Page 4 of Bound to the Marak

On it sat a bowl of thick grey paste, the color of wet cement. A cup of water trembled beside it.

She stared at the food.

It didn’t move. It didn’t smell. It might not even be food.

Still, her stomach churned with hunger. But she didn’t touch it. Not yet.

She backed into the far corner of her cell, hugging herself tightly. The lights dimmed. The hum of the walls returned—low, steady, alive.

She didn’t cry.

Not yet.

But her body trembled with the effort it took to stay quiet. To stayhuman.

She didn’t know what they wanted. She didn’t know what was coming.

She only knew two things.

She wasn’t safe.

And Alfie was still out there.

Somewhere.

Alone.

Three

Leonie awoke to movement.

The walls of her cage vibrated softly, the rhythm of motion humming beneath her like a massive engine thudding somewhere below. A new light filtered in—pale and sterile, far brighter than the eerie glow of her prison cell. When she sat up, her heart caught in her throat.

She was no longer in the cage she knew.

Now, she was in a clear container—glass or something like it—with bars running vertically along its sides. A crowd bustled beyond, strange figures moving in and out of her blurred field of vision. A platform. A stage. Her prison had become a display case.

Amarket.

Leonie pressed her hands against the transparent wall, her breath fogging the surface. The air outside buzzed with alien voices—clicks, hums, and garbled tones—none of which made any sense to her. It was like standing in the middle of a language she couldn’t even begin to decipher.

A slender figure stepped forward. The first “buyer,” she realized grimly.

It was tall and grey, with a narrow body and elongated limbs. Its skin looked soft and rubbery, and its three-fingered hands moved with curious precision. Large black eyes blinked at her—too slowly. Its mouth opened to emit a series of high-pitched tones, melodic and almost childlike.

It tilted its head. Studied her like one might inspect fruit in a market stall. A hand reached up, tapping at a data tablet on the other side of the glass. Then it walked away.

The next made her blood run cold.

Red-skinned. Broad-shouldered. Humanoid, but clearly not human. Its skin gleamed like lacquered stone, and it wore a heavy suit of dark, metallic armor fitted with glowing strips and whirring servos. Across its back, weaponry bristled—some kind of bladed staff, and something else shaped like a cannon.

It stared directly at her, unblinking. The breathing holes along its jaw flared, and it said something in a guttural, grinding language. The sound alone made her flinch. It bared its teeth in what might have been a smile—or a threat.

She backed away from the glass.

Then, silence.

The next figure stepped forward, and the crowd seemed to still.

---