The Three Who Chose Me

Josie

I didn’t know what day it was anymore.

Maybe the third. Maybe the tenth. Or maybe time didn’t matter when you were tied up, starved, and left to rot in your own sweat and fear.

My throat was raw from the gag that had been shoved in and out of my mouth. My wrists were blistered from the rope. The skin around them felt hot, infected, like my body was beginning to rot from the outside in. The corners of my lips were cracked and bleeding. My breath came in shallow pants, each inhale feeling like knives slicing into my lungs.

But what hurt more than any of that... was the hunger.

My belly had folded in on itself, gnarled and empty. The only thing inside me was the burning ache of need—not just for food, but for safety. For a familiar face. For Thorne’s voice yelling at me like I was some wild brat. For Kiel’s cold sarcasm. For Varen’s maddening patience. For anything that wasn’t this.

So when the door suddenly banged open, slamming against the wall with enough force to make the rusted hinges scream—I didn’t even flinch.

My head turned slowly, muscles protesting with a whimper of pain. I stared through the dim light as a shadowy figure stepped into the storage room like he owned the whole damn world.

"More stubborn than I thought," a man’s voice said—deep, sharp, void of warmth.

I blinked.

The light pouring in from behind him cut into my eyes, but as he moved closer, I finally saw his face.