Chapter 33: Grrrrrrrrr~~~~~~~~~~
Grrrrrrrrr~~~~~~~~~~
Her stomach growled again—louder, sharper, a snarl that twisted her guts—and her foot tapped the floor, a slow, deliberate rhythm against the cold tiles, the only sound she'd allow herself to make.
She swore it then, silent but fierce: Next time I see him, he's dead.
Powers or not, I'll snap his neck, crush his throat, watch his eyes go dark. The thought pulsed hot, her hatred for heroes flaring brighter—Kael just another smug face in a long line she'd vowed to erase.
But she stayed still, back straight, expression carved from stone, letting the anger simmer quiet. Nothing broke her—not hunger, not boredom, not this cage. She was Freya, and she'd outlast him, outlast them all.
That morning, she'd heard it—chaos spilling through the walls, Rhea's yells sharp and wild, thuds rattling the frame like something was breaking apart.
Freya hadn't moved, hadn't flinched, hadn't cared. She'd sat on her cot, legs crossed, staring at the door as if it might dare open, her mind far from whatever tantrum Rhea threw. Breakfast never came after—hours ticked by, unmarked in a room with no windows, just a bulb, a bed, a cramped bathroom, and the clothes on her back, stiff and worn from days unwashed.
Her stomach kept up its grumbling, a relentless drumbeat, and she shifted, leaning back against the wall, the chill seeping through her shirt as she glared at the locked door.
I was wrong, prison's better than this shithole, she thought, a bitter smirk tugging her lips.