Jason saw the sadness Vincent tried to hide. He didn’t feel the need to ask anything; he still carried the weight of what Vincent had said last night.

  The question now was: what is necessary to survive? Would he sacrifice me for his survival? Do I need something to defend myself?

  The guard arrived right on time, as always, just as they finished their morning routine.

  No words passed between them this morning. Vincent took his gear and left toward the lavish offices of the officers and Lord Veyrn. Jason nodded to a guard, signaling to be taken to the underbelly of the spaceport.

  He was guided once again to the grilled cage where Max had lived for years. Jason felt a nervous prickle in his chest. Would Max be angry? Cold? Or just as chatty as yesterday?

  When they arrived, Jason found no one inside. A moment later Max appeared from his little side-room, the sound of a flush echoing behind him. He looked up, spotted them, and waved with a smile. Relief eased Jason’s shoulders.

  “Welcome back, ready for your second day?” Max asked brightly.

  The officer cut in. “You first need to check the gravity generators. They’re losing power.”

  Max’s expression sobered. He snatched up his gear and hurried off, his steps brisk against the metal. Jason started to follow, but the guard’s hand clamped on his arm.

  “You’re not allowed there. You stay here,” the guard said, nodding him toward the workshop.

  Jason reluctantly walked inside. A small heap of scrap lay in a corner, half-cleaned, half-forgotten. A grin tugged at his lips. He could pass the time with this.

  But as he sat, he noticed the silence. Not complete silence—gears turned, engines hummed in the distance, steam hissed through pipes—but the silence of loneliness. A silence where the spaceport itself felt like the only presence here, breathing and watching. Jason shook off the thought before it rooted too deep.

  He began tinkering with gears and plates, stitching leather patches across the surface. The officer had almost left when he stopped, turned back, and spoke flatly.

  “Right. Lord Veyrn says you fight tomorrow. Everything’s prepared.”

  Jason jerked upright. “Wait—who am I fighting? Can I prepare?”

  The guard considered, then shrugged. “Mercenaries.” He left without another word.

  Jason froze. At least he knew this time. But the questions swarmed—How would Tahuuk react, being forced into this because of me? Will he even be there?

  With no answers, Jason bent over the scrap again. If tomorrow was coming, he would be ready.

  Time passed until Max finally returned, stepping through the doorway. He paused when he saw Jason at work, a smile softening his lined face.

  “You seem to be enjoying yourself. What are you making?”

  “Something to help me survive tomorrow,” Jason replied.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Apparently I fight in the arena tomorrow. Veyrn’s orders.”

  Concern flickered across Max’s eyes. He glanced at Jason’s hands. “Do you need help?”

  Jason shook his head. “No. I can manage. Besides, I don’t want to take you from your work.”

  Max nodded and went to his own station, tinkering with a broken wire. Jason caught himself watching Max out of the corner of his eye—only to realize Max was doing the same. They both noticed, laughed softly, and bent back to their projects.

  By the time Jason finished, he was gripping a crude glove with a plated metal top. “It’ll help deflect blows,” he explained. “The leather inside keeps my grip steady.”

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  Max leaned closer, genuinely impressed. “Nicely done. You’re quite the magician with scrap.”

  Jason’s smile faltered. “I learned it from my uncle…”

  “Oh!” Max began cheerfully, but the look on Jason’s face stopped him. His tone softened. “Oh.”

  A silence passed before Max gestured at an engine nearby. “If you’re done, mind helping me finish this one?”

  Jason nodded, grateful for the change of subject. Together they set the engine beneath the arena doors, tested the revving hum, and exchanged a thumbs-up when it roared to life.

  On the way back, Jason’s mind itched with questions. He remembered Vincent’s words—information is survival. Maybe Max knew things too.

  “Do you have family here, Max?”

  Max’s shoulders tightened. His reply was low, almost broken. “Not anymore.” He kept walking.

  Jason didn’t press. He already understood too well.

  Back in the workshop, Max forced brightness into his voice again. “Good work today. I’m glad to have someone capable here.”

  Jason gave him a small, genuine smile. “I like this kind of work.”

  They talked casually until Jason’s shift ended, Max humming as Jason left for the rec area. The familiar clamor of prisoners greeted him—arguments, trades, even laughter. Across the room, Vincent was making another deal with a gaunt woman. A bar of soap passed from his hand to hers. When he looked up, Jason was watching.

  Jason’s gaze wasn’t as hostile as before, but still wary. He now understood more than he wanted.

  Later, in their cell, Jason stared at the ceiling, rehearsing the question burning in him. When Vincent returned, he tried the direct approach.

  “Those deals… why do you do them? You know what they mean, right?”

  Vincent sighed harshly, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “Yes. So what if I do?”

  Jason shot back. “What if?! You enable them to hurt people. You should fight the guards, not help them!”

  “They control everything!” Vincent snapped, his voice raw. “I tried! I tried to fight back. I lost everyone who resisted. The only ones left are here—my people. My family.”

  Jason blinked, stunned. Rage and regret both burned on Vincent’s face.

  Vincent stepped closer. “And you—haven’t you killed in the arena? Weren’t they forced too? Shouldn’t you have saved them?”

  Jason froze. The question cut too deep.

  “If I have to sacrifice strangers to protect the people I know,” Vincent said, his voice trembling but hard, “then I’ll do it. Gladly.”

  Jason lowered his eyes. “I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “Then stop judging me.” Vincent turned away, his shoulders stiff. “Until you do know, get off your high horse—and get off my back.”

  Jason stood frozen in place. He had judged Vincent, feared what he might do to him, but now, putting himself in Vincent’s shoes, he couldn’t find an answer. He just stood there, looking at the floor as Vincent passed him and went to his bed, laying with his back towards Jason.

  He killed Karn in an attempt to save Ashar—but what if it had been someone innocent? Would he still have done it?

  The thought kept resurfacing as he slowly climbed into bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. What would I do? If the gladiators he fought were all forced prisoners like himself, was it simply survival of the fittest? Should he try to save them—even if it meant risking everything? Even if it meant all of them would be slaughtered in the end?

  The questions twisted in his mind. Sleep tried to creep in, but it came reluctantly, heavy with doubt. Tomorrow would be draining—physically and mentally.

  Jason jolted awake. He wasn’t sure how many hours had passed, only that his body ached with restless tension.

  Sitting on the edge of his bed, he glanced toward Vincent, who still lay with his back turned, silent and distant. Jason wanted to speak but the words never came. Vincent was right—he was hypocritical. Jason didn’t need an answer from Vincent anymore. He needed an answer from himself. Only then could he truly face Vincent again.

  But first, he would have to face Tahuuk. And that meant dragging him into another fight for Jason’s survival.

  The guard’s shadow stretched into the cell, wordlessly gesturing for Jason to follow. Jason obeyed, lost in thought, his footsteps echoing through the familiar corridors. Yet this time, the walls pressed in, every turn heavier, the silence louder.

  His heart thudded in his ears as they rounded the last corner.

  There—on the bench in the prep area—sat a tall, dark-blue alien. Tahuuk.

  Their eyes locked immediately. Jason’s were clouded with anxiety, searching for reassurance. Tahuuk’s burned with quiet determination.

  Jason inhaled deeply, closing his eyes to steady himself. When he opened them again, his gaze had sharpened.

  Tahuuk smirked. A silent understanding passed between them. Whatever came next—they would face it together.