Trust, in Rafferty Rampanda's world, was not given.
It was extracted.
Finley learned that within the first hour of being back inside the lion's den.
No escort. No orientation. No reassurance. She was handed a burner phone with no saved contacts, a badge that opened only some doors, and a single instruction delivered by a man who never met her eyes.
"Survive."
The trials began before she knew to name them.
The First Trial: Obedience
They sent her to Dock Epsilon.
Not the place she'd warned Rafferty about—the shadow of it. A decoy transfer, hastily rearranged after her data spooked the wrong people. The order was simple: observe, report nothing unless asked, interfere under no circumstances.
It was a test of restraint.
The dock smelled of oil and salt and old blood. Men moved crates with the bored efficiency of people who believed themselves untouchable. Finley spotted three violations within minutes—timing errors, mislabeled manifests, a face she recognized from APEX outer ring. Mr Luke had once send her there to find out more about the company's details.
Every instinct screamed to act.
She didn't.
She stood where she was told. Watched what she was allowed to watch. When a forklift stalled and a crate cracked open—just enough to reveal a human hand inside—she did not react.
She counted her breaths instead.
Across the yard, one of Rafferty's lieutenants, Marco Vale, watched her through mirrored lenses. Waiting for her to flinch. To rush. To prove she was reckless.
She wasn't.
When the shift ended, she walked away having said nothing.
Marco reported later: She saw more than she spoke.
Rafferty marked it down as competence.
What no one knew was that the crate had cracked because a bolt she'd loosened earlier—pure accident, clumsy fingers brushing rust—gave way under pressure.
Luck, wearing the mask of discipline.
The Second Trial: Loyalty
Two nights later, they gave her a name.
Elias Kade. Mid-tier operator. Disposable but useful. A man who'd once passed her a message in secret from inside telling her all the details about Rafferty's deals without knowing who she was.
Rafferty's instruction was delivered in person this time.
"He's leaking," Rafferty said, pouring himself a drink he didn't offer her. "You'll confirm it."
"And if he is?" Finley asked.
Rafferty's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You'll decide how loyal you are."
They put her alone in a room with Elias.
No glass. No guards visible. Just a table and a silence heavy enough to bruise.
Elias looked up when she entered—and froze.
"You," he breathed. "You're dead."
"Not yet," Finley said.
He laughed, shaky. "They sent you to test me, didn't they?"
She didn't answer.
That was enough.
Elias talked fast. Too fast. About Hellfire's contacts. About escape routes. About selling names to anyone who'd pay enough. He offered her a cut. Protection. A way out.
It was all true.
And it put her in an impossible position.
If she reported him, Rafferty would trust her more—but Hellfire would mark her as an executioner. If she warned Elias, Rafferty would know.
Finley chose a third path.
She told Elias nothing.
She simply stood, knocked once on the door, and said, clearly, "He's clean. Just scared."
The door opened.
Guards dragged Elias out anyway.
Rafferty had already decided.
Hours later, Finley learned Elias had tried to run during transfer and been shot.
Rafferty watched her reaction carefully when he told her.
She showed none.
What Rafferty never learned was that Elias had panicked because Finley, by pure chance, had left the burner phone on the table—screen lit, displaying a contact name that didn't exist.
EXIT WINDOW: 6 MIN.
Elias thought it was a warning.
It was a glitch. A dying battery. Random text from a previous test Luke had never wiped.
Luck, dressed up as loyalty.
The Third Trial: Blood
The final trial came without warning.
She was pulled from her bunk before dawn and driven blindfolded to a place even the maps didn't pretend to include. When the blindfold came off, she stood in a concrete room washed in harsh white light.
A man knelt in the center.
Bound. Beaten. Alive.
Rafferty stood behind her.
"This one," he said calmly, "sold us out to Hellfire before i could earn what i started. He drove them to my laboratory building and made me look like an an incompetent person. You'll finish it."
The guards placed a gun in her hand.
Cold. Heavy. Final.
This wasn't about trust.
This was about ownership.
Finley looked at the man. He was young. Too young. His eyes met hers—not pleading, just resigned. Tears threatened, hands trembled but she couldn't have a choice.
She raised the gun.
Inside, everything went quiet.
She fired.
The sound was deafening.
The man collapsed.
Blood spread fast across the floor.
Rafferty watched her closely.
Finley's hands shook—just enough to look real.
"Dispose of her," Rafferty said to the guards. "She's proven."
They dragged the body away.
Only when Finley was alone again did she vomit into the sink, shaking so hard she had to brace herself against the wall.
She hadn't killed him.
The gun had been loaded with a single blank.
Rafferty never used live rounds in the first executions. Too many variables. Too many people who flinched wrong.
He'd wanted to see her pull the trigger.
She had.
Luck, brutal and merciless, had spared her hands.
By the end of the week, her status changed.
Doors opened faster. Conversations stopped when she entered—not because she was feared, but because she was acknowledged.
Rafferty watched her from behind glass, from across rooms, from the corners of her reflection.
Three trials.
Obedience. Loyalty. Blood.
She passed them all.
Not because she was flawless.
But because chance bent just enough in her favour to make her look inevitable.
Finley knew better.
Luck was not a shield.
It was a debt.
And Hellfire always came to collect.
Somewhere far from Rafferty's empire, a system recalibrated. A name resurfaced. A pattern noticed the disturbance she'd caused.
The fire had felt her touch.
And it was beginning to look back.