The sound of the rain grew dimmer by the second, until at last only the final drops struck the ground.
Riya opened her eyes.
She was surprised to realize she'd fallen asleep.
She looked ahead.
Merlin stood at the entrance, his body forming a dark silhouette, casting a shadow over her. He was staring far into the distance. What she assumed to be the closest exit wasn't truly close—but it wasn't far either.
Still, the distance felt discouraging.
It would have been so much easier to stay where they were. Warm, Still and Unmoving.
But they hadn't been given many options.
Merlin turned halfway, then fully faced her.
Whatever he had been thinking about, he was done now.
He extended his hand toward her, steady and deliberate.
An unspoken invitation.
As soon as Merlin helped Riya to her feet, she reached for his injured arm, instinctive, careful.
"No need," Merlin said, pulling it back before she could steady him.
Riya hesitated, watching him take the first step forward on his own. Then she followed.
The ground outside was damp, darkened by rain. The air clung to their skin, cool and heavy. As they walked, the low sun reflected off countless droplets clinging to grass and broken stone, scattering color across the earth—orange splitting into reds, yellows, faint greens. It felt unreal, like walking across shattered glass made of light.
Neither of them spoke.
The path narrowed.
What had looked like open land slowly gave way to structure.
Metal frames rose from the ground—old, rusted, bent into shapes that had once been orderly. Chains hung loose from poles and beams, swaying gently in the breeze, clinking softly as if disturbed by something that had just passed through.
Riya slowed.
Merlin did too.
They weren't alone.
Figures occupied the space ahead—many of them. Some sat on the ground, backs against posts or walls that no longer fully existed. Others stood, arms lifted as they washed beneath open pipes that poured cold water endlessly onto bare skin. No walls. No privacy. No urgency to hide.
Chains wrapped around wrists, ankles, waists.
But none of them were taut.
The chains weren't restraining them.
They were simply… worn.
Bodies moved with practiced efficiency. Strong shoulders. Scarred arms. Thick hands that looked like they could bend iron if they chose to. One man lifted a broken crate with ease, setting it aside as though it weighed nothing. Another adjusted the chain around his neck—not because it pulled, but because it irritated him.
Riya felt her breath catch.
These weren't prisoners.
They were people who had faced acceptance.
A woman stood beneath one of the pipes, water streaming down her back, her clothing clinging loosely to her frame. It didn't cover anything important on her, but she didn't flinch, didn't react when she noticed them. Her eyes slid to Riya and Merlin—calm, dull, assessing—before drifting away again.
No warning.
No alarm.
No attempt to stop them.
That was what made it terrifying.
Merlin's jaw tightened. He kept his gaze forward, posture controlled, but Riya could feel the tension radiating off him. Every instinct told her they shouldn't be walking through this place.
Yet no one moved to block them.
They passed open cages—doors bent wide, hinges broken long ago. Inside, bedding lay neatly arranged. Personal items. Scraps of cloth folded with care. Evidence of routine. Of life.
Not captivity.
Acceptance.
The air here smelled different. Not rot. Not decay.
Soap.
Metal.
Rain.
Riya's fingers curled slowly at her side.
"This place…" she whispered, unable to finish the thought.
Merlin didn't answer.
His eyes flicked briefly to one of the chained figures—a man whose arms were thick with muscle, whose stance was balanced, ready, even at rest.
A warrior's stance.
The man met Merlin's gaze for a brief second.
There was recognition there.
Not of who Merlin was—
—but of what he was becoming.
Then the man looked away.
They kept walking.
The farther they went, the quieter it became. Fewer chains. Fewer figures. Until at last the path opened again, leading away from the open prison and toward the far fence beyond.
Only then did Riya realize something that made her stomach twist.
No one had followed them.
Not because they couldn't.
But because they wouldn't.
And that knowledge weighed heavier than any pursuit ever could.
Merlin tugged slightly on Riya's shirt. Just up ahead there was a gate, there was freedom. It was practically waiting for them. Merlin held Riya's hand and started walking quickly. A noise from the bushes caught their attention. They looked in the direction just before Bruce emerged. He was jogging. He's still running? Merlin asked himself in surprise. He's unbelievable. The chances of surviving a Chase with someone like that was really low. Still freedom looked unbelievably close. Pulling on Riya's hand Merlin started running towards the gate.
The gate was very tall and heavy, almost unmovable. But there was a person sized gap between the unclosed gate.
Merlin slid sideways through the narrow gap beside the gate. The metal hadn't moved an inch—it was far too heavy for that—but the space was just wide enough for him to pass.
He landed awkwardly on the other side, catching himself before the pain in his arm could pull him down. For a brief moment, relief washed over him.
Then he turned.
Riya was right there.
She stepped forward to follow him—then stopped.
It was subtle. Barely a pause. But something passed over her face. Her eyes widened, just for a heartbeat, as if she'd seen something only she could see.
Fear.
Not panic. Not confusion.
Recognition.
Merlin took a step toward her. His mouth opened.
Behind Riya, footsteps approached.
Not rushed. Not loud.
The guards emerged from the shadows, their presence heavy and inevitable. They didn't touch her at first. They didn't need to.
One of them reached for the gate.
Metal groaned as it slid shut.
Riya didn't look back.
The sound echoed once—final, absolute.
Merlin tried to scream.
His chest burned. His throat strained.
Nothing came out.
He watched as they took her, her form receding between them, swallowed by the dim interior beyond the gate. No struggle. No resistance. Just movement, slow and controlled.
When she was gone, Merlin stood frozen. He tried to go back but his feet didn't move in that direction.
Then, unwillingly, he turned.
The world opened before him.
The sky was painted in gold and fire, the sun sinking low beyond the horizon. Light spilled across the land, warm and impossibly beautiful, as if it lived in a completely different world one that Merlin envied.