The Price of Silence ✔️

The silence was nerve wrecking. Six set of eyes were staring at me—judging, accessing, wondering how best to crack me. My response was to bite down on my molars as hard as I could, forcing every part of me not to fidget. I wanted to look away, but the leader's glare kept me captured. His name was Rifkin Baldaja and he was the man who would determine my fate based on the answers I was willing to give. Death, mutilation, imprisonment—all options on the table. Best case scenario, I would be returned to my master who was hiding in a corner, watching the spectacle through hooded eyes. The mere fact I was dragged before the Justice Board and questioned would warrant a beating. I embarrassed him, something he would not forget.

"So, Zena, we got word that you know where Mishkoff is hiding." Rifkin's lips split to a grin. "Care to share?"

I bit down even harder, ignoring the sudden metallic taste in my mouth. A few droplets of sweat rolled down my back. If I gave him what he was looking for, I'd destroy the last bit of hope us slaves were able to cling to. For a second, I fought the hitch in my throat when tears threatened to rise. They already thought of me as weak, so showing my struggle was out of the question.

"Zena, be reasonable. Keeping quiet will leave us no choice but to punish you. You don't want to be punished now, do you?" Rifkin's tone was pleasant—almost fatherly—but his eyes gave him away. They were as black as the devil's soul.

My nails dug hard into the flesh of my palms when the words threatened to spill. Mishkoff was the only one who could bring us a better future. Without him, I would sentence the other slaves to lifelong servitude. Beatings, rape, sufferance—all in the name of a church that had decided that females were the true evil in this world.

"I tell you what." Rifkin leaned back in his chair, the smile even wider than before. "If you tell us the truth, we'll let you go. You'll be free."

My eyebrows shot up. This was a gamechanger. Never in my wildest dream did I expect to walk the streets without the shackles of bondage. The taste of freedom was palpable—sweet, tempting, enough for a liberating breath to escape and clear my thoughts. Mishkoff would be dead, but even if I didn't betray him, his chances of success were more than slim. The only question remaining was whether I wanted to sell my soul and condemn a man, just to escape my fate. And then it became all clear. It was my time for opposition, my time to take a stand. Hope could only be kept alive if I stood up to my oppressors.

With a smile as wide as Rifkin's, I sucked in a fresh breath to speak. "Go to hell."