I straightened from where I’d been sitting on the bench and dropped into an elegant curtsy—the kind with just enough flourish to be theatrical without crossing into mockery, one leg swept behind the other, skirt held delicately between thumb and forefinger, head bowed just enough to show respect without submission.
"Director Thalen," I said warmly, rising with practiced grace. "What an absolute pleasure to see you again so soon. I was just down here contemplating the philosophical implications of beating someone so thoroughly they lose control of their bladder. Care to join me?"
The Director’s face cracked into what might have been a smile if one had a flexible relationship with definitions, his teeth gleaming in the torchlight as he tapped his cane against the marble floor with obvious amusement.
"Loona," he rasped, sounding simultaneously like a dying gargoyle and a doting grandparent. "Congratulations on your victory tonight. Truly spectacular work. I haven’t seen a crowd that engaged in years—decades, even. The way you orchestrated that entire spectacle was nothing short of masterful."
He leaned forward slightly on his cane, his sharp eyes glinting with something that might have been pride or perhaps vindictive satisfaction at watching his tower’s entertainment value skyrocket. "Tell me, do you rehearse these things beforehand, or is chaos simply your natural state of being?"
I pressed a hand to my chest with exaggerated modesty, letting my lashes dip demurely. "Oh, Director, you flatter me. Chaos isn’t something I do—it’s something that happens when I enter a room and forget to apologize in advance. I tried organizing my thoughts once, but it bored me to tears." I paused for a moment. "Though I’ll admit, raining incriminating documents on nobles does require a touch of preparation. Call it controlled chaos with a flair for the dramatic."
His laugh rattled out of him like dry leaves in a crypt. I caught Tora giggling nervously behind me, his hands clasped in front of him as though he were physically restraining himself from either running away or joining the conversation.
"Controlled chaos," the Director repeated, clearly savoring the phrase. "I’ll have to remember that one. Though I must say, the look on her patron’s face when he realized what was happening—priceless. Absolutely priceless. I haven’t seen a man that shade of purple outside of advanced cases of apoplexy."
"Yes, well, I do try to provide a full sensory experience," I said with a grin. "Visual humiliation, auditory degradation, and of course the emotional devastation that really ties the whole performance together. It’s all about the details, you know? Anyone can destroy someone’s life, but it takes real artistry to do it with style."
The Director’s laugh came again, and he shook his head with what appeared to be genuine fondness—or at least as close to fondness as someone like him was probably capable of experiencing.
"You’re a menace," he said, but there was warmth beneath the accusation. "An absolute menace. I’m almost sad I’ll be losing you to a brothel soon. You’d make an excellent addition to my personal staff if circumstances were different."
I bowed again, this time with even more theatrical flair. "Your praise wounds me deeply, Director. Now I’ll spend the rest of my days wondering what could have been. Alas, I suppose I’ll have to settle for bringing joy and questionable morals to whatever establishment has the misfortune—or fortune, depending on your perspective—of acquiring me."
Thalen’s expression shifted then, the amusement fading into something more businesslike, and he straightened slightly despite the obvious strain it put on his ancient frame.
"Speaking of which, let’s discuss how the rest of your time in the tower will proceed." His tone had taken on that particular quality of someone delivering information that was non-negotiable and therefore didn’t require input. "You’ll remain here for the rest of the week while the administrative details are sorted—assignments, transfer of ownership, that sort of tedious bureaucratic nonsense that keeps this operation running. At the end of the week, you’ll be sorted into a brothel."
I nodded, absorbing this information with the calm acceptance of someone who’d known this was coming and had already started planning around it.
"And Elvina?" I asked, unable to resist the curiosity. "What happens to her now that she’s missing her patron and, you know, completely destroyed as a human being?"
"She’ll follow the same process," Thalen said with casual indifference, as though we were discussing livestock distribution. "Random selection, same as you, same as everyone else who lacks specific patronage. Though I imagine her reputation will precede her, which should make for interesting dynamics wherever she ends up." He paused, then added with dark amusement, "Assuming she survives the week, of course. The other slaves here can be... creative when they sense weakness."
A thought occurred to me then, sharp and sudden. "And what about Quentin?"
