, my hands splaying against the cold stone, my breath coming in shallow, jagged bursts.
The coppery scent of blood reached me, curling into my lungs, coating my tongue.
My gaze found her again. Stella's body lay crumpled on the cell floor, hair spilling over her face. The executioner was already wiping the blade clean, as though she were nothing more than a task completed.
My chest ached so fiercely I thought it might tear itself apart.
"She was innocent," I whispered. The words weren't meant for anyone. They were for me. For her. For the Moon Goddess herself, if she cared to listen. "She was innocent…"
But in this place, innocence meant nothing.