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Qaya woke to the soft, rhythmic tapping of water droplets hitting a puddle. The air was damp, thick with the scent of mildew and rust. Darkness pressed in from all sides, save for a single lantern flickering about seven yards away, its weak glow spilling from the cracks of a rickety shack.
She swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy. When she tried to move, pain flared through her limbs like fire. A sharp pull at her shoulders made her suck in a breath—her hands were bound tightly behind her back, the ropes biting into her wrists.
How many days had it been? she wondered. She wasn't sure, having drifted in and out of consciousness too many times to count. But she still remembered the painful strike of wood against her head. She couldn't forget it. The throbbing ache persisted with such intensity that she wondered if her skull was still intact.
They had been kidnapped by De Gei Jaune, and the mob was not happy about having another of their bases burned to a crisp. How they were going to get out of this was something that intrigued her—and something she looked forward to.
"Jas?" she called in a soft whisper, fearing their captors would hear them if she was any louder.
"Still here," Jaslin replied not too far away. Qaya turned and saw her cousin's silhouette. The other girl lay flat on the floor, her hands tied over her head, looking oddly nonchalant.
Qaya chuckled. At least she's comfortable.
"How long have we been here again?" she asked.
"I'm not exactly sure, but I've seen the sun set once, so I'm guessing two nights and one day," Jaslin muttered.
"Oh," Qaya murmured, glancing around as she squinted, searching for Rivan and Zachary.
"Rivan? Zachary?" she called out, this time louder.
"We're here," Rivan responded, his voice distant.
"Where?"
"I can't say for sure, but we're tied to a pole—though I think it's a pipe," Rivan called back.
"Wow, they just bound our hands and stopped there," Jaslin commented dryly.
Qaya snickered. "Chivalry, I guess."
Silence fell over them again as they each processed their situation. They were in an unfamiliar place, far from home, fugitives in a city where they had just been kidnapped. Was anyone going to find them?
Despite how dire things seemed, the group remained relatively calm for one reason: the culmination of Qaya's and Zachary's plan. Setbacks were inevitable, and this was just another one. Now, all they had to do was wait and see how things unfolded.
The door swung open, and heavy footsteps echoed as men entered. Their shadows flickered and danced in the dim light before someone turned on the overhead lamp.
"Curses," Rivan hissed as the sudden brightness stung his eyes.
"Nice to see you're all comfortable," Gaston said as he walked in, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Though it is particularly annoying, considering you just razed all our money to the ground."
His words were an ugly, guttural growl, and Qaya shrank back, sitting up straight.
The group looked like they had been run over by at least six carriages pulled by bulls, then tossed into a freezing lake and left to dry on a dirt road. They were the definition of sore eyes.
"Boss, what should we do with them?" one of the men asked, idly fiddling with a spinning knife as he eyed the captives like a snake would a rodent.
"Yeah, we gotta do something. The building they burned had our money, goods, valuable things inside. They have to pay for what they've done," another answered, scratching his ear with disgusting vigor before spitting onto the floor.
The girls grimaced.
"Oh, don't be like that," the first goon said, noticing their looks of disgust. "Gaston, I say we have some fun with the girls first, then send all of them to Kusuk. I reckon they'll fetch us good money."
"Oh, shut the hell up," Gaston snapped, his voice filled with irritation as he shot his companion a look of disdain before taking a slow drag from his cigar.
"That's why you're still stuck in De Gei Jaune, playing little leagues. Dumb rats," he muttered, exhaling smoke as he walked outside.
"What's up Gaston's ass?" Ear-Scratcher asked the third guy, who only shrugged.
"Man was talking like we aren't playing the little leagues together," he snickered.
They laughed and settled down to play cards, wagering money and belongings.
"That reminds me," Spinning-Knife said as he shuffled his deck. "How did Gaston find out where they were? I mean, it would've been great if we found them before they burned our livelihoods to the ground."
The fourth and last guy chimed in this time. "Beats me. He was secretive about it, but from what I gathered, it was some secret intel or something."
"No shit," the pot-bellied man bellowed, and they all burst into laughter.
"You know what? I don't care what little Mr. BigLeagues Gaston says. I say we have our fun with the girls," the knife guy announced, disrupting the game as everyone stared at him with a mix of mild caution and serious temptation.
"I mean, the tall one is looking…" Pot-Belly finished his sentence with a knowing hum as he leered at Qaya.
"If you take one step toward me, I'll gouge out your eyeballs," Qaya threatened through gritted teeth.
"Well, it wouldn't be fun if there wasn't a chase."
"Disgusting," Jaslin bit off, rising with the grace of a panther. Her gaze was sharp, unwavering, a silent promise of defiance. "No one is touching my cousin. You'll have to go through me first."
Qaya's breath hitched.
