Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 35

35 Silver and Silence

Arya’s POV

The cold hit me properly when the door slammed.

Not the kind of cold you shrug off.

Not the kind you pace away.

This cold sank into my bones like it had teeth.

For a second, I just stood there, chest heaving, staring at the bars as if my eyes could force

them to bend.

Then I saw it.

Silver.

Not just a little. Not decorative. Not symbolic.

The bars were lined, threaded, with silver, the metal catching the thin light in a way that

made my stomach drop.

My throat tightened.

“No,” I whispered, stepping back.

My knees wobbled.

I looked at my hands like I couldn’t trust them not to reach out by mistake.

Silver meant pain.

Silver meant weakness.

Silver meant they didn’t plan to give me a chance.

A sound tore out of me before I could stop it, half a laugh, half a sob.

“This is madness,” I choked.

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The walls felt closer. The air felt heavier,

My heart began to pound harder, faster, as if it was trying to burst out and run away without

I paced two steps.

Stopped.

Paced again.

Stopped again.

My eyes darted to the door.

Locked.

Then back to the bars.

Silver.

I swallowed, but my mouth was dry.

My breath came too fast.

I pressed a hand to my stomach instinctively, like my palm could shield the baby from fear.

“Okay,” I whispered, voice shaking. “Okay. Breathe.”

But breathing didn’t make it better.

Because this wasn’t the banquet.

This wasn’t whispers and stares and Rebecca’s slap.

This wasn’t them throwing cups and calling me names.

This was a cell.

A cell for rogues and hardened criminals.

A cell with silver bars.

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And suddenly, the danger didn’t feel like a threat anymore.

It felt real.

It felt immediate.

It felt like something that could end me.

I turned toward the door and shouted, “Let me out!”

My voice echoed off stone, sharp and desperate.

No answer.

I swallowed hard and shouted again, louder.

“Let me out! This is insane! I didn’t do anything!”

My voice cracked at the end.

Still nothing.

A slow, sickening panic crawled up my spine.

I moved closer to the door, fists clenched.

“Someone!” I yelled. “Nixon! Raymond! Lesley!”

My voice bounced back at me, empty and useless.

No footsteps.

No reply.

I stumbled back, breath coming in bursts.

Then anger flared, hot and sudden.

“James!” I screamed, as if he could hear me through stone. “James!”

Silence.

My throat burned.

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Tears sprang up fast, blurring my

vision.

I wiped them away hard, furious with myself, furious that I was crying already,

But it didn’t stop.

The tears kept coming.

I stood there, shaking, and the fear finally snapped something loose in me.

A sob tore out.

Then another.

My knees buckled.

I sank to the floor like my body had given up trying to hold me upright.

I curled forward, arms around my stomach, trying to make myself small, trying to protect

what mattered.

“This can’t be happening,” I whispered, voice breaking. “This can’t be happening.”

I cried until my chest ached.

Cried until my throat felt raw.

Cried until it became ugly, hiccupping, gasping, the kind of crying that stripped you of pride.

I begged out loud, not even caring who heard.

“Please,” I sobbed. “Please… I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.”

I pressed my forehead to my knees, shaking.

Somewhere outside, faint sounds travelled, boots, voices, keys clinking far away, but none

came close enough to be help.

I forced myself to breathe again.

In.

Out.

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In.

Out.

But my lungs still felt too tight.

I lifted my head, eyes stinging, and looked at the silver bars again.

A fresh wave of dread rolled through me.

If they decided to kill me…

If Rebecca decided to give the “beat her to death” order again and James didn’t stop it this

time…

If Marcel decided “justice” meant execution…

I swallowed hard.

“I can’t die,” I whispered, voice small.

My hand pressed more firmly to my stomach.

“I can’t.”

Another sob tried to rise, but I forced it down, jaw clenched.

I pushed myself up, shaky, and staggered to the wall.

I leaned my shoulder against it and slid down slowly until I was sitting again, back pressed

to cold stone.

My breathing was still uneven.

My hands were trembling.

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