Soon after Minka returned from the interrogation room they received a notice of transfer to a deeper level of the complex where they are now locked up with other prisoners.

  At dawn, Leanna began hearing something like computer smashing on the floor and people's grunting. She opened her eyes slightly, her friends were nowhere to be found.

  Leanna’s pulse quickened as the distant sounds of chaos continued—metal clattering, the sharp grunt of fists connecting, and muffled voices, jeering and shouting. She pushed herself up from the thin mattress, wiping the sleep from her eyes as her mind raced through worst-case scenarios.

  “Where are they?” she muttered, anxiety creeping into her voice. The empty bunks beside her only fueled the knot tightening in her stomach.

  Without wasting another second, Leanna slipped out of the cell, her boots soft against the cold, worn floor of the prison’s lower levels. The corridor outside was dimly lit, flickering lights barely illuminating the rusted grates and cracked walls. She followed the sound of the commotion, her heart thudding louder with every step.

  As she approached a larger open area—the gathering space where inmates were usually corralled during meal times or allowed brief moments of so-called “freedom”—the noise became clearer. A crowd had formed, bodies pressed together in a rough circle, voices rising with excitement, and the unmistakable sound of a fist slamming into flesh.

  Leanna’s first instinct was dread. Viola. Of course she’d start something, she thought bitterly. She pushed her way toward the crowd, weaving between towering inmates, trying to get a view of what was happening at the center of the ring. Her worry mounted—if Viola had gone too far this time, they’d all suffer for it.

  When she finally broke through the edge of the crowd, she paused. There stood Viola, arms crossed and leaning casually against the wall, watching the fight unfold with a crooked grin. Her eyes sparkled with interest, like a spectator enjoying a good brawl.

  “Viola!” Leanna hissed, storming up to her, her frustration boiling over. “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself thrown in solitary?”

  Viola barely glanced at her, one eyebrow arched lazily. “Relax, Princess.” she said, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “I’m not the one causing trouble this time.”

  Leanna frowned, her eyes narrowing. “Then who—?”

  Viola nodded toward the center of the circle. “See for yourself.”

  Leanna’s gaze followed, pushing past a few more shoulders—and then she saw it.

  Minka.

  Her brown hair clung to her sweat-dampened face, her posture squared and solid, fists raised and ready. She was circling an inmate nearly twice her size, a broad-shouldered brute covered in prison tattoos, his knuckles already bloodied. But Minka didn’t look like she cared. Her green eyes burned with focus, her stance balanced and fluid.

  The inmate lunged, swinging a heavy fist toward her jaw—but Minka ducked, swift and controlled. She retaliated with a sharp jab to his ribs, followed by a spinning elbow that cracked against the side of his face. The crowd erupted in shouts and laughter, some cheering for the inmate, others for Minka.

  Leanna’s mouth opened, but for a moment, no words came out. She glanced back at Viola, who was watching with no small amount of admiration.

  “She’s been at it for a while,” Viola said, almost proud. “Guy thought he could push her around. Minka decided to educate him.”

  Leanna’s hands clenched at her sides. “She could get herself killed!”

  Viola shrugged, her grin widening. “Nah. Look at her. She’s doing fine.”

  Leanna’s eyes returned to the fight. The inmate roared in frustration, charging again, but Minka sidestepped at the last moment, landing a vicious knee to his gut. He doubled over, gasping, and Minka’s fist slammed across his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

  The circle of inmates fell into silence for a moment, then the roars erupted again, louder than before—jeers, laughter, some slaps on the back from those impressed by the display.

  Minka stood over the man, her chest heaving with breath, her eyes flicking to Leanna through the crowd. There was no arrogance in her gaze—only resolve.

  Leanna’s frustration deflated slightly, replaced with concern. She stepped forward, weaving back toward the center. “Minka,” she called softly.

  Minka stood over the fallen inmate, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, fists still clenched tight at her sides. Blood dripped from her knuckles, splattering the cracked stone beneath her boots. Around her, the gathered crowd of inmates lingered, silent now—no jeers, no laughter, only wary stares. The message was clear enough: she was not to be trifled with.

  Leanna pushed through the dispersing crowd, reaching the center just as Minka’s gaze flicked to her. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, but Minka turned away quickly, jaw tightening, as if ashamed of what had just happened. Her shoulders stayed squared, posture rigid.

