"Stop."
Kael’s voice cut through the stale air like a blade, sharp and commanding. Rhea froze mid-step, her fingers mere inches from the lock. She turned her head slowly, amber eyes meeting his. "What?"
He limped toward his bedroom, his face tight with pain, blood still seeping through the makeshift bandage of his knotted t-shirt. His boots scuffed against the tile, a sluggish, dragging sound that only emphasized his battered state.
"I’ll deal with this right here and now. Wait here." His voice was rough, edged with exhaustion, but unwavering.
Rhea gave a short nod, understanding passing between them in silence. She shifted back, bare shoulders tensing beneath the straps of her bra, arms folding as she pressed herself against the wall. Her gaze flicked to the black suitcase he dragged out moments later.
She knew that suitcase.
Not her first time seeing the tools inside.
Kael unlatched it, the hinges creaking softly in the dimly lit room. The faint glint of steel reflected in his eyes as he pulled out a pair of cuffs—cold, heavy, and meant for restraint.
Freya lay slumped against the cot, platinum-cyan hair spilling over her bruised face, her breaths shallow, barely perceptible.
Kael crouched beside her, his movements precise despite his injuries. He seized her wrists, rough but efficient, snapping the cuffs into place behind her back with a decisive click.
The metal links rattled as he looped the chain through the cot’s frame, securing her in place. Her head lolled forward, chin brushing against her chest.
He exhaled through his mouth, jaw tightening against the throbbing ache in his arm.
"Rhea," he said, his tone steady despite everything, "grab a chair, the food, and her clothes."
She moved without hesitation. She strode into the main room, snagging a chair with one hand and scooping up the greasy food packets and shopping bag with the other. She dumped them by the door before stepping back, stance wide, eyes locked on Kael’s next move.
He shuffled to the fridge—blood crusting his knuckles, breath short—yanking out a water bottle, the plastic crackling as he chugged half in one go, cold sluicing down his throat.
He carried it back to Freya’s room, sinking into the chair with a groan, facing her cot as she stirred faintly, her chained hands twitching.
Rhea lingered by the door, her stance still, watchful—amber eyes flicking between Kael and the unconscious Freya. The air hung heavy with tension, the room feeling smaller with every second.
Kael handed her the bottle, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Pour it over the shirt on my arm—cold’ll help."
Rhea took the bottle, her fingers brushing against his for a fleeting moment, and unscrewed the cap with a flick of her wrist. She tipped it slowly, the water soaking into her t-shirt wrapped around Kael’s arm, the chill seeping deep into the wound, diluting the blood as it trickled down his skin.
He hissed, a sharp exhale through clenched teeth. The sting was sharp, but the cold was a relief.
He nodded once, approving. "Good. Now wake her up—we need to talk."
Rhea capped the bottle and gave a quick nod, moving toward Freya without a word. Her eyes flicked back to Kael for a brief moment before she raised the bottle.
With a swift motion, she swung it downward and cracked it hard against Freya’s face, the sharp sound echoing in the room.
Kael’s voice snapped out, stopping her just before the bottle made contact. "No! No, stop!"
Rhea froze mid-swing, the bottle inches from Freya’s face. She blinked, surprise flickering across her expression. Her arm lowered, and her eyes shot to Kael, a hint of confusion in her gaze.
"Sprinkle water on her face."
"How’s sprinkling water gonna wake her up?" Rhea asked, her tone laced with skepticism.
Kael’s jaw tightened, frustration flashing in his eyes. Fatigue and pain weighed heavily on him, but his focus never wavered. He leaned forward slightly, his hazel eyes hard as he fixed on Freya’s still form.
"Just do it," he snapped.
Rhea shrugged, muttering under her breath. "Fine, whatever." She tilted the bottle and, this time, she didn’t sprinkle it. Instead, she dumped the entire contents, the cold water pouring in a harsh flood over Freya’s face, drenching her hair and soaking into her shirt.
Kael’s eyes widened. "No—stop!" he barked again, but it was too late.
Freya jolted awake with a strangled gasp, her body convulsing as she choked on the water that flooded her mouth. She writhed, her wrists straining against the cuffs, chains rattling as she jerked against her restraints.
Her blue eyes snapped open, wide with fury, and she locked onto Rhea, who loomed over her, the empty bottle dangling loosely from her fingers.
"Are you trying to kill me bitch?" Freya rasped, voice hoarse and raw, her gaze burning with hatred. Her body twisted in the cuffs, desperate to escape the chill of the water still dripping from her hair.
Rhea smirked, leaning in closer, the bottle hanging casually in her hand. "You’d know for sure if I were."
Without another word, she plopped onto the cot beside Freya’s head. One leg swung lazily over the edge as she grinned down at her, satisfied.
Kael leaned forward—elbows on his knees, bloodshot hazel meeting Freya’s icy stare—and spoke, voice low, heavy with anger.
"Look at me, Freya. I’m disappointed—pissed as hell, actually. You pull this hostile shit again, and I’ll keep you here indefinitely—cuffed, locked, whatever it takes. Harsher methods if I have to."
His words hung sharp, a promise not a threat, his bruised face hardening as he stared her down. Freya’s lips curled—a smirk, defiant even with water dripping from her chin, her jaw swollen from his earlier blow.
"Try me," she said, voice steady, daring, her blue eyes glinting cold and unbowed despite the cuffs biting her wrists.
Kael sighed—deep, weary—his hand twitching with the urge to slap that smirk off her face, to shake her stubborn pride loose.
He clenched his fist instead, suppressing it, the sigh escaping as he rubbed his temple with his good hand, blood crusting under his nails.
"What’s this about?" he asked, voice calmer but edged with frustration. "The food?" Freya’s smirk faded—her gaze sharpening, cutting into him like ice through flesh. "Starve me all you want," she said, slow and deliberate, each word a blade. "Days, weeks—doesn’t matter. I’ll never bow to you, Kael. I’d die of hunger first—gladly—before I bow down to you for a damn crumb." Her voice held no waver, no crack—just pure, unyielding steel, her pride a wall he couldn’t breach, even now, cuffed and helpless on the floor.