Chapter 3
Ivy stared at the unidentifiable goo on her chipped metal tray, its grayish lumps quivering as she nudged it with a fork that had long lost its shine. The dull thud of the prison's iron doors closing somewhere in the distance was a constant reminder of the place that now trapped her. The air was stale, suffocating, filled with the whispers of those who had given up long before she'd arrived.
The first bite scraped down her throat, more sawdust than food, and Ivy fought the urge to retch. As she forced herself to swallow, a wave of memory crashed over her, raw and searing.
It had been a night like any other, or so she thought. The bar was loud, filled with the low hum of people seeking to forget their troubles in the warmth of dim lantern light and the burn of cheap liquor. Ivy had found herself there by chance, seeking nothing more than a moment of solace. She drank from her glass, wincing at the bitter taste it left on her tongue. But peace was fleeting in Zaun.
The door had burst open, splinters flying as enforcers stormed in, their heavy boots clanging against the wooden floorboards. Shouts erupted, the chaotic chorus of orders barked and people scrambling.
"Get down! No one move!"
Panic surged in Ivy's chest, her muscles tensed, ready to bolt. Her instincts screamed at her to run, to fight, to survive. She knew she had to get out of there. As enforcers pushed through the crowd, grabbing and subduing anyone in their path, Ivy ducked behind a table, her eyes darting for an exit.
An enforcer lunged at her from the side, his gauntleted hand reaching for her arm. Ivy reacted without thinking, driving her elbow into his ribs. He grunted, momentarily stunned, and she spun around, grabbing an empty bottle from the table and smashing it against his helmet. The shards scattered like rain, and he stumbled backward, buying her precious seconds.
More enforcers advanced, their weapons raised. Ivy's breath came in sharp gasps as she leapt over a fallen chair, weaving through the chaos. People screamed, cowering or pushing each other in their desperation to escape. The air grew thick with the acrid stench of smoke—someone had knocked over a lantern, and flames licked hungrily at the wooden walls.
"Freeze!" another enforcer shouted, but Ivy's heart beat roared in her ears. She vaulted over the bar, landing in a crouch just as a bolt of electric energy crackled past her, scorching the edge of the counter.
Before she could move again, rough hands seized her shoulders, yanking her back into the open. The world spun as she was dragged upright, her pale green eyes locking with a pair of startling blue ones—a girl in the shadows, long blue hair braided reaching her ankles, lips curling into a smirk as she twirled a gun around her fingers. She winked at Ivy before disappearing into the darkness and shadows behind her.
Ivy's attention snapped back to the enforcers dragging her away. "No! You've got the wrong person!" her voice was raw, desperate as she thrashed against their iron grip. The enforcers, faceless behind their reflective visors, didn't listen. They never did. Resisting only brought pain, and the last thing she felt before the world turned black was the cold press of metal cuffs biting into her wrists.
Now, in the silence of her cell, Ivy clenched her jaw, every bite of the meal a reminder of that night, of the betrayal and injustice that had sealed her fate. The memory of that smirking girl haunted her, a phantom in the corner of her mind. The truth was out there somewhere, but it lay beyond the stone walls and metal bars that caged her, tantalizingly close yet achingly out of reach.
The cell block echoed with the sounds of weary prisoners shifting and murmuring, their chains scraping against the floor. Ivy closed her eyes, trying to piece together the fragments of that night. Who was that girl? What role had she played? The questions gnawed at her relentlessly.
A sudden commotion snapped her out of her reverie—the clang of metal on metal and a shout that reverberated down the corridor. Ivy's heart leapt into her throat as she turned to peer through the narrow bars of her cell. A group of enforcers was dragging a new prisoner in, the figure resisting with every ounce of strength.
For a brief second, a flash of pink hair shimmered in the dim torchlight.
The girl's face was beat up, tattoos across her muscular body. She was shoved into the cell next to Ivy's with brutal force. The enforcers locked the door and walked away, their footsteps fading into the distance.
Silence settled once more, punctuated only by the sound of heavy breathing from the cell beside her. Ivy strained to see through the wall that separated them, catching only the hint of movement. Whoever the girl was, she had fought hard, and the fire in her spirit was palpable even without words.
"Who are you?" Ivy whispered, her voice barely carrying over the stone.
There was a pause, and then a voice, low and edged with defiance, replied, "Just another prisoner."
Ivy rolled her eyes and the girls response "You got a name?"
There was a moment of silence before the girl answered, "Vi. And you?"
Ivy hesitated, the weight of her own story pressing on her chest. "Ivy," she said finally.
Another wave of silence washed over them "What are you in for?" Vi asks
Ivy let out a breath that was almost a chuckle. "Being in the wrong place at the wrong time." She sat with her back against the shared wall between Vi and her cell. "You?" she asks.
"Long story" Vi says.
Before Ivy could respond, the sharp echo of boots against stone interrupted the fragile quiet. A voice called out, firm and clipped, "Ivy Kingsley."
Ivy stiffened, peering through the bars. A figure appeared at the end of the dimly lit corridor, tall and imposing. The light from the torches caught the sheen of her enforcer uniform, but what made Ivy's blood run cold was the woman's long, straight blue hair that fell past her shoulders. In her gloved hand, she held a stack of papers, their edges creased as if they'd been handled repeatedly.
The enforcer's eyes, a piercing shade that seemed to cut through the shadows, met Ivy's. She stepped closer, and the weight of her presence pressed down like an iron shackle.
"We need to talk," she said, her voice devoid of emotion as she raised the papers in her hand.
Ivy's heart thudded against her ribs, each beat echoing louder than the last. The cell suddenly felt smaller, colder, as the enforcer's gaze pinned her in place.
"Who are you?" Ivy demanded, a sharp edge to her voice.
The woman's gaze hardened. "Caitlyn Kiramman," she replied, her tone measured and deliberate. She lifted one of the papers for Ivy to see. On it was a sketch of a girl with long blue braids—the same girl Ivy had seen in the dark corner of the bar the night of her arrest. Ivy's breath caught, and a surge of anger tightened her chest.
"What do you want?" Ivy's voice was flat, eyes narrowing with defiance.
Caitlyn studied her, the intensity in her gaze unrelenting. "You know something," she stated. It wasn't a question.
Ivy clenched her jaw, the hatred she harbored for the enforcers flaring hot in her veins. "I don't know anything," she spat, refusing to let them break her silence.
Caitlyn's eyes flickered, the barest hint of doubt crossing her face. But she knew better. She could see it in the way Ivy's hands trembled, in the guarded look that tried to shield the truth.
"We'll see about that," Caitlyn said softly, before turning and walking back down the corridor, leaving Ivy alone with her racing thoughts.