A few hours passed.
The sun crept across the sky like it was dragging its feet. Nyxtriel kept rotating between patrolling the top deck and overseeing the miners. She didn't need to eat or rest as often as the other recruits, which made the higher-ups impressed... and suspicious.
She had to be careful not to overdo it. Blend in, but not stand out.
That was the hard part. Being average was harder than being excellent.
When noon rolled around, she took her post near the gate as they changed shifts. The guard beside her grunted and tossed her a waterskin.
"You look like you need it," he said.
"I'm fine." She held it without drinking. "Thanks."
He nodded and wandered off. She tucked it under her arm.
That's when she heard the quiet voice beside her.
"...You're watching him again."
Rhea.
Nyxtriel stiffened. "Watching who?"
"That white-haired guy. The prisoner. The one they call 234."
Nyxtriel turned slowly. "I'm watching all of them. That's our job."
"Sure," Rhea said, voice low. "But you watch him more. Why?"
Nyxtriel's pulse quickened. "He's a potential threat. Physically stronger than most. You saw his build."
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "And his face?"
"What about it?"
"You know him?" Rhea asked bluntly.
Nyxtriel gave her the coldest look she could muster. "Are you interrogating me?"
Rhea smirked. "Just making conversation."
"Then don't."
The words came out sharper than intended. Rhea held up both hands like she was surrendering.
"Fine. Touchy. You'd think you were hiding something."
Nyxtriel stepped closer — not threatening, just close enough to dominate the space. "You don't know me, and I don't know you. If you want to play detective, wait until your second week. Until then, stay in your lane."
Rhea blinked. Then smiled. "Okay, soldier. Message received."
Nyxtriel walked away before her hands betrayed her. She needed to punch something.
Later that evening, as the bell rang to end the shift, Nyxtriel stayed behind, watching as the miners were herded back into their cells. Daemon passed by her, sweaty and covered in dust, but when his eyes flicked up and locked with hers, her stomach flipped.
He grinned.
That idiot grin of his. Like this was a joke, like he knew exactly how she was struggling to keep her expression neutral.
"Good evening, Officer," he muttered under his breath as he passed.
"Shut up," she muttered back.
Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd of orange-suited prisoners.
She stayed there long after the last of them had been locked in. The guards filed out one by one, the halls quieting down for the night.
She leaned against the railing, finally letting her shoulders drop.
This mission was getting harder than she thought. But she had to keep going. For Daemon. For the fragment. And for whatever came next.
••••
The cafeteria was a long, rectangular hall made of gray stone, like the rest of the facility — all cold edges and echoing ceilings. Rusted metal beams ran overhead, and there were no windows, just flickering lights that buzzed and dimmed every few minutes like they were powered by dying magic.
The air reeked of sweat, dried meat, and desperation.
Daemon walked in with the rest of the prisoners, his chain scraping the floor, his hands aching from the morning's labor. The guards at the front shouted orders.
"Move bastards ! Sit where you're told! You've got fifteen minutes to eat!"
The benches were packed. Hundreds of prisoners shoved together elbow to elbow, each grabbing what looked like dried jerky and a piece of hard bread from rusted trays. It was more like dog food than anything human.
Daemon took his tray in silence and sat down beside William, who looked like he was barely keeping himself from passing out.
"This place doesn't miss a chance to remind you you're trash," William muttered, biting into the dry bread with a wince.
Daemon didn't reply. His eyes scanned the hall.
Hundreds of prisoners. Some scarred. Some whispering. Some staring down at their food like it was a dead animal. He saw fights brewing in the corner, guards stepping in with silent brutality.
Then his eyes caught her.
Nyxtriel.
She stood by the far wall, arms crossed, pretending to look disinterested. Her uniform was clean, her posture upright but her eyes kept drifting. And every time they did, they landed on him.
Daemon smirked to himself. She was terrible at hiding it. Not that he was any better. Watching her try to act human was like watching a cat pretending to be a dog awkward, prickly, but weirdly endearing.
Then someone stood up.
Prisoner 435.
He was a massive man — bald, broad-shouldered, and thick like a tree trunk. His jumpsuit barely contained his belly. His arms were covered in tattoos, and he had a sneer that looked like it hadn't left his face in twenty years.