The Director’s smile returned, though this one carried a distinctly darker edge. "Quentin will be dealt with accordingly," he said, and something in his tone suggested ’dealt with accordingly’ was code for something deeply unpleasant. "He’ll be sent back to the fourth layer where he’ll spend his time in the Labyrinth."
I couldn’t help but notice Iskanda’s smirk then, the way it curled across her lips like a satisfied cat. I filed that reaction away for future consideration because clearly the Labyrinth was something she found amusing in a way that suggested it involved great suffering.
I opened my mouth, fully prepared to ask for more details about this mysterious Labyrinth I’d heard mentioned a few times in past conversations, when the Director cut me off with a raised hand.
"But aside from that," he said, redirecting the conversation with the skill of someone who’d spent decades managing information flow. "I wanted to discuss your reward—the personal assistance I promised for your victory."
I perked up immediately, my attention snapping to full focus like a dog hearing the word ’treat,’ because honestly, after everything I’d been through tonight, the promise of some kind of tangible benefit was the only thing keeping my exhausted body from simply collapsing into a puddle on the floor.
"Oh?" I said, trying to sound casual despite the eager anticipation probably written across every line of my face. "Do tell. I’m absolutely dying to know what kind of assistance the Director of this fine establishment considers appropriate compensation for orchestrating the most elaborate public humiliation in recent memory."
Thalen’s smile widened, taking on a quality that suggested he was enjoying this far too much. "I’ll provide such assistance in the coming weeks," he said slowly, drawing out each word with deliberate torture, "after you’ve been established in your respective brothel and have had time to... settle into your new environment."
I blinked once, twice, then let my expression shift into exaggerated disappointment. "Wait, that’s it? You’re not going to tell me what it is? You’re really going to leave me hanging like this? That’s just cruel, Director. Unnecessarily cruel. I thought we had something special here."
"I’ll keep it a secret for now," he said, clearly delighted by my reaction. "Consider it motivation to survive the transition period. Can’t have you getting comfortable and complacent in your new position, after all." He tapped his cane against the floor with finality. "Now then, hurry along. It’s late, you’re injured, and you look like you’re about three minutes away from either passing out or committing another act of spectacular violence. Get some rest. You’ll need it."
I gave him one final bow—the kind that suggested I was both acknowledging his authority and gently mocking it in equal measure—then turned and practically skipped toward the exit, my boots clicking against the marble in a rhythm that suggested far more energy than I actually possessed.
The skip was mostly for show, really, because my side was screaming and my muscles felt like they’d been replaced with wet sand, but appearances mattered, and I’d be damned if I let anyone see me limp away from my own triumph.
The journey back to the first floor barracks passed in a blur of corridors, elevators, and the occasional Velvet who’d clearly been at the match and now looked at me with expressions ranging from wary respect to outright fear.
When I finally pushed through the doors into the barracks, I was immediately greeted by the sight of my crew gathered in a loose circle around Brutus, who sat on the floor with his massive legs crossed, his single arm working with surprising dexterity to stack coins into neat, precarious towers.
The pile was enormous—hundreds of golden crowns glinting in the dim light, each one representing a noble or Velvet who’d paid for the privilege of tormenting Elvina.
They noticed me in the doorway and reacted like a pack of excited dogs spotting their owner after a long absence.
Renly lunged first, followed immediately by Freya, Mia, and a few others. Before I could protest or defend myself, they’d pounced on me like animals, lifting me bodily into the air with a chorus of cheers and laughter that made my ribs protest in violence.
I yelped, half in pain and half in surprised delight, as they hoisted me above their heads in a victory carry that would have been more impressive if they weren’t all half-drunk and slightly uncoordinated.
Brutus turned back to look at me from his position on the floor, his face splitting into a genuine smile that transformed his usually intimidating features into something almost boyish.
"We collected all the crowns!" he called out, his deep voice carrying easily over the chaos. "Every single one that got tossed into that cage. Been counting them for the past twenty minutes and I’m still not done—there’s got to be close to three hundred here!"
"Three hundred and forty-seven," I corrected automatically, because my enhanced sight coupled with Atticus’s intelligence had already done the math while they were carrying me, and also because I couldn’t resist showing off even when being physically assaulted with affection.
