The Choice

Nia looked at the hand. It was the same hand that had washed her back. The same hand that had signed the order to leave her in slavery for three years. The same hand that had just dismembered a man.

She looked at the Wastes. Freedom meant death. It meant pain. It meant ending.

She looked at the Citadel behind him. The lights were warm. The penthouse was safe.

Her childhood innocence, the memory of the boy with the apple tarts, finally withered and died. It blew away over the railing, lost in the river.

She realized then what she was. She wasn't a person. She was a survivor. And survivors didn't choose death.

Nia looked up at Kade. His green eyes were burning with triumph. He knew. He had calculated this, too. He had broken her down until he was the only option left.

She didn't cry. She felt cold, hollow, and incredibly heavy.

Nia reached out.

She placed her hand in his.

Kade’s fingers closed around hers, tight and possessive. A shackle of flesh and bone.

"Good girl," he whispered.

He swept her up into his arms, just as he had done in the snow weeks ago. He turned his back on the freedom of the Wastes and began the long walk back to the Citadel.

Nia rested her head on his bloody shoulder. She kept her eyes open, staring at the black sky, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into hers.

She was safe. She was cherished. She was home.

And she would never, ever be free again.