  “Minka,” Leanna called softly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

  But before Minka could answer, a sharp metallic clang rang out—the sound of batons striking against iron bars. A squad of guards stormed into the gathering area, their black armor gleaming under the flickering lights, visors down, their movements precise and without hesitation.

  The inmates backed away immediately, retreating like shadows into the corners of the room, wanting no part in what was about to happen. Viola straightened from her lean against the wall, her grin fading, arms crossing tightly over her chest.

  The lead guard, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running down the side of his helmet, pointed directly at Minka. “You. Step forward.”

  Minka’s jaw clenched, but she did as ordered, her hands raised slowly, palms open. She shot Leanna and Viola a brief glance—steady, controlled—but there was no time to exchange words.

  Without ceremony, two guards seized her by the arms, twisting them behind her back and locking her wrists in iron cuffs. The lead guard’s voice barked out again, loud enough for the room to hear. “Fighting’s off-limits. You knew the rules.”

  “She didn’t start it!” Leanna shouted, stepping forward, only to be blocked by another guard shoving her back with a baton. “It wasn’t her fault!”

  Minka didn’t resist, though her jaw remained tight. “Don’t,” she muttered under her breath toward Leanna. “Don’t make it worse.”

  Viola took a step forward too, her fists balled at her sides, but Minka shot her a sharp look—an unspoken command. Viola growled low in her throat but stayed put, her glare burning into the guards as they began dragging Minka toward the door.

  “Where are you taking her?” Leanna demanded, her voice breaking through the stunned quiet.

  The lead guard didn’t even turn back. “Solitary. Maybe she’ll learn her place.”

  Minka didn’t struggle. She didn’t give them the satisfaction. But as they hauled her away, she met Leanna’s gaze one last time—calm, steady, as if saying I’ll be fine.

  And then she was gone, pulled into the dark corridors, leaving Leanna and Viola standing in the aftermath. The fallen inmate still groaned weakly on the ground, but no one spared him a second glance.

  “She’ll be fine,” Viola said, though the tension in her jaw betrayed her worry. “It’s Minka.”

  Leanna nodded silently, but her stomach clenched tight. She watched the doorway where Minka had vanished, a sick feeling of dread coiling within her.

  Minka sits in the dark cell with only a flickering light above her head. The guards had taken her away her cuffs and locked her in here. The walls in the cell were cold and the air felt dry.

  Minka sat with her back against the wall, knees pulled close to her chest, the flickering overhead light casting erratic shadows across the narrow, claustrophobic cell. The air smelled of rust and old stone, every breath scraping her throat dry. The silence in solitary was deafening—no shouting inmates, no murmurs of conversation. Just the faint, distant hum of machinery and the soft buzz of the failing light.

  She tilted her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. The chill of the stone seeped into her bones, but she welcomed the discomfort. It grounded her. Remind her she was still here.

  Still alive.

  But for what?

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Her mind wandered, unbidden, back to simpler days—days that felt like they belonged to someone else. Sitting on the hillside behind their old home, the breeze soft, the sun warm on her face. She remembered laughing with Leanna over something trivial. Viola complaining about something—or everything—but laughing anyway. Minka smiled faintly at the memory, then felt it slip through her fingers like ash.

  They’d been so reckless. She’d been reckless. Dragging them into this fight, into this endless cycle of resistance, defiance, and consequences. And now here they were—locked in a hellhole, a breath away from death with every choice they made.

  Was it worth it?

  Minka clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The fight back there—she hadn’t wanted it. But when that inmate had shoved her, spat at her, when he’d mocked Viola and Leanna as if they were nothing… something had snapped. She’d stood her ground because she had to. Because if she didn’t, someone else would have suffered.

  But now?

  Now she sat in a cell while Leanna and Viola were left alone to fend for themselves. Again.

  Her throat tightened. She pressed the back of her head harder against the wall, trying to will away the lump forming there. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to protect them. But she let herself loose into the fight...

  She’d promised herself.

  The flickering light buzzed louder, casting harsh illumination across the rough stone floor, then dimming again to shadow. Soon after the last flickering, a man appeared next to her. His appearance was so sudden and unexpected that it surprised Minka. But when she looked up and focused her gaze on the man, she was shocked. It was her father: Trazyn.

  "Dad..." Minka's voice trembled, barely audible. Tears welled up, a rare show of vulnerability. She tried to speak but her voice caught in her throat, the shock of seeing her father overwhelming.

