Deacon stopped abruptly at the top of the funnel. The sudden halt in his retreat caught me off guard, and I hesitated, suspicion prickling at the back of my mind. Something wasn't right. His fear had dissolved too quickly, like morning mist under a strong sun.

  He turned to face me, his back now to the open courtyard beyond the funnel's exit. The lantern light caught his features, illuminating a strange expression I couldn't immediately interpret. There was fear still, yes, but underneath it lurked something else. Satisfaction? Anticipation? His breathing had steadied, no longer the panicked gasps of a man in flight.

  "You demons."

  His voice had regained some of its earlier composure. The tremor was gone, replaced by a smug certainty that made my skin crawl.

  "So predictable."

  I remained poised to attack, claws extended, muscles tensed. The power that had surged through me when I broke free of the cage still hummed beneath my skin, a current of energy ready to be channeled into action. My senses remained heightened, every sound and scent amplified. I could hear the rapid beating of Deacon's heart, smell the lingering fear on him mingled with something else… excitement.

  "Stay back."

  The warning growled from my throat, low and dangerous. I took another step forward, pushing him further into the open space beyond the funnel's mouth.

  A smile spread across Deacon's face, smug and knowing. His earlier terror seemed a distant memory now, replaced by an unnerving confidence that made no sense given our positions.

  "You'll always do what you're told. Even when you think you're rebelling."

  His words made no sense. I had broken free. I had stopped his assault on the other demon. I had chased him up through the funnel against his will. Nothing about my actions had been obedient or predictable.

  "What are you talking about?" I kept my voice steady despite my confusion, unwilling to show any weakness. My claws remained extended, catching the flickering torchlight.

  "Look at you, so proud of yourself."

  He straightened his jacket with a sharp tug, some of his earlier confidence visibly returning. There was blood on his collar, I noticed, a small stain from where his lip had split in his panicked flight up the passage. The sight of it should have pleased me, this small evidence of his fear, but instead it only deepened my unease.

  "You think you've won some kind of victory? You've done exactly what I wanted you to do."

  Confusion clouded my thoughts. What game was he playing now? The narrow passage suddenly felt like a trap, though I couldn't see how. Behind me lay the cages and the demons I'd left behind. Ahead, beyond Deacon, lay the courtyard and whatever forces he might have summoned with his shouts.

  I scanned the area around him, looking for guards or weapons, some explanation for his renewed confidence. The courtyard was dimly lit by scattered torches, their flames dancing in the gentle night breeze.

  "You're standing exactly where I need you to be."

  The triumph in his voice was unmistakable now. He glanced over his shoulder, a quick flick of his eyes toward something behind him, something I couldn't see from my position.

  Instinctively, I followed his gaze, trying to identify the threat he was signaling. The courtyard beyond appeared empty at first glance, shrouded in shadow despite the scattered torches burning in wall sconces. What was he looking at? I strained my vision, searching the darkness for movement.

  For a crucial moment, my attention split between Deacon and whatever danger might be lurking behind him. A moment was all he needed.

  Deacon's fist connected with my face in a savage blow I never saw coming. His knuckles crashed into my cheekbone with a force that snapped my head to the side. Pain exploded across my face, bright stars bursting behind my eyes. The taste of copper flooded my mouth as my teeth cut into the soft flesh inside.

  The blow was expertly placed, a fighter's punch, not the desperate swing of a cornered bureaucrat. This was another side of Deacon I hadn't seen before. Trained, calculated violence replacing his earlier sadistic play.

  My body reacted before my mind could process what had happened. Pure instinct took over, a defensive mechanism honed by years of survival. My arm lashed out, claws fully extended, and I felt them connect with something soft before meeting resistance. Flesh parting, then the scrape against bone.

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  A wet, tearing sound filled the air, followed by Deacon's scream. It was primal, agonized, nothing like his earlier theatrical displays of rage. His hands flew to his face as he staggered backward, blood seeping between his fingers in alarming quantities. The scent of it hit me immediately, metallic and sharp, triggering another wave of primal response I struggled to contain.

  He crumpled to the ground, knees hitting the stone with a heavy thud. His scream dissolved into a pitiful whimpering as he curled forward, hands still pressed to his face. Blood poured between his fingers, spattering on the ground beneath him. Whatever damage I had done, it was severe.

