The cell smelled of sweat, metal, and despair.
Lucky sat on the thin mattress, knees pressed to her chest, listening to the murmurs, shouts, and occasional laughter from the other prisoners. Every face seemed hardened, every glance sharp, every whisper a reminder that this world didn't care for the weak—or for those who had once been innocent.
They called her "the princess" at first, mocking the way she had tried to hold herself upright, the way she had clung to traces of civility. She didn't respond. There was no fight left in her, only a quiet, simmering hurt.
Food came, barely enough to sustain her, and the days blended into one another. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with the subtle cruelty of people who found satisfaction in reminding her that she no longer belonged.
Lucky tried to retreat into herself, her powers to hide, to vanish—but even they were failing her now. The gift she had once relied on to survive the world outside had become unreliable, weak, a reminder that even her abilities had limits.
At night, she lay awake, listening to the murmurs and footsteps, thinking about Adrian, the life she had almost had, the trust she had given too freely. A dull, persistent ache settled in her chest—the knowledge that she could never go back, that her innocence had been stolen and there was no replacement for it.
She whispered to herself in the darkness, words no one could hear: "I tried… I really tried… but the world… it's too cruel."
The walls seemed to close in, but there was no one to rescue her this time. No river, no stars, no kind stranger. Only cold steel, whispers, and the unrelenting weight of exhaustion pressing down on her fragile soul.