  Trazyn stood there, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his posture relaxed in that way only he could manage—even in the middle of a prison cell. His dark coat hung off his frame, worn at the edges but still neat, and his familiar sharp eyes softened as they landed on Minka.

  He crouched down beside her, resting one arm casually on his knee. “You’re getting into trouble again,” he said, his voice warm but teasing, as if this were just another conversation at the dinner table back home.

  Minka’s throat tightened further, and she forced the tears back, scrubbing a hand across her face with a roughness that made her wince. “How are you here? You—” Her voice cracked again. “You’re not real.”

  Trazyn shrugged with a small smile. “Real enough for this, I think.”

  Minka shook her head, burying her face into her knees. “I can’t... I can’t do this right now.”

  But Trazyn leaned closer, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “Minka. Look at me.” His tone was gentle, but insistent. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet his, there was no judgment in his eyes—only pride.

  “I saw the fight,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You held your ground. You didn’t back down.”

  Minka stared at him, her mouth twisting in frustration. “And look where that got me.” She gestured broadly at the cell around them, her voice sharp with bitterness. “Locked away while Leanna and Viola have to clean up my mess again.”

  Trazyn’s expression didn’t falter. “You did what you had to.”

  Minka's fists clenched against her knees. “Stop it. Don’t—don’t just sit there and tell me it’s fine. You’ve always acted like standing up for what’s right is important. But when we are doing it, when we’re out here fighting to make a difference, where are you?”

  Trazyn’s smile faded, but his eyes remained steady. “You know I can’t.”

  Minka felt the heat rise in her chest. “Can’t? Or won’t?” she snapped, anger breaking free from the dam she’d built inside. “We’re out there risking everything, Dad! Leanna, Viola, me—we’re standing up against the Archivist, against Nova, against everything that’s wrong. And you just—what? Hide? Watch from the sidelines?”

  Trazyn sighed, leaning back slightly, his arms resting loosely on his knees. “Minka… I’ve lost too much already.”

  Minka’s breath hitched. “So have we.”

  “I know.” His voice softened, the edges of his words heavy with something unsaid. “But you don’t understand. I have to protect what’s left. I have to protect Emilia. I have to protect you.”

  Her jaw clenched. “Protect me? I’m locked in a cage, Dad. What exactly are you protecting me from?”

  Trazyn met her glare without flinching. “From the fallout. From what happens if I step out of the shadows and the Archivist turns everything on our family. If I risk what little safety we still have, Emilia pays the price. You pay the price.”

  Minka’s fists trembled. “We’re paying it anyway. Every day. Every fight. And you’re not there.”

  Silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of everything left unsaid.

  Trazyn’s gaze softened, and he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from Minka’s face like he used to when she was younger. “I am proud of you,” he said quietly. “Proud of the fire in you. Proud of the fight. But my fight… My fight is different. It’s protecting the home that’s left, the people who still need me there.”

  Minka swallowed hard, tears threatening again. “I needed you here.”

  “I know.” His voice cracked, just slightly, the first sign of anything close to weakness. “And that’s the hardest part.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. The flickering light buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the cell. Trazyn’s hand rested briefly on Minka’s shoulder again before he stood, his silhouette tall and steady.

  “I can’t walk your path, Minka,” he said softly. “But I’ll always be watching. I’ll always believe in you.”

  And then, like a fading memory, he was gone. The cold air returned, the light flickered, and Minka was alone once more in the silence.

  Her hands trembled as she buried her face in them, biting back the mix of grief and fury twisting inside her. She wanted to scream. To shatter the silence. To break down the walls around her.

  But instead, she curled tighter in on herself, the ghost of her father’s touch lingering on her skin, and the weight of a world pressing in all around.

  Minka's head shot up as footsteps approached her cell door, breaking the heavy silence that had enveloped her. The lock clicked, the door swinging open to reveal the stern, armored form of the lead guard. He stood there, his eyes hidden behind the dark visor of his helmet, his posture rigid. “You have a visitor,” he announced, his tone clipped.

  Minka hesitated, wariness creeping into her expression. A visitor? Here, in the depths of the prison’s solitary confinement? Who would bother to see her? She shifted her weight, pushing herself up from the cold stone floor, her movements cautious: "I just got in, isn't the point of solitary confinement meant to be a punishment? Why would someone come to visit me at this hour?" She demanded.

