Even as I argued with Pia, I found myself straining my ears for the sound of a familiar, heavy footstep. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that the man who had cooped me into his arms last night—the one whose heart I'd felt beating against my back—wouldn't let me rot in this hole.
The officers outside the bars weren't finished with their entertainment.
"Don't get too comfortable, little wolf," one of them laughed, hitting the bars with a metal baton.
The sound rang through the small space like a bell. "Beta Davis is already calling in favors to have your trial moved up to tonight. They want the execution done before the moon sets."
"I told you, I didn't do it!" I yelled, my voice cracking as I stood up and gripped the cold bars. "Check the cameras! Check the scents! I was just a guest!"
"A guest?" The guard spat on the floor near my feet. "You're a lying Spain bitch. And as for your Prince?" He leaned in, his breath smelling of stale tobacco.
"He hasn't even called the station. Probably too busy picking out his brother's casket and thanking the Goddess he's rid of the girl who ruined his reputation."
My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand. No. He wouldn't.
"He's coming," Pia insisted, though her tail wasn't wagging anymore. "He has to. We're his mates, even if it's a lie. He needs us."
The guards walked away, their laughter echoing down the hallway. I sank back into the shadows of the cell. The trauma of the day was finally catching up to me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the black bags being loaded into the ambulance.
Mama. Papa. I was three years old again, watching my world get driven away in the back of a van. Back then, no one came to save me. I had to learn to save myself, to find food in the trash and warmth in the vents of the factories on days when Drodd and Imogen kicked me out to 'punish' me.
But as I looked at the heavy lock on the door, I knew that for the first time in my life, my own grit wasn't going to be enough. I was trapped in a system designed to crush people like me.
"Kaeren," I whispered into the darkness, my pride finally crumbling. "Please. Don't let them do this."
"He's coming. He's an Alpha. He won't let his plan be ruined." Pia whimpered, curling up in the back of my mind.
Was that even valid? He didn't even like me. He'd probably just be happy to be rid of me. At least now, he had a legal reason not to be with his mate.
But as the hours ticked by and the station grew quiet, the hope started to feel more dangerous than the fear. I stared at the single, high window where the moon was beginning to rise. If he didn't come soon, I wouldn't just be a "Spanish ghost."
I'd be a real one.
.
Hours later, I sat in the corner, the ruined silk of my dress a mocking reminder of the girl who had imagined, even for a split second, that she could play at being a Queen. My ribs throbbed with every breath, and my face felt like it had been reconstructed out of heat and pain.
"He's not coming, Wave. The moon is high. The world outside has moved on. They're probably already picking out the black suit he'll wear to the funeral." Pia, who had previously been full of hope, gave up with a purr.
No, no. That couldn't be true. It was too early to give up. I had endured worse in the Outer District and had come out of the other end a strong wolf.
"Shut up," I snapped internally, though my own conviction was paper-thin. "He has to come. Not because he loves us. Because we're a part of his plan. Kaeren doesn't lose. He won't let his investment rot in a hole."
The sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, accompanied by the jingle of keys. I scrambled to my feet, my muscles screaming in protest, and gripped the rusted bars.
Two officers stopped in front of my cell. One was a tall, lanky man with a cruel twist to his mouth; the other was shorter, thick-necked, and looking at me like I was something he'd found stuck to the bottom of his boot.
"So," the tall one started, tapping his baton against the bars. "The 'Spanish Mate.' Tell me, sweetheart, where in Spain exactly? Because I've seen the way you talk. I've heard the way you scream. You don't look Spanish. You look like you were pulled out of a gutter in the North and scrubbed until you bled."
These were officers who lived in the Outer District themselves and had dealt in the nooks and corners of it. We, the lower class, had a way of recognizing ourselves even if we were draped in the shiniest gold and finest of silks.
My heart did a violent somersault. If they found out I was a fraud, the lie was dead. And if the lie was dead, Kaeren had zero reason to ever step foot in this station. He wouldn't save a common criminal who had also managed to embarrass him in front of the Council.
I forced my chin up, ignoring the way my vision wobbled. "Are you implying that the Great Prince Kaeren—an Alpha whose intuition is sharper than your service weapon—has such poor judgment that he couldn't recognize a 'gutter wolf' when he held her in his arms? Are you saying he's a fool?"
The short one flinched. The tall one's smirk faltered. In this pack, questioning an Alpha's judgment was a fast track to the unemployment line… or a shallow grave.
"I... I'm not saying that," the tall one muttered, shifting his weight.
"Then watch your tongue," I hissed, leaning into the bars. "Because when I am cleared—and I will be—the first person I'm speaking to is my mate. And I have a very long memory."
For a second, I felt it. That spark of the Outer District girl who had stared down Syndicate thugs. I felt powerful.
Then the door at the end of the hall opened, and a female officer walked in. She was older, with graying hair pulled into a tight, severe bun and eyes that held no mercy.
"Enough of that," she barked at the men. "Step back. Mate or not, she's a prisoner of the State. And in this cell, she's nothing. When she gets to the pits, she'll be even less than that."
She unlocked the door and stepped inside. I tried to back away, but the two men stepped in behind her, blocking the exit.
"Why is she even still wearing this?" the woman asked, her eyes landing on the ripped, dirt-stained silk of my dress. "This belongs to the Alpha's family. You don't deserve to wear their status while you're dripping their blood."
"It was a gift," I whispered, but she didn't care.
Her hand moved with a speed that caught me off guard. She grabbed the front of my dress, the silk groaning under the pressure. With a violent yank, she dragged me forward, exposing me to the cold air and the leering eyes of the men behind her.
"Stop it!" I screamed, my hands flying up to cover myself, to hold onto the last shred of dignity I had left. "Don't touch me!"