Pain woke her.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
It tore her back into consciousness.
Chivy's body tensed instinctively. Her hands moved—
No.
They didn't.
Bound.
Her eyes snapped open.
Light flooded in. Too bright. Too sharp.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
Then—
memory returned.
The alley.
The fight.
The fall.
Him.
Her pupils shrank.
Ruger's face hovered above her.
Close.
Smiling.
Watching.
Chivy reacted instantly.
She tried to rise—
Failed.
Her balance collapsed, and her body slammed against the table beneath her. Pain surged through her again, sharper this time, dragging a low sound from her throat before she could stop it.
Ruger didn't move.
He simply watched.
Studying.
Measuring.
Like she wasn't a person.
Like she was—
material.
"Good," he said quietly.
"You're awake."
Chivy said nothing.
Her breathing slowed.
Controlled.
Forced.
She began to observe.
The room was large. Bright. Too bright. A chandelier burned overhead, flooding everything with harsh light. The furniture was new, but poorly made. Cheap wood shaped into something that pretended to be expensive.
A false surface.
Like him.
Her hands were bound behind her. Tight. No slack. Her body was pressed against a wide experimental table. No room to shift leverage.
She tested her strength.
Nothing.
Not yet.
The poison hadn't fully left her system.
Ruger picked something up.
A bolt.
Blood-stained.
He examined it briefly.
Then discarded it.
"You lasted longer than I expected," he said.
Still no answer.
Chivy looked at him.
Directly.
No fear.
No anger.
Just—
cold.
Ruger's fingers paused slightly.
He didn't like that look.
It wasn't submission.
It wasn't resistance.
It was something else.
Something that didn't break.
He reached forward and lifted her chin.
"Where did the fire go?" he asked softly.
"Burned out already?"
Chivy moved.
Fast.
Her teeth snapped forward.
Ruger pulled back—just in time.
Skin split.
A thin line of blood traced down his finger.
Silence.
Then—
he smiled.
Wider this time.
"Good," he said.
"You're still there."
He grabbed her hair and pulled upward.
Her body arched.
Pain followed—sharp, tearing.
She did not scream.
Her eyes remained on him.
Unblinking.
Ruger held her there for a moment.
Then let go.
She dropped back onto the table.
He stepped away.
Thinking.
Not acting.
That was the difference.
Minutes passed.
No words.
Only breath.
Then—
Ruger spoke again.
"You're strong," he said.
"Stronger than the others."
A pause.
"But strength isn't enough."
He turned slightly, glancing at the tools on the table.
Steel. Hooks. Needles.
Then back at her.
"You made a mistake."
Chivy finally spoke.
Her voice was hoarse.
Cold.
"I'll kill you."
Ruger nodded.
"Probably."
No denial.
No arrogance.
Just acknowledgment.
That made it worse.
Chivy's fingers tightened.
The rope creaked.
Fibers strained.
Ruger noticed.
Of course he did.
He watched everything.
"Not yet," he said.
Chivy did not respond again.
But something inside her shifted.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Focus.
Her breathing changed.
Slower.
Deeper.
The poison was still there.
But weakening.
Ruger saw it.
He stepped back.
Far enough.
Not careless.
Never careless.
Time stretched.
Thin.
Tense.
Then—
A sound.
Soft.
A thread snapping.
Ruger's eyes narrowed.
Too fast.
He reached for the crossbow.
Chivy moved.
The rope tore apart—
Her body twisted violently.
Pain exploded through her ribs.
She ignored it.
Ruger fired.
The bolt cut past—
Tearing flesh from her shoulder.
Too slow.
She hit the ground.
Rolled.
Stood.
Barely.
Blood ran down her arm.
They faced each other.
No words.
No distance.
Only intent.
Ruger adjusted his stance.
Weight shifted.
Angle measured.
She was weakened.
But still dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Chivy stepped forward.
Stopped.
Her eyes flicked—
Door.
Window.
Distance.
Back to him.
Decision.
She turned—
And ran.
Not retreat.
Not escape.
Survival.
Ruger did not chase.
He watched her leave.
Silent.
Still.
Calculating.
Then—
He moved.
Not after her.
Toward the table.
Toward the tools.
Toward the plan.
The house did not stay quiet for long.
The door slammed open.
Eit stepped in first.
Stopped.
Looked.
"...What the hell happened here?"
Broken wood.
Blood.
Snapped rope.
Kate crouched, lifting a torn strand.
"…She ripped this apart."
Her voice was low.
Not impressed.
Concerned.
Ruger said nothing.
Eit exhaled sharply.
"We don't have time."
Franco stepped forward.
"Then we set it now."
No hesitation.
No argument.
Chairs overturned.
Tables dragged.
Blades hidden beneath cloth.
A trap took shape—
fast.
Ugly.
Effective.
Then—
They waited.
Not long.
The door exploded inward.
Wood burst.
Steel flashed.
Chivy entered like a blade.
Faster.
Sharper.
Angrier.
Too late—
They were ready.
Metal collided.
A man screamed as steel split his shoulder open.
Another fell—
A dagger buried in his throat.
Hidden figures stepped from the dark.
The trap closed.
Then—
The street roared.
Boots.
Armor.
Voices.
"City guard!"
Too many.
Too fast.
Fire dropped from above—
A man burned, clawing at his own face as flames swallowed him whole.
Ice followed—
A spear of frost punched through armor, pinning another to the ground.
Formation broke.
Chaos.
Chivy cut forward—
One strike.
One opening.
She took it.
And was gone.
Blood trailing behind her.
She did not look back.
Night fell.
And with it—
The hunt began.
Walls filled with notices.
Names.
Prices.
Wanted.
Ruger stood in the dark, reading one.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Then—
he folded it.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"This works," he said.
Not concern.
Not hesitation.
Only—
intent.
Behind him—
Floya stood.
Still.
Watching.
Not empty anymore.
Ruger glanced at it.
Then back at the city beyond the window.
"Good," he said softly.
"We're done hiding."
The city had begun to notice.
And this time—
Ruger wanted it to.
END OF CHAPTER 6