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Klaus was there that night, voice too low, eyes too cold. Out of all of them, Klaus who broke the threshold of the door, stood with shadows looming and rage burning within. Her mind spun, filled with questions and queries. Why Klaus? Klaus, who was clinical, cynical and detached. She made her assumptions quickly, answering the rhetorical questions.

The others didn't want to come, couldn't come. They would be influenced by their emotions; they might break and tell her too much. Only Klaus had the fortitude to stand before her like this. Or perhaps he was the only one emotionally capable of speech.

"H-how are they?" She'd clambered closer, hopeful for anything, the scraps in his eyes. He'd been silent, watching her, waiting. She couldn't see his face, squinting into the darkness.

"Alive," he'd answered, voice a low, dreadful monotone. The relief was so extreme that she'd almost collapsed to the ground, but accusation burned in his stance, in the hands pressed to his back. The feet were solidly apart, all soldier-like, detached.

"That Lonely, it—"

"None of your concern," his voice had grown pinched. "We'll need your blood for their recovery." As expected, Quinn was quick to nod, quick to show her wrists, pushing them out into the air. She'd have suggested the use of her blood if he hadn't asked. At this point, she felt as if she might do anything.

"Take it." She'd raised her hands and reached forward. And he gestured to a team behind him shrouded in the darkness. The soldiers matched forward, armours clanking. They had been waiting in the shadows. Quinn tried to ignore the fact that they were armed with guns, prods, and tasers.

The first prick hurt, the pump of the machine sucking harder so than it should. They took a lot of blood, more than the blood banks, more than the factory. And they wanted it fast, had stabbed a thick needle in her arm searching for the vein. They had not bothered to account for her comfort. It took three tries before they were successful.

Elysian and Icarus were not doing well.

Klaus left without another word after they'd almost sucked her dry.

*

The next day, her body ached. Her skin was all bruised, wounds swollen and hot from too much taken. But it was the least she could do, she'd thought, gagging in the darkness, dizzy from the blood loss. The food they'd given her was iron-rich and filled with nutrients, but she'd barely choked it all down.

Her body felt swollen, her skin was burning, and her vision smeared. Sleep did not come easily.

And this time, Solar was the one to arrive in the darkness. He stood silently watching her, a pinched look on his face. Then had reached to touch her hands, a gentleness in his eyes. He tried to heal her, and the soft glow was pretty, like the light of the afternoon sun, like the glitter of dew. And the marks closed, but the bruises remained. He'd frowned deeply, concentrating, trying, then deflated when nothing changed.

He smelt like fear.

"How are they?" she'd whispered.

"Not good," was his answer. There was hot pressure at the back of her throat. Oddly, it felt as if she'd truly done something wrong.

"Why?" she'd choked out, "They've suffered worse—"

"Their bodies have been rejecting blood. And yours was never enough to nurse them back to their peak," Solar answered, thumb rubbing against the sensitive flesh. She winced, and he sighed. "They're weak. And that monster? Its claws were not clean. There's an infection in them."

"Infection," she echoed. There was a pounding in her head, and her skin throbbed.

"We'll have to take more blood from you." There was a flicker of concern in his eyes. "We have to."

"More." She nodded. "Of course, go ahead."

"Thank you." His eyes creased, a sad smile. The soldiers arrived with the machine, pushed along the tiles, its wheels clattered on the stone. Her body quivered almost in anticipation of its arrival. "Thank you, Quinn."

"They saved me," she murmured. "I'll do anything to repay them." But why the jail cell? Why the soldiers? Why the guards? Why were they treating her like a criminal? He seemed to see those questions in her eyes, and when his gaze locked with hers, for a moment she thought she glimpsed the fiery red heat of anger.

"The people, those that were there. They tell stories…" he whispered. "There are riots. Twisted news. Rumours in the air. They think you've brainwashed us." He licked the seam of his drying lips. "They don't trust us with you. They think you've done something to us."

"I…" Her words were caught in her throat, and a lump had formed, all vinegar-flavoured, bitter tang. "I see."

A beat of silence. "They want a trial." Of course, they did.

She nodded, back hunched eyes to the ground. Their shadows merged. "How is Zen?"

"Zen?" His lashes fluttered, and he swallowed hard. His jaw twitched.

"He was there," Quinn explained. "He didn't look good—"

Solar did not answer her, leaving without turning to look back. And she felt as if she must have asked the wrong questions, felt as if she'd done something wrong. And the question she'd held at the tip of her tongue faded with the last glitter of his wings.

Solar, are you okay?

