Cass’s POV

I stood on a table in the center of the dining hall, shackled. Kanda, Sheril, and the other survivors were displayed beside me like exotic trophies. We were forbidden to speak, but defiance was the only thing keeping me sane.

A portly spectator stopped in front of Kanda, beaming. "My Nubian goddess! You made me a fortune today!" He toasted her with his cup.

Two men drifted toward me, their eyes tracing the silver-wrought mask bolted to my face. "Curious. Mysterious. Dangerous. I wonder what lies beneath."

"Why don't you get closer and find out?" I whispered.

Tempted, the man leaned in. The moment his face was within reach, I whipped my head down, slamming the metal mask into his nose. Blood sprayed as he stumbled back, shrieking.

"How mysterious am I now?!" I roared.

Zao laughed from his dais, but his amusement vanished when Oliver stepped out from the shadows, a smug smirk plastered on his face.

"That look suits you, Cass."

My blood turned to ice, then liquid fire. Without a second thought, I lunged, my shackled hands locking around his throat. I didn't think; I just bit. I sank my teeth into the first thing I could reach—his ear. As the guards dragged me away, I spat a chunk of flesh onto the dirt.

"I WILL KILL YOU!" I shrieked.

Back in the barracks, the adrenaline faded, leaving only a hollow, sick terror. I had survived one fight, but could I survive another? I was a monster in a cage, and the line between fighting to survive and becoming the depravity they craved was blurring.

The next morning, the guards returned with a list. "You," the guard pointed at me. "And the one in the corner. You fight tonight."

I didn't even argue; I just stumbled to the latrine and vomited.

"Breathe," Lia, the silent girl, whispered, patting my back. "You did it once. You can do it again."

As we waited for the evening, Kanda shared her story—a werecat from Nairobi, captured by poachers. It was a bleak reminder: in Zao’s world, we weren't supernaturals; we were merchandise.

When we were hauled out to the market area for display, the air was thick with the scent of cheap ale and impending violence. My eyes scanned the crowd, desperate for a familiar face, a sign of hope—anything.

Then, I saw her.

Honora.

The witch who had guided me through my visions of Ezra.

"Honora!" I screamed, pressing my face against the bars.

The guard struck the metal with his baton, making me jump, but I didn't care. Honora turned, her eyes scanning the sea of prisoners. She paused, squinting at me through the crowd.

"No... please, don't leave," I whimpered as the surge of the crowd swallowed her silhouette. I hit the bars, my heart shattering. It was my only connection to the life I had lost.

"Who was that?" Kanda asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

I slid down the bars, defeated. "Someone I thought could save me."

"You know me?"

A voice, crisp and melodic, whispered from the shadows behind our cell. I turned, my breath catching in my throat.

Honora stood there, cloaked in the gloom, her eyes locked onto mine.