"Cousin?" Her voice trembled, barely more than a whisper.
Jaslin didn't hesitate. "Yeah," she said firmly, stepping in front of Qaya like a shield. "I've had time to think about it." She exhaled, her hands balling into fists as she stared ahead, her voice dropping just a little. "It hurts that Mahalia... the real Mahalia... is gone. That part will never stop hurting."
Qaya flinched at the words, at the reminder that she wasn't really Mahalia. That she had stolen her face, her name, her life.
But then Jaslin turned to her, and for the first time since this mess began, there was no accusation in her eyes—only a quiet, painful understanding. "I heard what Lady Jamon said," Jaslin continued. "And I get it now. You weren't at fault."
Qaya's breath came unevenly, her throat tightening.
"You did things," Jaslin admitted. "Things I don't like. Things I probably never will. But you were just making do with what life handed you, weren't you?"
Qaya swallowed hard, her fingers twitching behind her back where they were bound. She wanted to deny it, to argue—to apologize.
But Jaslin wasn't finished.
"Even if I hate what you and Mahalia went through, even if I wish none of this ever happened... I understand now." Her voice was softer now, raw but steady. "You and Mahalia… you were always two halves of the same story. The person standing in front of me is my cousin. You're my cousin, you are Mahalia."
Qaya's vision blurred, heat stinging behind her eyes.
A shaky breath escaped her lips, and she let out a short, broken laugh. "I want to hug you," she muttered, "but my hands are kinda tied."
Jaslin snorted, her lips quirking up. "Mine too."
For a moment, just a fleeting moment, the danger around them faded. The cold, damp room, the leering goons, the uncertainty of what would happen next—it all melted into the background.
Because, for the first time in a long time, Qaya wasn't alone.
And that? That was enough to make her heart ache.
"Touching," one of the goons sneered, and before she knew it, he flung Jaslin aside. She crashed into a stack of empty beer crates.
"Jaslin!!" Qaya kicked the assaulter in the shin. He groaned in pain, and another man moved to hit her, but she was quicker. She headbutted him, sending him staggering backward.
The fourth guy, the one with the scruffy beard, yelled in annoyance and struck Qaya so hard that she collapsed, limp.
"Qaya?" Zachary's voice rang out. He was out of his bounds and rushing to check on her.
"What the— when did he get out of his restraints?!"
They moved to restrain him, but Zachary was fast. He drove his fist into one man's gut, practically dragged another across the floor, then kicked him away.
He picked up Qaya. She was breathing, but her nose was bloody, and she was unconscious.
"Qaya," he called again, but no one answered.
"You're pretty strong. You even human?" Scruffy-Beard asked.
"You—" Zachary saw red. He grabbed the man by his beard, yanked him forward, and landed a punch so hard that blood flew from his mouth.
Zachary showered the goon with fast, heavy blows—his eyes, his stomach, his face.
"Get that animal down!" someone shouted.
A bottle of alcohol shattered against Zachary's head.
The De Gei Jaune goons sighed in relief as Zachary finally collapsed.
"Bunch of animals, really."
The door opened again. Gaston entered, muttering to himself.
"The hell happened in here?" he thundered, taking in the sight of a writhing Jaslin, an unconscious Qaya, and a bloodied Zachary.
The goons scrambled, half-explaining and half-blaming each other.
"You, Fishbowl. You did that to the tall girl?" Gaston asked the man Zachary had just beaten.
"She was throwing a tantrum."
"A tantrum? You stupid or dumb? Of course, she's gonna throw a tantrum—she was kidnapped!" Gaston kicked a stray crate and cursed. "You just had to make things difficult for me."
"What do you mean?"
Before the answer came, the door was thrown open. Thirty soldiers marched in, swords in hand.
"I see this is where you idiots hid my queen," Awin sneered, his eyes darkening as they landed on Qaya's unconscious form.
"Mr. Gaston, I'm so happy Yellow Jay could help us bring these miscreants to justice."
Gaston bowed. "It's our pleasure."
"Then I trust you'll do the necessary," Awin said, turning to leave.
"What the hell is going on, Gaston?" one of the goons sputtered, eyes darting between him and the advancing soldiers. "You with Yellow Jay?"
Gaston didn't answer at first. He simply looked at them—his so-called comrades—with an expression of cold disdain, as if the very sight of them was repulsive. The disgust in his eyes cut deeper than any blade.
"How dare you think I'd rot in the little leagues with you?" His lip curled in contempt.
Then, without hesitation, he turned to the soldiers. "Kill the rest of these De Gei Jaune scum."
"What?" The realization hit too late. "Gaston, you—"
Steel flashed. Blood sprayed. The betrayal came swift, merciless, and absolute.
Rivan chuckled at the sight and glanced at Zachary's unconscious body.
"You were right. Only setbacks."
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To be continued