The other prisoners fell quiet around him as he stood.
He wasn't just big. He owned the space around him. An unofficial boss. A predator among scavengers.
He wasn't looking at Daemon.
He was looking at her.
Nyxtriel.
The big man chuckled and cracked his neck as he started walking across the room toward the guards' side of the cafeteria which was strictly off-limits to prisoners.
"Heyyy," he called out, his voice booming, mock-friendly. "Hey, Officer Sweetheart."
Nyxtriel didn't move.
435 reached the guard line. The other officers stepped forward,hands on weapons but they didn't act. Captain Timothy wasn't in the room, and some of the lower guards weren't about to risk a fight unless they had to,especially the history about this particular 435 they were afraid of him.
"You look tense," the big man went on, licking his lips. "You ever smile? Or are you just here to look pretty?"
Nyxtriel's jaw flexed. "Return to your seat."
He grinned wider. "You can frisk me if you want. Might be hiding something dangerous."
The cafeteria had gone dead silent.
Daemon's hand clenched around the edge of his tray.
William whispered beside him, "Don't. You'll make it worse."
435 took another step. "Come on, give me that look again. That glare. Real nice. I like 'em with fire."
"Return," Nyxtriel said again, her voice low and sharp like broken glass, "to your seat. That was your second warning. You won't get a third."
"Oh? And what'll you do?" he taunted. "Hit me with those pretty little hands? You even know how to fight, princess?"
Daemon stood up.
The bench screeched loudly behind him. Every nearby prisoner froze.
435 turned just in time to see Daemon walk toward the line, eyes burning red, his chain dragging behind him like a leash begging to be cut.
"Oi," one of the guards snapped. "Sit your ass down, 234!"
Daemon didn't listen. His eyes were locked on 435, who now turned halfway toward him.
"What, you got a death wish, albino?"
"She told you to sit," Daemon said calmly.
435 snorted. "This ain't your problem, freak."
"Well I can see how uncomfortable she is around you.
Nyxtriel's eyes widened slightly. Idiot, she mouthed silently.
Before things could escalate further, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"What the hell is going on in here?!"
Timothy.
Everyone stiffened as the captain stormed into the room, cape flowing behind him like smoke.
435 immediately stepped back. Daemon paused, eyes still burning but hands at his side.
Timothy scanned the room, eyes flicking between 435, Daemon, and Nyxtriel. "Well? Someone wanna explain?"
Nyxtriel stepped forward, voice clipped and professional. "Prisoner 435 crossed into restricted space and verbally harassed an officer."
Timothy turned his glare to the big man. "You think this is a brothel?"
435 lowered his head. "No, sir."
"I should throw you in solitary for a week."
435 nodded. "Understood, sir."
"But I won't." Timothy's voice dropped to something colder. "Because I want you to remember the next time your eyes wander where they don't belong... that I don't need permission to make you disappear."
The big man swallowed and backed off without another word."tsk what a bad luck I guess I'll try my luck another time."
Daemon stood still, waiting.
Timothy looked at him next. "You. Back in line."
Daemon didn't move for a second, then slowly turned and walked back to his seat, heart still pounding.
As Daemon passed Nyxtriel, he muttered under his breath, "You should be careful. There are a lot of creeps in here."
"I could've handled it," she replied flatly, her eyes still fixed ahead.
"I know. But we're not allowed to kill anyone... still, I'm worried about you."
She glanced sideways at him. "You're pushing your luck."
Daemon just smirked and moved on, returning to his seat.
William leaned in and whispered, "You're insane. Why are you even defending her? That guy looked terrifying. Did you see the size of his palm? His hand's bigger than your head."
"I saw," Daemon muttered, grabbing a piece of dried jerky. "Doesn't matter. It's already too late."
"Huh?"
"He's glaring at me."
Across the cafeteria, 435 sat hunched over his food, eyes locked on Daemon, twitching with restrained anger.
Daemon ignored him and continued eating. He already knew how these places worked — there was always someone playing king of the rats. And while he never wanted to get involved, seeing that bastard get in Nyxtriel's face had flipped a switch.
He'd deal with him Tonight.