CHAPTER FOUR

All the girls stared at me.

Most of them wore the same look—wide eyes, lips sealed shut, shoulders curled in like they could disappear into themselves if they tried hard enough.

But one girl didn't look away.

She was sitting at the far end of the room, dark braids draped over her silk dress—the same thin, useless thing we were all forced to wear. But she wore it like it didn't mean a thing. Like it couldn't touch her.

Her tag read Lot #19.

I couldn't stop staring.

She lifted her chin—barely. Just enough for me to know she saw me. I hesitated, then stepped closer, slipping into the space beside her. Careful not to draw attention.

"You're new," she said, quiet but steady. Her voice sounded like a whisper wrapped in iron.

I nodded.

"I saw you in processing," she added.

"You didn't break."

My jaw tensed.

"Not yet."

She gave the slightest smirk, like it was a test and I'd passed the first part.

"Good," she said. "You'll need that."

We sat in silence, the sound of the auction echoing faintly through the velvet curtains.

Lot #10… sold for three hundred and sixty thousand.

My stomach turned.

"I'm Amanda," I whispered, not looking at her.

She waited a moment before answering.

"Zaria."

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to know which guards nod off outside the hallway. Long enough to know where they hide the backup keys."

"You've tried before?"

Her jaw tightened.

"No. I watched someone else try. They broke her ribs and dragged her back in front of everyone. Just to make a point."

I swallowed hard, my throat burning.

"I'm not good at fighting," I said quietly, "but I can't let them sell me. I won't."

I paused, voice shaking.

"If I get out... I'll come back. We'll burn this place to the ground."

She didn't respond. But I saw something flicker in her eyes.

Then one of the handlers walked past, eyes scanning tags, lips moving like he was reading out prices at a supermarket.

I stood still—Lot #27—trying to look empty.

But I wasn't.

I had watched. Waited. Counted the guards. Memorized doorways, keys, how the lights blinked. I hadn't said much to the others, but we'd shared looks. And in those looks, something passed between us. A quiet agreement. A plan.

Lot #11 was called.

I leaned toward Zaria.

"You ready?"

She nodded. Barely.

The plan wasn't perfect. It wasn't safe. But it was better than standing still.

The moment the guard turned to escort Lot #11, Zaria moved—fast, sharp, brutal.

I grabbed an iron candlestick from the display table near the curtain and brought it down hard on the guard's skull.

He dropped.

No time to think.

Someone screamed. I lunged for his belt, ripped the keys free, and tossed them to Zaria—even though I already had a copy in my fist.

She ran for the cage. The one where they kept the others for processing.

The girls burst out. High heels turned into weapons. So did broken glass, trays, chairs. Chaos exploded across the hallway.

One girl bit a guard so hard he screamed, but they still dragged her back. Some didn't make it far.

We were surrounded in minutes.

But I was still running.

---

The hallway reeked of perfume and rot—something sweet gone bad.

I pressed myself against the wall, heart slamming against my ribs. My bare feet burned on the cold marble as I moved past the curtain-lined walls. Behind me, laughter floated out from the auction room like nothing had happened.

I had seconds.

I tried the first side door. Locked.

My hands trembled as I jammed the key into the lock—but it didn't fit.

I stepped back, panic crawling up my throat.

Then I saw it—a thin line of light at the far end. A half-open service door.

I ran.

Nearly fell.

Freedom felt close enough to taste.

---

"Lot #27!"

A voice snapped behind me like a whip.

I froze.

Too long.

Boots thundered behind me.

I turned the corner and dove down the stairs—skipping steps, holding the rail so I wouldn't fall.

Down, down, past the kitchen.

Then I saw it.

The back door. A flickering EXIT sign over a rusted handle.

I ran for it.

---

A hand clamped around my wrist.

"No—let go!" I screamed, twisting, kicking, biting. Anything.

The guard pulled me back. I raked my nails down his arm. Another guard grabbed me from behind.

I fought like a wild animal.

"You think you can just walk out?" one spat. His breath reeked of cigars.

"I'm not property! I'm not for sale!"

"Keep your damn voice down," the other one hissed.

I screamed louder.

A slap cracked across my cheek. I saw white.

My knees buckled. I collapsed.

The light dimmed. But before everything went black, I saw the door again. The EXIT sign. Still there. Still glowing.

So close, it hurt.

---

They dragged me back.

My heels scraped the marble floor, leaving faint streaks of blood behind me.

The door opened. Pale light spilled into the holding room. They threw me inside like garbage.

I hit the floor hard. Cold concrete bit into my skin. I didn't even try to catch myself.

Silence.

The girls were all watching. Faces bruised. Eyes swollen. Some were bleeding.

Zaria stood slowly in the back. Her eyes locked on mine. She took a step forward.

"Amanda—"

She stopped.

A guard moved behind her.

"Try that again," he said, loud and cold, "and you'll all get worse."

Another dragged a baton across the wall as he walked past. The sound scraped the air like claws.

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

And that was it.

---

I stayed on the floor, trembling.

Not from fear. Not anymore.

From shame.

From guilt.

I'd tried to run. Alone.

Even after we whispered the plan.

"I'm sorry," I said. Barely a whisper.

No one answered.

Zaria came toward me, slow and quiet. She crouched and tore a strip from her own dress, gently pressing it against my bleeding lip.

The room stayed cold. Heavy.

Heavy with failure. And silence.

We had tried.

We had failed.

---

Not long after, they came for her.

Zaria.

The voice from the main hall echoed through the curtain:

"Lot #19… sold for five hundred and sixty thousand."