"Thank you all for your efforts tonight. Truly. You were perfect—every single one of you executed your parts flawlessly, and I’m genuinely impressed by how smoothly everything went." I paused as they finally set me down, my feet touching the floor with relief. "We’ll split it evenly once Brutus finishes counting. Everyone gets an equal share."
Renly perked up almost immediately, his red hair bouncing as his head tilted with confusion. "Wait, why would we split the reward?" he asked, genuine puzzlement written across his features. "You’re the one who orchestrated the whole thing, fought the match, took all the risks. Seems like you should get the lion’s share, maybe throw us a few coins as thanks for helping."
I motioned for them to give me space, and they backed up slightly, forming a loose semicircle around me as I addressed them with the kind of seriousness that didn’t come naturally to me but felt necessary for this particular moment.
"Because we’re separating soon," I said quietly, watching as comprehension dawned across their faces like a an unpleasant sunrise. "When the time comes to be assigned to our brothels, we’ll more than likely be split across the city—different establishments, different districts, different owners. The chances of us all ending up in the same place are essentially zero. And when that happens, I want every one of you walking in with something in your pocket—enough coin to buy leverage, favors, or at the very least a little breathing room—so none of us start that next Chapter completely powerless."
The barracks hushed to whispers of unease, voices overlapping in anxious murmurs as the reality of what I was saying sank in. They’d known this was coming, of course—everyone did, it was just how the system worked—but knowing something intellectually and confronting it emotionally were two very different experiences.
I tried to inject some optimism into my voice, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. "But listen—once we make our way back to the inner circle, once we’ve established ourselves and gained enough influence or freedom to move around, we’ll be able to meet up again. This isn’t goodbye forever, it’s just... goodbye for now. A temporary separation."
The crew nodded, their expressions ranging from resigned acceptance to determined optimism. I could see them processing this information in their own ways—Mia clutching her hands together anxiously, Freya’s jaw setting with stubborn resolve, Brutus’s single hand clenching into a fist, Renly running his fingers through his hair with nervous energy.
Later that night, after the coins had been counted, divided, and distributed into small pouches that each crew member clutched like precious artifacts, after the barracks had settled into the quiet breathing of exhausted bodies trying to find rest, I found myself on my top bunk staring at the ceiling and trying to process the events of the evening.
My side still throbbed with persistent pain despite the crude bandaging someone had applied, my knuckles were bruised and swollen, and every muscle in my body felt like it had been personally assaulted by a vengeful deity with a grudge against comfort.
I reached down into my boot—the same one where I’d stuffed Iskanda’s ruby hours ago—and pulled it free, holding it up to catch what little light filtered through the barracks from the distant lanterns.
The gem caught that light and transformed it into something alive, refracting it through its depths in cascades of crimson brilliance that seemed to pulse with an internal rhythm.
The silver chain dangled beneath it, swaying gently with the motion of my hand, and I found myself grinning—a slow, wicked expression.
Gods above, the possibilities were endless.
This wasn’t just a magical artifact—it was a tool, a weapon, so potent and so utterly ridiculous in its specific function that I almost laughed out loud just thinking about it. The kind of magic that sounded like a joke until you really thought about the implications.
And more than that, it could be used as leverage against Iskanda, something that would be extremely helpful later on when I needed her cooperation or compliance.
I gripped it tighter, feeling it press into my palm, and the ruby began to pulse with power—a steady throb that matched my heartbeat, growing warmer against my skin until it felt almost alive.
The sensation was intoxicating and, if I’m being honest, slightly unsettling, like holding a small star that had been temporarily convinced to behave itself but might explode at any moment if I wasn’t careful.
I stuffed it under my pillow with deliberate care, making sure it was concealed but accessible, then let myself collapse back against the thin mattress with a sigh that released all the tension I’d been holding in my shoulders for the past several hours.
Sleep came faster than I expected, pulling me down into darkness with the inevitability of gravity. My last conscious thought was about the coming days—the assignment to a brothel, the assimilation into the city’s silent warfare of influence, power, and carefully orchestrated chaos.
It was then that I knew the real game was only just beginning.