Page 7 of Sold to the Nalgar
She couldn't decipher their motives. Had she been relocated? Was this some twisted experiment? Were they watching her now, scrutinizing her every move?
Her gaze darted to the corners of the room, searching for any sign of surveillance. There were no cameras, no telltale seams in the metal. Just smooth, silent walls. Like being entombed alive in a luxurious mausoleum.
She touched her throat, then her hip. All intact. No new bruises. But a phantom ache lingered in her thigh, a ghostly echo of the sedation.
She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. Hours? Days?
Her stomach growled, loud and demanding, a primal protest. As if summoned by the sound, a hatch opened silently in one of the walls.
She recoiled, startled. A faint hiss of air escaped, followed by a wave of scent.
Sweet. Warm. Intensely comforting. Familiar enough to make her mouth water. Maple syrup? Or something eerily similar.
A small platform extended from the wall, revealing a tray crafted from clean metal. A shallow bowl held a white, porridge-like substance that steamed gently in the amber light. Beside it, a smaller dish contained slices of pale, unidentifiable fruit. A cup, stainless and gleaming, held a clear liquid.
Her throat was parched. Her body screamed for sustenance.
But she remained frozen, immobile.
She stared at the tray as if it were a venomous snake, ready to strike.
Is it poisoned? Drugged? She wouldn't put it past them.
And even if it wasn’t, what then? Simply accept their offering? Eat like a docile lab animal, pacified with rewards after being experimented on?
Her hands clenched into fists in her lap, the soft fabric of the robe bunching in her grip. The bed was warm, the room was comfortable, and every detail of this calculated kindness infuriated her.
Fuck them.
She wasn't a pet to be fed after being prodded and dissected. She wasn't a toy they could dress and sedate and then reward with a carefully curated meal.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely. She wouldn't cry. Not now. Not yet.
Out of all the people on Earth, why her?
She had never intentionally harmed anyone. Never broken the law. She had dedicated her entire adult life to helping others, fighting for justice in courtrooms filled with grief. She worked herself raw for clients who could never truly repay her. She tried, with every fiber of her being, to do the right thing.
What did I do to deserve this?
There was no answer, only the silent hiss of the hatch closing behind the tray.
She turned her face away from the food, pulling the blanket higher around her shoulders. She would not eat. Not yet.
She would not be broken so easily.
She stared at the tray for what felt like an eternity.
It steamed gently, the aroma curling through the air, warm and faintly sweet, undeniably appetizing. Comforting. A calculated act of benevolence.
She didn't move.
Her lips pressed into a tight, defiant line, her throat aching with thirst, her stomach churning in protest.
She wouldn't eat it.
Wouldn't drink.
They wanted her well-fed. Hydrated. Kept alive.
