Chapter 3 - The Price of a Soul
Julian stepped closer. I heard the fabric of his suit rustle as he knelt in the dirt beside us. He didn't reach for the dog. He didn't reach for me. He just watched.
"How?" he asked. His voice wasn't mocking anymore. It was hollow, filled with a sudden, unwanted recognition.
"You tried to break him," I said, running my fingers through the tangled fur behind Cyrus's ears. "You gave him commands. You gave him fear. You treated him like an object. He's not an object. He’s a living thing that remembers everything."
I could hear the crowd shifting—a restless, uneasy movement. These men were used to power, to leverage, to breaking things to see how they worked. Seeing the most fearsome creature in the building reduced to a whimpering shadow of himself by a blind girl terrified them more than any gun could.
"The money," Julian said, his voice barely a whisper. "One million dollars. It's yours."
"I don't want your money," I said. "I want him."
"He's a weapon," Julian retorted, the mafia boss resurfacing for a moment. "He's worth more than the life of any person in this room."
"He's worth nothing to you but a show," I replied. "You can't even get near him without a cage. If you keep him, he’ll die, or you’ll kill him trying to make him something he’s not. Let me take him."
Julian stayed silent for a long time. I could hear the clock ticking on the wall—the slow, steady mechanical beat that reminded me of the fragile nature of time. Finally, he stood up.
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"If you can get him to walk out of this arena with you," Julian said, "he’s yours. But if he snaps at a single person, or if he leaves your side, the deal is off, and he comes back to the cage."
"He won't," I said. I stood up, and Cyrus rose with me, his presence a warm, protective weight at my side.
