city lights glittering like a field of broken glass. I was a ghost in this polished cage, a bartender who used to worry about rent and my mother' s hospital bills, now a

noise on the marble floor. He didn't look at me, his eyes fixed on a pa

," he said, his voice low an

was a small, stupid thing,

r mother' s nurse mentioned her breathing was a little shallow toda

ore. He owned the hospital, he owned the doc

ing into my bare knees. The humiliation was a hot burn in

attention back to the city lights. "

hey were carved from stone. They didn't look at me, not at first. Harrison spoke to them in a

e cut through the air, directed at

my head snapping to the side. My ear rang, and the taste of blood filled my mouth. I stayed on my knees, my eyes fixed on

rutal series of strikes, not meant to break bones but to break my spirit. They were professionals. Each impact was a lesson in pain and powerlessness. Through it all, I could feel Harrison's eyes on me, watching, judging. I closed my eyes and saw my father' s face, his decora

d cold ambition filling my senses. His fingers, surprisingly gentle, tilted my chin u

aid, his voice flat, ana

was so at odds with the violence he had just orchestrated that it made me sick. This was th

tracing the line of my jaw. "Your father. Commander Hayes. He was a ma

ng me why he was doing this. It was about my father. It was a

ow of conflict, maybe even a hint of disgust. It wasn' t directed at me, but at himse

ain cold and remote. He stood, towering over me

in protest. Every movement was agony, but I forced myself to stand. I limped to the bathroom, my reflection a stranger with a swollen face and dead eyes. As I washed the blood from my skin, I thought of Harrison's moment of hesitation. H