"You have nothing."
Cinder has a knife in one hand.
"You are nothing."
Blake's stomach is carved open, into patterns and codes and signs in her own blood. Gaping mouths screaming soundlessly.
"I am everything to you."
Cinder sews up the wounds with red thread, slowly, pulling each knot tight. Closing each mouth, each chance. Blake feels the agony and the ecstasy of her self being broken and rebuilt in Cinder's own image.
Emerald is standing in the doorway, and Cinder removes her hands from the almost unconscious Blake.
"You know I don't like being interrupted in my work," Cinder says, extending a hand free of blood towards Emerald, who flinches.
"I know," Emerald says quickly. "But she doesn't matter to you, does she?"
"She's a valuable source of information. Don't be jealous, Emerald."
"You could release her in this condition, as a warning to the White Fang."
"I could," Cinder says, and she does appear to be genuinely considering the notion, at least to Blake's eyes.
"What use is she after you have the information you need?"
"Get out," Cinder says flatly, and Emerald obeys her.
"Now tell me everything."
Blake will not divulge the secrets of the White Fang only to be cast out.
"The White Fang are beyond your concern. You did leave them, after all," Cinder purrs. "You know what I can do to you if you don't comply."
The knife hits her again, slowly, almost gently. A warning.
Blake just wants the pain to stop.
"You will answer my questions truthfully and in full."
…
The truck rattles along the edge of the crater, close enough that the ground is flat but not close enough to shred the tires with the glass from farther in. Yang keeps peering out across the landscape, bringing up her binoculars occasionally. Pyrrha, on her other side, continues scowling at their maps and making minute adjustments to their path marked in red ink. Nora coaxes the engine along in second gear, according to her the most fuel-efficient choice. Yang trusts her and Ruby on the truck's mechanics, but she does wish they could get out of this no-man's-land a little faster. She doesn't like the empty, glassy craters, reflecting the sky in odd mirages.
There's someone out there. Or something. Just a black shape at this distance.
"Stop," Yang orders, and focuses her binoculars on the shape. It's about the right size for a person, prone and unmoving.
"There's someone out there," she says, and passes the binoculars to an incredulous Pyrrha.
"Who would venture into one of the craters?" she wonders.
"Maybe they were being chased by Grimm or another group, and they know that nothing's going to follow them in," Nora offers. "Or maybe they're just crazy."
"We're going to get them," Yang says immediately. She failed to keep her sister safe once already. She's not going to let anyone else die because she couldn't protect them.
Pyrrha looks concerned but nods.
"I'll go with you. Nora, stay with the truck."
"You got it, boss," Nora chirps.
Outside of the truck, the heat is more overwhelming and the light from the crater more blinding. Yang wishes she had put more care into the stripes of tar underneath her eyes to deflect some of the glare, but it's a little late for that now, so she simply tugs her scarf over her eyes.
Inside the crater there is no sound. There are no distant roars of Grimm, none of the grumble of the truck's engine. Yang can't even hear Pyrrha's footsteps, and that makes her turn to check that her companion is still beside her, breathing hard.
"This is just a Ground Zero site," Pyrrha says, and Yang can't tell who she's trying to reassure. "It's just an – odd ambiance. Nothing to worry about."
They continue walking, feet sometimes breaking through the glass. The figure is dressed in black, their face not visible. They don't move as Pyrrha and Yang approach, and give no sign of noticing them.
A corpse in a Ground Zero site wouldn't disappear quickly. A flying scavenger might risk approaching the crater for the eyes or viscera, but most of the body will be left there for years. The thought isn't comforting.
They've reached the person, who still hasn't moved. Pyrrha carefully parts the black robe surrounding them to reveal a face. She's young, but it's hard to tell more detail under the bruises and cuts across her face. Her lips have been sewn shut.
"Who the fuck did this?" Yang growls. There are plenty of groups who would shoot a drifter, to give them a quick death, but this is – cruel. Someone took the time to cut her up into intricate patterns and then sew them up, as some sort of perverse kindness.
"She's alive," Pyrrha says, two fingers tracing the veins at her neck. "Let's get out."
She's light, almost weightless compared to the tanks of water and fuel Yang's spent her whole life carrying, but the two of them still carry her between them. Anything to get out a little faster.
Nora looks surprised when she sees the person they've carried in, but shrugs and takes in their worried expressions, and sends them away from the crater a little faster than usual.
As soon as she can't see the crater, Yang crawls into the back of the truck to check on their passenger. She's still unconscious, and infection's probably setting in.
"Shit, we don't have a medic," Yang mutters as she searches for the first aid supplies they've been able to scavenge. "Pyrrha, you know a little bit about medicine, right?"
She finds a pair of scissors, and turns, ready to remove the threads, at least. The woman is awake now, watching her with bright golden eyes. At the sight of Yang, she jerks upright and struggles away from Yang, pressing herself into a corner.
"Whoa, calm down, I'm just trying to help you," Yang says, realizing the scissors might be scaring her and sliding them into her pocket.
She tries to speak, then raises a hand to her mouth, whimpering softly.
Pyrrha joins them, and begins talking in a low, soothing voice.
"We're not going to hurt you. She's just going to take the stitches off of your mouth. Just take deep breaths and stay calm."
She slowly lowers her hand, then motions for Yang to move closer.
The scissors are old and dull, and her skin is too close to the stitches, and Yang just isn't built for delicate tasks, but she does her best. As the last of the threads fall away, she starts to smile, then winces in pain.
"Who are you?" Pyrrha asks.
"Blake," she rasps through her bloody lips. "Just a drifter."
"Okay, Blake, we're on your side. Whoever did this to you, if they show up again, they get shot, okay?" Yang isn't sure if that's the right way to go, but Blake nods, a faint light showing in her eyes.