Cass’s POV

"Honora?" I breathed, pressing myself against the bars.

She recoiled, startled. I quickly stepped back, not wanting to frighten her.

"I know you," she whispered, her eyes searching mine. "I can feel that residual power within you. You’re Cass, the girl Lotus brought to my shop."

"Yes," I nodded frantically. "I was sold by a traitorous Alpha. Can you help me?"

She glanced at the guards, then shook her head grimly. "I’m just a witch, Cass. I can’t break these wards directly. But I can alert your pack."

"Tell them where I am," I pleaded. "Please."

She studied me, her gaze shifting to the metallic mask bolted to my skull. "That mask... it’s a sophisticated dampener. It’s blocking your potential, yet I can still see how strong you are. If you were free, you’d be a force of nature." She sighed, her expression softening. "I helped your mother once. I won’t abandon you. I’ll make sure your people know."

She slipped away, feigning interest in the betting tables to avoid suspicion, but I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way out.

My relief was short-lived. A new visitor arrived—Ezra’s witch. She paced the perimeter of the cells, her presence colder than the stone floor beneath me. She paused, her gaze locking onto mine with chilling curiosity.

"The mask," she murmured to the guard. "How... quaint. Is she worth the coin?"

"She’s a new favorite," the guard replied.

I clenched my fists, every fiber of my being screaming to tear her throat out. She was the architect of my misery, the one who had helped Ezra orchestrate my fall. She didn't recognize me—not yet—but the danger was palpable. If she lingered, I feared I wouldn't be able to restrain myself.

Fortunately, the guard dragged her away toward the bidding tables, but the encounter left me rattled.

"That was a bad witch," I muttered to Kanda.

"Ezra’s?" Kanda asked, her voice dropping.

I nodded, my stomach churning. If she was here, Ezra couldn't be far behind.

As the sun began to dip, the atmosphere in the barracks shifted. Guards arrived, their numbers doubling, their expressions vacant and cruel.

"Three-on-three match," the lead guard grunted, pointing his weapon at me, Kanda, and Maribel—the silent, frail girl who had been sleeping in our cell for weeks. "If you survive this, you fight again tomorrow in singles."

"Three-on-three?" Kanda echoed, her face hardening.

Maribel didn't argue. She simply dragged a massive greatsword—a weapon nearly as long as her own slight frame—across the concrete floor. She looked like a ghost, devoid of fear because she was perhaps devoid of hope.

We were led to the arena, the crowd’s roar deafening. The announcer boomed, "Introducing The Maiden! The Persian Princess! And our undefeated champion, The Nubian Pharaoh!"

A guard stepped forward and unclipped Kanda’s iron collar. She let out a low, guttural growl, her muscles coiling as the suppression of her shifter-nature began to lift.

I scanned the stands. I saw Honora, who gave me a subtle nod of encouragement. But then, my eyes drifted to the VIP dais.

Zao sat there, resplendent in his cruelty. Beside him stood Ezra’s witch, and next to her, staring down into the pit with an air of predatory boredom, was Ezra himself.

My heart plummeted. My legs went weak, and for the first time since my capture, the reality of my situation hit me with the force of a physical blow. I wasn't just fighting for survival; I was fighting for my life under the eyes of the man who wanted me broken.