Moments later,

Aria

The air in the Slave Pits didn't just smell of damp earth and unwashed bodies; it smelled of a thousand years of broken spirits. It was a heavy, cloying scent that clung to the back of my throat, tasting of copper and despair.

My voice rang out like a gunshot, echoing off the jagged stone walls and freezing the world in place.

"Enough!"

The Gammas halted mid-strike. One was still balanced on the balls of his feet, his heavy leather boot hovering inches away from the young man’s shattered ribs.

They turned, their eyes wide and bloodshot from the adrenaline of the beating. When they saw me...