  I stared at my claws in horror and fascination. Crimson droplets clung to the sharp points, catching the flickering torchlight. I had never used them against a human before. Despite everything, despite his cruelty and my justified anger, the sight of what I had done sent a wave of sickness rolling through me.

  I hadn't meant to hurt him so badly. Had only reacted to his attack with the instincts I'd spent years trying to suppress. In Naerith, such a response would have been expected, even honored. But here, in this human world, I knew it would only confirm their worst assumptions about my kind. Violent. Dangerous. Uncontrollable.

  "What have I..."

  The question died in my throat as multiple impacts struck my back in rapid succession. Three sharp pricks followed by a pressure that suggested something had embedded itself in my flesh. The force of them drove me forward a step, more from surprise than pain. A strange numbness spread outward from each point of contact, and I realized with dawning horror what had happened.

  Sedative bolts. I'd seen them used on other demons during capture, specially formulated to work on our unique physiology. They acted quickly, shutting down the body's responses system by system.

  I whirled around, claws raised, ready to face this new threat.

  The sight that greeted me froze me in place more effectively than any physical restraint. Sam stood at the mouth of the funnel, crossbow raised and pointed directly at my chest. His expression was grim but determined, a stark contrast to the warmth I had grown accustomed to seeing there. Around him stood a semicircle of traders, each armed with similar weapons, all trained on me.

  "Sam?"

  His name came out as a question, laden with confusion and betrayal. Just hours ago, he had helped me from the boat, his touch gentle, his concern seemingly genuine. Now he stood among my captors, weapon in hand.

  "Don't move, Joy." Sam's voice was steady, professional. The voice of a man doing a job, not speaking to someone he cared about. Another illusion shattered, another betrayal to add to the growing collection.

  The numbness had spread from my back down through my limbs, making each movement increasingly difficult. I could feel the sedative working its way through my system.

  My arm fell to my side, not from obedience but from a growing heaviness that crept through my muscles. My claws retracted, not by choice but because I could no longer maintain the muscle tension needed to keep them extended.

  I could have fought. Could have lunged at Sam before the drugs fully took hold, could have tried to claw my way past him and the others. But what would be the point? Where would I go? And despite everything, I couldn't bring myself to hurt him.

  "She injured Deacon."

  One of the traders jerked his head toward the crumpled form behind me. Deacon had gone quiet, which seemed more concerning than his earlier screams. Was he dead? Had I killed him with that single, instinctive swipe?

  "I can see that." Sam's gaze flicked briefly to Deacon, then back to me. No emotion showed on his face, no hint of what he was thinking.

  "We should put her down permanently." Another trader spoke up, his voice hard with fear and hatred. "She's proven how dangerous she is."

  "No." Sam's response was immediate and firm. "She's still valuable merchandise. The Chairman will decide what happens to her."

  Merchandise. The word echoed in my mind, a bitter confirmation of Deacon's earlier taunts. That's all I was to Sam. All I had ever been.

  My vision blurred further, not entirely from the sedative. I blinked hard, refusing to let them see tears.

  Our eyes met across the distance between us. For a brief moment, something flickered in Sam's expression, an unspoken apology or regret. Then it was gone, replaced by the cool professionalism of a man who had a job to finish.

  He adjusted his aim, steadying the crossbow with a practiced hand. The bolt looked small and innocuous, a simple wooden shaft tipped with a metal point, but I knew the vial of sedative it contained would be enough to render me completely unconscious.

  "I'm sorry it came to this."

  The words were quiet, meant for me alone. Then he pulled the trigger.

  The bolt struck me directly in the chest. There was no pain, just a dull impact and the knowledge that it was over. My legs gave way beneath me, no longer able to support my weight. I fell to my knees, then forward onto my hands. The stone floor of the passage seemed to ripple beneath me, reality becoming fluid as the sedative took full effect.

  As darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, I heard footsteps approaching. Boots on stone. Sam's boots. He knelt beside me, his face swimming in and out of focus as my consciousness began to fade.

  "I'm sorry, Joy."

  His voice seemed to come from very far away, the words barely penetrating the fog that enveloped my mind.

  "You gave me no choice."

  I wanted to respond, to tell him he had chosen to deliver me to this place, chosen to walk away knowing what awaited me, chosen to raise his weapon against me when I had only been protecting someone who couldn't protect herself.

  But the words wouldn't come. The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me completely was Sam's face, drawn with what looked suspiciously like genuine sorrow.

  Then nothing.