Liora knew from that walk, from the heaviness of his steps, from the way his eyes fixed on the floor rather than looking at anyone, that her fate had already been sealed. That whatever words had been exchanged, whatever selection had been made, it had ended with her name.
She stepped back from the door, her heart hammering so violently she thought her ribs might crack from the force. Her hands had gone numb. Her breathing came in short, inadequate gasps that couldn't seem to fill her lungs.
This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
"Liora." Her father's voice came through the wood, using her actual name, which he rarely did, and somehow that small detail made everything worse, made it more real. "It's you who has been selected for this year's Hunt. Open the door. I know you're standing right there."
He didn't knock. He didn't need to. He was absolutely certain she was pressed against the other side, listening to every word.
Why me?
The question burned in her mind like acid. She had older siblings, three of them, all stronger in their father's eyes, more capable, better suited for whatever horror awaited the chosen. She wasn't the only option in this family. She wasn't even the obvious choice.
Why? Why does it have to be me?
"Father, why does it have to be me?" Her voice emerged steadier than she'd expected, though her entire body was shaking so badly she had to lean against the door for support. She pressed her palms flat against the worn wood, feeling the grain beneath her skin, the familiar texture that had been part of her world for so many years. "Father, I'm not your only child! Why me?"
Silence hung heavy for three heartbeats. Four. Five.
"If I don't send you, then who would you have me choose?" Her father's voice rose, sharp with an anger she recognized all too well, the kind born from fear and helplessness, the kind that needed somewhere to land and found the nearest, easiest target. "Your siblings are weak by nature. They wouldn't survive a day out there. But you? You're strong. You're resilient. You're the most capable one in this household. And you should know that by now."
Liora felt something crack inside her chest, a physical sensation like ice splitting under pressure.
Capable. Strong. That's why I'm being sacrificed?
"You should consider yourself fortunate," her father continued, his voice taking on a bitter edge that she'd heard a thousand times before, usually when he'd been drinking, usually when something had reminded him of her existence. "Fortunate that I even took you in when you were a child, picked you up off the streets when no one else would have touched you. This might be the best thing that has ever happened to you. You could become a proper servant in some great house if you survive. You've always been harder to kill than the others. Use that."
Harder to kill. As if that were a blessing. As if mere survival were the same as having a life worth living.
Liora Ashwin stared at the barrier between herself and her father, at the worn wood that had separated her room from the rest of the house for so many years. Her throat constricted painfully. She wanted to scream, to rage, to demand why she had to be the one sacrificed when she'd done nothing wrong, when her only crime was being born. But even as the questions formed, she already knew the answers.
She had always known.
In her father's eyes, she had never truly been family. She had been a burden, tolerated but never wanted, fed but never loved, given a roof but never a home. The illegitimate daughter of a servant woman who'd died under circumstances no one would discuss. A reminder of his indiscretion, of his moment of weakness. And now she was finally useful in the only way a burden could be: as something to be given away.
"Father, please!" Liora heard her voice crack, heard the desperation bleeding through despite her best efforts to contain it. She pressed harder against the door, as if her weight alone could somehow keep the world at bay, could reverse time, could undo whatever decision had been made on the other side. "Choose one of the others. They won't resist, they'll go quietly. I'm begging you, please don't do this!"
"Won't resist?" Her father's laugh was hollow, devoid of any humor, a sound that held only bitterness and something that might have been self-loathing if she'd been generous enough to interpret it that way. "You think that's what I want? Compliance? The wolves don't want sheep, Liora. They want prey that can run. Prey that can fight. A prey that will give them sport. You're the strongest one under this roof. That's exactly why it has to be you. You'll survive this. The others wouldn't make it past the first hour."