*

The trial was a rush, a roar of people, screaming. The voices of men, a cacophony in the air. Their fists on the wood, they bellowed as she shuddered at their feet. Chained to the stand, illuminated by a violent beam of light. She'd blinked, unable to see through the rays. Somehow, she'd made it there stumbling, collared and bowed. Her dress hanging from thinner shoulders, her knees shaking. The silence was deafening when the judge called for order.

The gavel slammed upon the wood.

She was to give a statement in an archaic lawless world that would never protect a woman.

"I was…" she whispered, "just trying to help an Alpha that had fallen. She tripped, and I went over to give her a hand. And when I turned, the Lonely was there." The audience boomed, and the voices echoed, like claps of thunder they roared, they booed, and they cried. Blasphemy.

SHE'S LYING!

SHE GOT THE KINGS HURT ON PURPOSE!

SHE KNEW THAT THEY WOULD COME FOR HER!

SHE WANTED THEM TO DIE!

"Why would they?" she asked into the noise, but this was silenced by the outroar. The beat of angry wings, the howls of wolves. The distress snaked in her gut and wriggled like a thousand worms. Her skin itched from their eyes, ragged screams pelting her like bullets from all sides.

WE FLED THEIR RULE, THEIR CRUMBLING MONARCHY. AND NOW THEIR CORRUPTION FEEDS LIKE POISON IN OUR PEOPLE. WE CANNOT LET THEM WIN.

THE WOMEN COLLUDE. THEY KNOW WE ARE SUFFERING. THEY WANT US BURNING. THEY WANT US DEAD.

THE ALPHAS ARE MONSTERS.

MONSTERS.

MONSTERS.

MONSTERS.

She'd squinted into the light and felt an urge to turn her face, to catch a glimpse of five shadows standing at the furthest tip of the hall. She couldn't see their faces, but she knew that they were her five Omegas, knew that they were the Kings. And she knew without a doubt, that the one standing at the centre was Zen. But the figure turned away, disappearing like a ghost into the light. And that was a knife to her fleshy heart.

He was giving up on her.

They were giving up on her.

Her eyes widened, realising, understanding the truth.

No.

DEATH TO HER.

DEATH TO THE WITCH.

DEATH TO THE ALPHA.

Her collar twitched, Float inching upwards, twisting through the gaps. But oddly Quinn was so tired of fighting that she just closed her eyes, sinking to her knees. There were no tears on her face, and she barely heard the screams of joy when the order was given.

"The Beta Quinn will be sentenced to death for her crimes against the Kingdom."

*

"King Elysian requests for an audience with you." Her head had tilted upwards, emotions flickering through her soul. A flicker of relief, a dance of joy. He was awake, but what did that mean?

"Is he okay?"

They had not responded as they dragged her down the halls barefooted and in pain. And when she tilted her head to look back, Omegas were crowded in her cell, pushing away the dirtied straw into bags. Cleaning. They had her washed, a bucket of icy cold water to her head, and harsh antiseptic to her skin. It'd burnt on her wounds—the bruises ached, the needle marks weeping with new blood.

But at the door to their room, they clipped a new collar to a neck, one that sat heavier, one that made her guts churn with nausea. The chain at her wrist rubbed her skin raw. Float hissed a warning. There was something about the way it sang under her ears, the way it felt hot on her skin.

It seemed dangerous.

"Do not try anything," the soldiers stated behind their masks. "You will be killed if you move too close to our King. Our systems watch and wait, the technology is cold and cruel. There will be no mercy."

She nodded and caught a glimpse of Rowan turning down the walkway. He sagged into each step, almost as if he were chained to an invisible iron ball. And when his clementine eyes had meandered to hers, lingering, bloodshot, hot and angry. On his lips, there was a whisper. I'm sorry. A blink of emotions, of crinkling eyes, of brows furrowed upwards. And then he was gone.

An apology.

For what?

Her mind worked to the truth to the most pessimistic of thoughts. Death. Her death, her sentence. Now? She blinked desperately. This was her guillotine, her final moments. It must be with the Omegas cleaning her cell, with the look in Rowan's eyes.

But oddly, her heart was cold, empty, accepting.

Quinn was so weak; she could barely stand on her own two feet. There was not much she could do as anaemic as she was now. And to battle while Elysian and Icarus laid dying on their bed for her? That had pain shooting through her heart. Her chest twisted, turned. Quinn could be honest now, honest that she'd like them. That they had crept into her heart, tugged at her soul.

She entered the room with tears burning in her eyes.