Chapter 6 New Handler

Anna's POV

"Attacking me would be a grave mistake." The words slipped from my lips before I could swallow them down.

The tall girl froze mid-step, her weapon gleaming in the dim light.

For a heartbeat, silence held the cell. Then her lips twisted into an amused smirk.

“Oh, really?” she mocked, eyes narrowing. “You think you’re different from the rest of the meat they throw in here? I can’t wait to find out.”

She raised her hand, blade flashing dangerously as it arched toward me.

My pulse steadied instead of racing.

If she came closer, I already knew three ways to take her down.

But before she could come any closer, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“Stop!”

She froze, her hand hanging in the air as they turned their heads to the direction of the voice.

It came from the far corner, from the woman who hadn’t moved or spoken since I was shoved into this cage.

She had been sitting silently, her knees pulled close, watching like the shadows belonged to her.

“If you lay a single finger on her,” she said, her gaze sweeping over the tall girl like a threat sharpened into words, “you can forget about leaving this prison alive.”

Leaving this prison? My brows pulled together. What the hell did that mean?

Nobody left Iron Fortress, at least, that’s what the officers outside had told me.

The tall girl lowered her blade slightly, confusion flashing across her face. “What?”

The others shifted uneasily. One muttered under her breath, “She’s bluffing.”

Another snorted. “Nobody leaves Iron Fortress. Not unless the ground opens up and swallows the guards.”

The tall one spat near the silent woman’s feet.

But her hand no longer swung toward me.

I turned my head toward the quiet prisoner, the one who had spoken.

She stared back with calm eyes, unbothered by the laughter bubbling from the others.

“You’re lucky,” one of the women sneered at me. “If she hadn’t spoken up, you’d be on the ground right now, bleeding out.”

I didn't say a word.

The tall one shifted her attention to the quiet woman. “Fine then. You want to play savior? Let’s test that tongue of yours.”

She walked toward her, each step dragging tension across the cell.

When she reached her, she bent down, her voice dripping venom. “How sure are you, huh? How sure that you’ve got what it takes to get us out of here?”

The quiet one didn’t flinch. She leaned back slightly, her lips curling into a smile that wasn’t soft at all.

“Because,” she said slowly, deliberately, “I’m Tilda.”

The name seemed to hang in the air.

For a moment, the women blinked, then laughter tore through the cell.

One clutched her stomach. “Tilda? That’s it? That’s the card you’re playing?”

“Are we supposed to tremble?” another jeered. “You think a name saves anyone here?”

But Tilda didn’t waver. She tilted her chin higher. “I work for Xavier,” she said. “I’m his accountant.”

The laughter died instantly.

It was like someone had cut the strings off their voices.

Their eyes darted to one another, then back to her, and for the first time since I entered the cell, I saw something colder than mockery in them. Fear.

There it was again, that shift in the air, that unspoken dread that followed his name. Xavier.

I could feel it in their silence. They knew him, all of them.

They feared him like the guards outside did.

But one girl, the youngest-looking among them, forced a brittle laugh.

“Don’t fool yourself. Xavier won’t waste his strength coming in here for you. You’re just a number on his ledger. He doesn’t care about anyone except himself.”

The others nodded quickly, as though convincing themselves.

My voice slipped out before I thought twice. “He’s already here.”

Their heads snapped toward me at once.

“What?”

My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. “I saw him. Outside. Cigar, dark eyes.”

The cell went utterly still.

Their faces drained of color. The tall girl’s blade dipped lower until it scraped the ground.

The younger one shook her head violently. “If he’s here, It means—”

A loud rattle tore through the cell gate, making us all jump.

“Robert!” an officer barked, his keys jangling. “Anna Robert. You’ve got a visitor.”

I sighed in relief. Although I didn't know who the visitor was, but any excuse to leave this cell was worth the take.

The women exchanged frantic looks, whispers rising like smoke. “A visitor?” “Who the hell visits here?” “Maybe it’s him—”

"But why would hee visit her? Instead of Tilda, who is she to him?" Another added.

The officer banged the bars again, impatient. “Move it, inmate. Don’t keep your visitor waiting.”

I stood slowly, every eye in the cell burning into my back.

The officer’s grip was rough as he dragged me from the cell.

I swallowed and forced my voice steady. “Who’s my visitor?”

He didn’t slow down, didn’t look at me. “The government doesn’t pay me to gossip with inmates. You’ll find out yourself.”

I clenched my jaw. Of course. Answers here were like air, you only got enough to keep breathing.

We stopped in front of a narrow iron door. The officer unlocked it with a jangle of keys, then pushed it open to reveal a small space.

A table. Two chairs. A single dim bulb humming above.

“Inside,” he ordered.

I stepped in. The door clanged shut behind me.

My eyes adjusted slowly. There was someone already there.

A woman. Brunette hair, neatly tied back.

She sat perfectly still, her posture too composed for someone visiting Iron Fortress. But her back was to me, so all I saw was the clean line of her spine and the way her hands rested lightly on the table.

I cleared my throat. “Who are you?”

No answer.

I stepped closer.

And then, just before I could circle around, she spoke.

Her voice was smooth, steady, like she had been waiting for this moment.

“Hi, Anna. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The words sent a chill racing down my arms.

Finally?

I moved to her side, my eyes narrowing as I studied her face. Sharp cheekbones. Calm eyes.

A smile that didn’t quite reach them. “Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

Her smile widened a fraction. “Serena.” She folded her hands neatly, as though introducing herself at a business meeting instead of inside a prison cell. “I’m your new handler.”