Chapter XIII
The first thing Kara feels is the weight—a crushing heaviness that pulls her down, deeper into the cold, unyielding darkness. Consciousness drags her back, inch by agonizing inch, a slow ascent from a dreamless void where pain doesn't exist. But now, it's all she can feel. Her body is heavy, leaden, as though each limb has been pinned beneath the rubble of a life she can no longer carry.
The cold bites into her skin like shards of glass, relentless, sharp, a reminder of where she is. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, each one burning as it hits the rawness in her throat. And then there's the wetness—a slow, sticky trickle down her side, warm against the icy air, a cruel reminder that blood still flows, that she is still here, still suffering. Her legs, slick with it, are numb now. But the pain—sharp, gnawing—is still there, like a beast that refuses to release its grip.
Her head throbs viciously, the rhythm of her heartbeat pounding in her skull, as if each pulse is a hammer, driving nails into her consciousness. How long has she been here? Hours? Days? It feels like an eternity—a twisted nightmare she can't wake from, the kind that clings to her like shadows, the kind that leaves its mark long after the waking world returns.
"Lena…"
The name slips from her lips, barely a whisper, a broken prayer into the suffocating air. It's the only word that matters, the only tether to the reality beyond this pain. A single tear escapes, carving a path through the grime on her cheek, as the thought of Lena wraps around her heart like a lifeline, fragile yet unbreakable. She needs to return to her—to protect her. It's the only thing holding her together, the only thing keeping her from slipping away entirely.
The sound of scraping—metal against concrete—pulls her from her desperate thoughts. Her muscles tense involuntarily, instinctively bracing for what's to come. The chair creaks as it drags across the floor, and the stench follows: cheap aftershave mixed with stale sweat and cigarette smoke. The acrid smell seeps into her senses, making her stomach churn, nausea rising in her throat.
A voice—low, taunting—fills the room, cutting through the oppressive silence. "Pathetic. Whimpering for your girlfriend." His sneer drips with contempt, each word a lash against her already battered mind. "You're nothing without your powers, are you? At least you're easy on the eyes." He circles her, the sound of his boots echoing off the walls like a predator stalking wounded prey, savoring the fear, the vulnerability.
Kara tries to lift her head, but her muscles rebel, exhaustion weighing her down like chains. The room swims before her, spinning in and out of focus. A rough hand grips her chin suddenly, forcing her head up with a violent jerk. His face looms before her—twisted in a smile that reeks of triumph. His grip tightens, fingers digging into her skin like claws.
Without thinking, without hesitating, Kara spits in his face.
"You bitch!"
The slap comes fast, a crack that reverberates through her entire body, splitting her lip wide open. The taste of blood floods her mouth, metallic and bitter, but she refuses to cry out. She won't give him the satisfaction. She won't let him see her break.
His fist tangles in her hair, yanking her forward as his knee slams into her stomach. The pain is immediate, blinding, and she doubles over, bile rising in her throat as nausea swirls through her like a wave crashing against rocks. Her body, already weak, crumples under the force, leaving her to dangle from the chains that bind her wrists. Her shoulders scream in agony, the pressure unbearable, but she bites down hard, swallowing the scream lodged in her throat.
He pulls at the rope, forcing her to stand on legs that tremble beneath her. "Let's see how long you can hold yourself up," he taunts, his voice sickeningly casual, as though her suffering is a game, a spectacle for his amusement. His fingers trace down her spine, the roughness of his touch scraping against her raw skin, making her body flinch despite itself. Every nerve is alight with pain, with fear.
"John, enough," a voice cuts in—sharp, cold, from the shadows. "The boss will have your head if you touch her again."
Kara hadn't noticed the second figure before, hadn't registered the presence lurking in the darkness. But now it slips into the room, wrapping around them like the bitter chill in the air.
John sneers, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second, but there's hesitation now. He leans down, his breath hot and foul against her ear. "We're not done yet, sweetheart," he whispers, the promise laced with malice, before he lets go of the chain, allowing her body to slump down. Her knees give out, and she collapses, barely registering the sound of the door slamming shut behind him.
The pain stays, a constant companion, wrapping itself around her, suffocating her in its relentless grip. Darkness presses in from all sides, and for a moment, Kara wishes it would take her—swallow her whole and end this torment. But then she hears it: the steady click of high heels echoing against the concrete floor.
Liliane Luthor.
The scent of her expensive perfume reaches Kara before she does—cold and elegant, with an undercurrent of something cruel, something deadly. The sound of Liliane's heels is deliberate, each step a reminder that this woman controls the room, controls everything.
Kara's throat is parched, a dry, cracked desert, but the sight of the water bottle Liliane carries offers a flicker of hope, desperate and raw. Liliane crouches before her, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips as she presses the bottle to Kara's mouth. Kara drinks greedily, the water sliding down her throat, cool against her cracked lips, soothing the burning thirst. The relief is fleeting, and when the bottle is pulled away, Kara feels the sharp return of reality.
Liliane rises, slow and graceful, as though she's done nothing more than offer a polite greeting. She sits in the chair across from Kara, crossing her legs, her movements fluid, calculated. "I had a little chat with Lena today," she says, her voice light, conversational. But the words cut through Kara like a blade.
Her stomach twists violently, the pain in her body drowned out by the surge of terror those words bring. She forces herself to straighten, fighting against the agony that radiates from her wounds. "If you touch her…" Kara's voice is hoarse, but the threat is clear, raw with desperation. "I'll kill you."
Liliane's laughter is hollow, cold, echoing in the room. "Funny," she replies, her tone dripping with condescension. "That's exactly what she said."
The words strike harder than the slap that follows, the sting of Liliane's hand across her face echoing through the air like a gunshot. Stars dance in Kara's vision, the pain blinding, but she swallows the scream that threatens to rise.
"Be quiet," Liliane snaps, her voice like ice, sharp and unyielding. She gestures to the men standing nearby, her tone casual, as though she's ordering a drink. "Take a picture. I think my daughter could use a little more motivation to hand over the company."
Panic surges in Kara's chest. Not for herself—but for Lena. She cannot—will not—let Lena see her like this. The thought of Lena witnessing her broken, bleeding, hanging from chains… It would destroy her.
With every ounce of strength she has left, Kara thrashes against the chains, her muscles screaming in protest. She pulls harder, desperation fueling her as she kicks and struggles, the rawness in her throat tearing through her frantic screams. She can't let this happen. She won't.
A sudden, unfamiliar pulse of energy flickers within her, small but potent, igniting something deep inside. The cuffs around her wrists creak under the pressure, but before she can make sense of the sensation, a brutal fist crashes into her face. Her vision spins, stars erupting behind her eyes, and the world tilts into darkness.
She gasps for breath, her body trembling, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. But deep inside, she feels it—that faint, unknown force pushing back against the blackness. The chains feel weaker now, less unyielding, as though something inside her is awakening, though she doesn't yet understand it.
With her last fragment of awareness, she whispers the words that have been burning in her heart. "I love you, Lena…" The confession is fragile, barely audible, as the darkness closes in around her.
Just before everything fades, she hears it—Lena's voice, soft, gentle, calling her name. Kara…
Her heart leaps. For a fleeting second, she feels Lena's presence, like a warm embrace wrapping around her soul. But she knows it isn't real—it's only her mind conjuring the one person she longs to see, the one person she's fighting for.
And then, the world dims, unraveling into a silence that feels final, too heavy to hold.