Page 90 of Blood Heir

Nightfall sinks into the small stone room like a heavy fog, curling in from the tiny grated window. The beam of moonlightthat once painted lines across the filthy floor has dimmed to nothing more than a faint glow. The air is damp, stale, and thick with the sour scent of sweat and fear.

Emilia lies curled up near the wall, her knees tucked to her chest. She’s been sighing for what feels like hours now, her breath shaky, her body tense but motionless. Every few minutes, she lets out another long exhale like she's trying to steady herself, but it only makes the silence louder.

I pace back and forth on the other side of the cramped space. My bare feet slap against the cold stone, each step methodical, controlled. My mind races while my body stays in motion. The dim light catches on my damp hair as I run my fingers through it, tugging lightly at the strands to keep myself awake, focused.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The soft metallic click from the door’s lock echoes like a gunshot in the suffocating silence. My muscles tense instantly.

Emilia jerks upright from her curled position.

We both freeze, watching the door creak open with an eerie slowness.

A guard steps in, balancing a wooden tray in his hand—two bowls, likely the same flavorless slop they’ve been feeding us since we arrived. His eyes flicker over us with disinterest, his shoulders slack as if this is just another routine task.

That’s his first mistake.

The moment his foot fully crosses the threshold, Emilia lunges—like a desperate animal pouncing for survival.

“Please! Please! Let me out!” she screams, her voice sharp with hysteria as she grabs at his arm, sending the tray crashingto the ground. Food splatters in thick wet splashes across the floor. The bowls clatter and roll into the shadows.

The guard stumbles, cursing as his free arm tries to shove Emilia off him, but she clings like a lifeline, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t leave me in here with her! Please!” she cries, sobbing and wrapping both arms tightly around his waist.

He tries again to shove her off, stumbling slightly—exactly what I need.

Without hesitation, I dart forward, silent and swift.

In one motion, I grab the rusted metal bucket from the corner, its edges damp with condensation. The weight of it feels right in my hands, solid and steady. I swing it up and over, slamming it down onto the guard's head with a hollow clang.

He lets out a startled grunt, his legs buckling as he stumbles backward. Emilia releases him instantly and ducks away.

I push forward, slamming the bucket-covered head against the rough stone wall with my full weight behind it.

The man crumples like paper, his body sliding down the wall in a heap. The bucket topples off, rolling away and clanking along the stone floor.

I stand over him, my chest heaving from the adrenaline rush, my hands flexing at my sides. The sound of my own heartbeat drums in my ears.

Emilia reacts first. She scrambles to her knees, hands darting to the utility belt at the man’s waist. “The keys—got them!” she hisses.

I grab the gun strapped at his side. My hands shake for only half a second before instinct kicks in. Cold steel. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach turn.

We lock eyes.

“Now,” I whisper sharply.

We lunge for the door.

I turn in time to see the guard surging back to his feet. His face is twisted in rage, one eye swollen, blood dripping from his nose. He lunges for the door just as Emilia swings it toward him, and his arm wedges itself between the door and the frame.

He grips the edge of the doorframe with his full weight, grunting, trying to force it back open.

I throw my weight against the door, but he’s strong; desperation makes him stronger. His knuckles turn white as he strains, shoving the door back open inch by inch.

Emilia screams. “Shut it! Shut it now!”

I lean harder, slamming my shoulder into the door. The edge of it cuts into my collarbone, metal biting into my skin. My legs tremble as I brace my boots against the floor for more leverage.

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