Raze sat in the solitary cell, his back pressed against the cold metal wall. A dim red emergency light flickered above, casting distorted shadows that twisted and stretched like ghosts. The air was thick with rust, dried blood, and the heavy scent of unwashed bodies—like the stench of a world that had long since abandoned mercy.
Silence sat with him, heavy and unmoving, broken only by the dull hum of the ventilation system. It wasn't the silence of peace but the kind that wrapped around you like a noose, tightening with every breath.
He hadn't moved much since they'd thrown him in here. Not because of fear—fear was for people who still had choices. No, Raze was thinking. His mind ran through possibilities, calculations, every piece of information he had.
Survival wasn't about brute strength. It was about knowing the game before the game knew you.
His stomach growled—a dull ache, persistent but familiar. Hunger had been his shadow since childhood, but thirst… thirst was different. It clawed at his throat, dry and merciless, reminding him of why he was here. Water. The only thing worth killing for. The only thing worth dying for.
The mechanical hiss of the door cut through the silence.
Draith strolled in, the sharp click of his polished boots echoing in the confined space. His smirk was the same as ever—casual, confident, the look of a man who always had the upper hand. He studied Raze the way a scientist might examine a lab rat, fascinated but detached.
"I like that look in your eyes, Veyar." Draith crouched, meeting him at eye level. "Not broken. Not yet."
Raze didn't respond. He wouldn't give Draith the satisfaction.
The man chuckled, tilting his head. "Let's play a little game, then. I'll give you a hint about what's coming next." He leaned in, voice dropping just above a whisper. "The Black Tides. Ever heard of it?"
Raze's fingers twitched before he could stop them.
The Black Tides.
A game whispered about in the underbelly of the world. No one who entered had ever walked out alive.
Draith caught the reaction, his grin widening. "Ah, so you do know. Good." He tapped Raze's forehead with two fingers. "Then you know that this time, everyone else dies. And if you're smart, you'll make sure you're not part of 'everyone.'"
Raze clenched his fists. Draith never spoke in empty threats. If this game was what he thought it was, then he had to find a crack in its design—a way to bend the rules before they bent him.
Draith turned to leave but paused at the threshold. "Oh, and one more thing." His smirk sharpened. "There's someone you might want to see."
The door slid open further.
A shadow moved beyond the threshold, stepping into the dim red light. For a moment, Raze thought his mind was playing tricks on him.
Then the light caught her face.
His breath hitched. Solana.
The girl he thought was dead. The girl he once trusted more than anyone.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears like war drums.
And just like that, the walls he had built inside his mind began to crack.