CHAPTER 4: Shadows of the Past

The first time Raze met Solana, they were just two kids scraping by in the back alleys of Zone 7. She had tried to pickpocket him, her small fingers darting into his pocket with a speed that belied her age. He had caught her wrist before she could get away.

"That's mine," he had growled, his voice low and menacing.

"Then fight me for it," she had snapped, her chin lifted in defiance, her eyes flashing with a fire that made Raze's heart skip a beat.

And so they had. Like starved animals, rolling in the dirt, biting, scratching, fighting not just for food but for the right to exist. The alley had echoed with the sounds of their struggle, the scent of garbage and desperation hanging heavy in the air.

In the end, neither had won. They had collapsed, bruised and breathless, staring at each other with something neither of them had ever found before. Respect.

From that day forward, they had survived together. Built something in the cracks of a broken world. A partnership forged not in trust, but in necessity. They had stolen together, lied together, and fought together, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

But that had been years ago. Now, Solana stood before him, a stranger wearing her face. Her eyes, once bright and full of fire, were now dull and lifeless, like two stones worn smooth by the constant pounding of the sea.

"You're alive," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. The words felt like a betrayal, an admission of weakness in a world where weakness was a luxury no one could afford.

Her lips parted as if to respond, but she hesitated. Just long enough for him to see it—the flicker of hesitation, the brief glance toward Draith standing behind her, watching like a puppet master waiting for his marionette to dance.

A sinking feeling settled in Raze's gut, like a stone dropped into a deep well. He knew that look, that hesitation. It was the look of someone trapped, someone who had made a choice and now had to live with the consequences.

Draith chuckled, the sound low and menacing. "Ah, the tragedy of reunions." He stepped closer, placing a hand on Solana's shoulder with something that almost resembled affection—if affection had teeth.

"You should be happy, Veyar," Draith continued, his voice dripping with malice. "She's done well for herself. Haven't you, my dear?"

Solana's gaze flicked to Raze, and for a moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of the girl he once knew. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a mask of indifference.

Raze saw it then—the shadow that passed over her expression. Guilt? Regret? A flicker of something real beneath the steel mask she now wore.

"You betrayed me," Raze said, his voice colder than the cell walls. The words felt like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down in a game where the stakes were higher than either of them could have ever imagined.

Solana flinched. It was barely noticeable, but he caught it. He always caught it.

"I did what I had to do," she murmured, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were empty, devoid of the fire that had once burned so brightly.

Draith clapped his hands together, amused. "Beautiful, isn't it? The things we do to survive."

Raze didn't answer. Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure if he would survive this. The game had changed, the stakes higher than ever before. And he was no longer sure if he had the skills to play.

The silence stretched out between them, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with tension. Raze felt it like a weight on his chest, a constant reminder that he was running out of time.

And then, without warning, Solana spoke. Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. "Raze, I—"

But Draith cut her off, his hand tightening on her shoulder like a vice. "I don't think that's necessary, my dear," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "After all, we have a game to play. And I have a feeling our friend here is going to be very... entertaining."

Raze felt a chill run down his spine as Draith's gaze locked onto his. He knew that look, that glint in his eye. It was the look of a man who had already won, who had already planned out every move, every countermove.

And Raze was just a pawn, a piece to be used and discarded at Draith's whim. The thought sent a surge of defiance through him, but deep down, a small voice whispered the truth: he was not in control here.

The guards entered then, the heavy thud of their boots echoing off the stone walls. Their expressions were unreadable, but Raze knew what came next. The games were about to begin.

And this time, losing wasn't an option.