  The guard shrugged, his shoulders barely moving under the heavy black armor. "I don't question orders," he replied, his tone flat. "Come on, follow me." He turned, motioning for her to exit the cell.

  Minka stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. She didn't trust this, not one bit. Every instinct screamed that something wasn't right, but what choice did she have? The guard led her down a long, dimly lit corridor, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. The air felt heavy, pressing in from all sides, a silent reminder of the isolation that surrounded her. Then they arrived at a room. The guard shoved her inside.

  The room was small, barren, a single table and two chairs standing stark in the harsh, fluorescent light. One chair was occupied by a figure she hadn't met before: "Welcome child."

  The door shut behind Minka with a dull clang, the echo reverberating through the small room. She stood still, her eyes narrowing as she took in the figure seated at the table. The man was older, his posture relaxed but somehow carrying the weight of authority like a mantle draped across his broad shoulders. His uniform was dark, without insignia, but the polished black of his gloves and the faint glint of metal at his collar suggested someone high up in the chain of command. His face was sharp, lean, with silver hair slicked back neatly, and eyes the color of storm clouds—calm, calculating

  "Sit," the man said, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him. His voice was smooth, measured, but there was steel beneath it.

  Minka didn’t move immediately. Her instincts screamed caution, her jaw tight as she remained standing. "Who are you?" she demanded.

  The man’s lips curled slightly—not a smile, but something like the ghost of one. "The one who holds the key to your release."

  Minka’s green eyes narrowed further. “Not much of an answer.”

  “I am the Warden of this complex,” the man said calmly, folding his hands neatly on the table. “That is all you need to know. Names are irrelevant here. Power speaks louder.”

  Minka’s fists clenched at her sides, but after a long pause, she relented and sat down, her posture rigid.

  The Warden studied her for a moment, eyes flicking across her face as if reading every thought she tried to hide. “I’ve heard about what happened in the yard,” he said finally. “Very impressive. You handled yourself well for someone so… outmatched.”

  Minka snorted, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed. “Didn’t realize this was a performance review.”

  The Warden chuckled softly, the sound devoid of warmth. “You’re wasted in that cell, Minka Terra. A waste of talent. You and your team.” He leaned forward slightly, the gleam of the overhead light catching in his eyes. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Minka’s expression hardened. “I’m not interested in doing your dirty work.”

  “You haven’t heard of the offer yet.” His tone didn’t change, smooth and even as flowing water. “There’s a facility—buried beneath the wastes, abandoned for decades after the Cataclysm. Few even know it exists anymore. But deep within that complex lies a data card. Its contents… valuable beyond measure.”

  Minka’s brow furrowed. “Valuable to who?”

  The Warden smiled faintly, as if amused by the question. “To everyone. Or anyone who knows how to use it.” He waved a hand lazily. “It holds information from before the Cataclysm—military records, old-world technology, research on the Archivist’s early iterations. Things you and your little rebellion might find... useful.”

  Minka’s jaw clenched at the mention of the Archivist. “And why would you want it?”

  The Warden leaned back, lacing his fingers together. “I’m a businessman, Minka. Information is currency. I have my own reasons.” His smile faded, replaced by a sharper edge. “What matters is that I’m offering you and your team a deal. Retrieve the data card, and I can make the charges against you… disappear. Wipe your slates clean.”

  Minka laughed once, harsh and sharp. “You think we’d trust you?”

  The Warden’s expression didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to trust me. Trust the opportunity. Freedom is hard to come by here.”

  Silence stretched between them, Minka’s mind racing. The chance to walk free, to fight again outside these walls—to hit back at the Archivist in a way that mattered—was tempting. Too tempting.

  Her green eyes flicked up to meet his. “And if we refuse?”

  The Warden’s smile returned, slow and cold. “Then you rot in here. Or worse. Your choice.”

  Minka leaned forward, elbows on the table, her voice low. “You’ll need to let me talk to my team.”

  The Warden inclined his head. “Of course. Take your time. But not too long. Opportunity doesn’t wait.”

  He stood, straightening his gloves with the same measured precision as everything else about him. “But just before you meet them... you will need to stay in the hole for a week. To ensure that the guards remain none the wiser of our deal."

  "What? Why?!" Minka's face was filled with shock and anger. But before she could say anything further, the Warden spoke. "It's the price you pay for your actions in the yard. If I pull you out of there without any consequences, it'd draw suspicions." he said with a matter-of-fact tone.