Chapter 4: The Alki’s Control

  The scent of the prison is unmistakable—damp stone, cold iron, the faint tang of sweat and fear. It clings to everything, every inch of this godforsaken place, a constant reminder of the fragile humans trapped within. Yet, as I walk through the corridors, my gaze scanning the cells, there is one who stands out from the rest. One whose presence demands my attention, even when he does not speak.

  Ray Malek.

  His form, slouched in the corner of his cage, is barely more than a silhouette against the shadows. I can almost feel the weight of his defiance from here, though I know he hides it beneath the guise of silence. He is like the rest of them—broken, stripped of everything that once made him human—but there is something about him. Something… different.

  I stop in front of his cell. His eyes flicker up, not with the resignation of others, but with something sharper, something more dangerous. His gaze locks with mine, and for a brief moment, I am struck by the intensity of it. There is a fire there, though he tries to hide it. It’s not a flame that can easily be extinguished. I know that. It is a weakness. And it is a strength.

  He does not bow his head, does not flinch under my stare. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of my lips. It is an expression of amusement, but also something else—something darker, more possessive. I wonder, briefly, what would happen if I tested him. Pushed him further.

  “Ray,” I say his name again, like a command. It feels strange, even foreign, rolling off my tongue. He looks up at me with a defiance that cuts deeper than I expect. It has been some time since a human last dared look at me that way. “How long do you plan to keep this up? This silence… this refusal to submit?”

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  He doesn’t answer. But then, he never does. Not in a way that satisfies me. His stubbornness is both infuriating and… intriguing.

  I step closer to the bars, my voice low but laced with a subtle threat. “I’ve been patient, Ray. But there are consequences for every action, even yours. I would hate for you to make things more difficult for yourself.”

  His eyes narrow, a flicker of resistance there. It makes something stir in my chest—something I do not understand. Anger? No. It is not anger. It’s something far more dangerous.

  There is a brief moment where I wonder if I’ve misjudged him. Perhaps this human will break. Perhaps he’ll give in to his fears, to the crushing weight of this place. But then I remember. I’ve never failed to conquer what I claim. And I claim him now.

  “You don’t have to be here,” I say, my voice quieter, though no less firm. “You could be in a different place. One where you are… more comfortable.” The implications hang in the air like a heavy curtain, thick with meaning. It is an offer. Or perhaps a warning. I wonder if he understands it, or if he thinks it’s merely another of my manipulations.

  His response is a silence so thick it chokes the air around us. His lips press into a tight line, and for a moment, I am unsure if he even heard me. But I can see the flicker of something beneath that mask—the refusal, the stubborn pride that refuses to bend.

  I take a step back, my eyes never leaving his. “You are not like the others. You know that, don’t you?” My voice is softer now, almost thoughtful. He doesn’t respond, but I am not expecting an answer. The truth of my words sits heavily between us. He is not like the others. He refuses to break in ways that I’ve never seen. That makes him… more valuable. And more dangerous.

  I don’t know what drives this… fascination. It is not pity, not curiosity. It is something else entirely. Power. Control. Perhaps it is the challenge of breaking something that refuses to be broken. Perhaps it is the way his resistance makes me feel—alive, in a way I haven’t felt in years.

  I lean closer to the bars, my voice a whisper that only he can hear. “You don’t belong here, Ray. Not really. But I think you will make yourself useful in time. In your own way.”

  The last words are both a promise and a threat, an acknowledgment of the fact that I see something in him. Whether that thing is a strength, or simply a tool to be wielded, I am still uncertain. But I will discover it. I will shape him into what I want.

  Turning away, I make my way back down the hall, but not without the lingering sense of his gaze following me—sharp, unyielding, as though he sees straight through me. I can feel it even as I walk away, a prickling awareness that hangs in the air.

  I will break him. It’s only a matter of time.