chapter 3

The days since their escape blurred together, a haze of footsteps in the shadows and whispered reassurances Mia didn’t fully believe. Powder was adjusting quickly to their new reality—too quickly. Mia wasn’t.

The man who had taken them in still hadn’t shared his name. He had simply appeared when they were at their lowest, his hand outstretched, offering safety. Or something close enough to it.

The room they now called "home" was small and cold, its walls cracked and damp with Zaun's unrelenting mist. The stranger’s lair was unnervingly quiet, save for the hum of machinery and Powder’s soft laughter as she tinkered with scraps he provided her. Mia stayed close to her sister but couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong here.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” Powder asked one day, her hands busy assembling what looked like a wind-up toy.

Mia glanced toward the dim hallway where he usually disappeared. “Because I don’t trust him,” she replied simply.

Powder frowned. “He saved us.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s good.” Mia's voice was firm, but her chest tightened. She didn’t want to argue with Powder—not when everything else inì their lives felt like a battle.

When the man finally reappeared that evening, Mia braced herself. He walked into the room with a calm confidence that made her skin crawl, his mismatched eyes scanning the space as if he owned it.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with something Mia couldn’t name. “Why is that?”

Mia straightened, her chin tilting up. “Because I don’t know you.”

His lips curled into a faint smirk. “And yet, here you are.”

Powder, oblivious to the tension, piped up, “She’s just grumpy. Mia’s always grumpy.”

Mia shot her a look, but Powder just giggled.

The man crouched beside Powder, examining her work with a detached curiosity. “She’s clever,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s rare to find that in someone so young.”

“She’s more than clever,” Mia said sharply. “She’s my sister.”

He glanced at her, his mismatched eyes narrowing slightly. “Protective, aren’t you?”

Mia’s stomach churned. “Someone has to be.”

He stood, towering over her now. “You should thank me,” he said, his tone low and almost mocking. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”

Mia’s hands curled into fists. “Maybe. But we didn’t ask for your help.”

“No,” he said, his voice cold. “But you needed it.”

Mia refused to look away, even as her pulse thundered in her ears. “What do you want from us?”

He smiled then, a slow, unsettling curve of his lips. “Want?” He let the word hang in the air for a moment. “I want nothing from you, girl. Only for you to understand the truth.”

“And what truth is that?”

“That strength is the only thing that matters here,” he said, his gaze piercing. “Without it, you’re nothing. Weakness is a death sentence in Zaun.”

Mia’s jaw tightened. “We’re not weak.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “But you could be stronger.”

Before Mia could respond, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving her heart pounding and her mind racing.

Later that night, as Powder slept soundly for the first time in days, Mia lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling. Who is he? she wondered. And why does he care what happens to us?

She didn’t trust him. Not for a second. But for now, they had nowhere else to go.

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