Unexpected treatment

~Elvira~

_Present_

I gasped as the heavy steel door hissed shut behind me, the sound of the locking mechanism echoing like a gunshot in the sterile hallway.

After the damp chill of the cell, I felt weak to my bones, my muscles vibrating like a frayed wire. My legs buckled, and I had to drop my hands to my knees just to keep the world from spinning into a blur of white light.

"What do you think you're doing?" a voice boomed, vibrating through the metal walls.

The guard loomed over me, a mountain of a man with skin mapped in dark tattoos and eyes as cold as a winter moon.

He didn't see a woman; he saw a nuisance. Before I could even draw enough breath to answer, he lunged forward, his massive hand clamping around my bicep and jerking me upward.

"I’m... trying to catch my breath," I whispered, the words catching in my dry throat. "I’m weak."

"Weak?" He let out a jagged, mocking laugh that smelled of stale coffee and malice. "You should have thought about that before you crawled into Silverblade territory like a rat looking for a nest. Move it, rogue."

That word—rogue—was a slur that tasted like copper in my mouth I hated it. "I'm not a rogue," I shot back, my voice trembling but holding its edge.

The guard’s expression shifted from irritation to pure, unadulterated hate.

"Did you just raise your voice at me?" He stepped into my space, his hand flying up to wrap around my throat. He lifted me until my toes barely grazed the floor, his sneer widening as I struggled for air. "Maybe Alpha Gabriel will hand you over to the warriors for a little recreation. We haven't had a stray to break in a long time."

He threw me then. I hit the floor hard, my tailbone jarring against the cold tile. Pain flared white-hot behind my eyes, but as I looked up at him, the fear I expected to feel was drowned out by a sudden, scorching wave of anger.

"I’m not a rogue," I hissed again, pushing myself up despite the tremor in my limbs. "My name is Elvira. And if you think I’m going to be your victim, you’re dead wrong. I may be a prisoner, but I’m not a whore, and I’m definitely not your toy."

For a heartbeat, the hallway was a graveyard. The guard’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with a moment of genuine shock. He hadn't expected the trespasser to bite back.

He stepped toward me, his hand raised for a blow, but I didn't flinch. I tilted my head, matching his glare with a stubbornness I didn't know I possessed.

"If you want to move me," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous level, "you'll have to drag me."

We stood there, two wills clashing in the silence. At the back of my mind, Val stirred—a low, growl that felt like a drumbeat. The guard’s stance shifted, his gaze turning wary. He saw the bruises, yes, and he saw the shaking hands—but he also saw the fire behind my eyes. He realized then that I wouldn't break just because he pressed down.

He spat on the floor and turned away, his boots clicking on the tile. "Follow me. Or stay and rot. The Alpha is waiting."

I hobbled after him, my heart heavy but my spirit anchored. I had run from a monster who called himself my father, and I had walked into a den of wolves who called me a trespasser. I had no idea what Gabriel Grayson had planned for me—execution, exile, or worse—but as we approached the heavy obsidian doors of the command center, I made a vow.

I would walk through the storm, and I would not let the lightning that comes after the storm to break me.