The stairs were steep and narrow. The air grew colder with every step. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the musky, reptilian scent of a cold-blooded predator.

Ina kept her hand near the knife in her sleeve. Her boots creaked on the rotting wood. The dim emergency lights flickered, casting long shadows on the concrete walls.

At the bottom of the stairs, she saw it. A metal cryo pod sat in the center of the room, white vapor curling around its base. The hum of the refrigeration unit was the only sound.

She approached the pod slowly. Through the frosted glass, she could see him. A massive green snake tail was coiled tightly around the base. Above it was the pale torso of a man. Harlan Wright. His eyes were closed, his lips blue. His skin was covered in burn marks and electrical scars.

Arno's interface flashed red. "Warning! Target Harlan Wright Mental Corruption Index: 30 (Extreme Danger). Subject is on the verge of rampage."

Ina walked to the control panel. The temperature was set to minus twenty degrees Celsius. It was a torture chamber, not a containment unit.

She didn't hesitate. She pressed the stop button, then the defrost sequence.

The machine groaned. The hiss of releasing pressure filled the room. The heavy lid began to rise. A cloud of freezing white vapor billowed out, obscuring her vision.

Ina stepped back. She shifted her weight, bending her knees slightly. She kept her eyes on the opening pod.

The vapor cleared. Harlan's eyes snapped open.

They weren't human eyes. They were vertical slits, a sickly yellow-green, filled with a cold, calculating madness. He didn't wait for the ice to melt. His tail lashed out, slamming into the bottom of the pod.

He launched himself at her. He moved like a striking viper, fast and silent. His hands reached for her throat.

Ina's body reacted before her mind could process the threat. She dropped to the side, rolling across the dirty floor. The wind from his passing ruffled her hair. His tail smashed into the wall behind her, cracking the concrete.

He landed in a crouch, his tail coiled behind him for balance. His forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. A low hiss escaped his throat.

He stared at her, his voice like sandpaper on rock. "What's the new game? Tired of the shocks? Want to fight to the death this time?"

Ina stood up. She brushed the dust from her pants. She looked him in the eye. She didn't back down. She didn't scream.

Her calmness seemed to enrage him. He slithered forward, his fangs gleaming in the dim light. "Why so quiet? Where's your whip?"

Ina pulled the boning knife from her sleeve. Harlan saw the steel and laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He tensed his muscles, ready to disarm her and turn the weapon on her.

But Ina didn't lunge at him. She turned and drove the knife into the heavy wooden workbench beside her. The blade sank deep, the handle vibrating with the force of the impact.

Harlan froze. His vertical pupils contracted. This wasn't in the script. She was supposed to attack him, or cower. She wasn't supposed to disarm herself.

Ina looked at him, her voice low and steady. "I swear on my life, from this second on, I will never lay a finger on you again."

Harlan stared at her for a long moment. Then, he burst out laughing. It was a manic, broken sound. He doubled over, coughing, a fleck of blood appearing on his lip.

"A swear? A promise from a sadist?" He sneered, his eyes full of contempt. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to believe you?"

Ina didn't argue. She knew words were worthless. She pointed at the open pod.

"The machine is off. The password is deleted. You can stay down here in the dark, or you can come upstairs. It's your choice."

She turned around. She started walking toward the stairs. She left her back completely exposed. It was a gamble. A huge gamble. One strike from his tail would snap her spine.

Harlan watched her go. His tail slapped against the floor in agitation. The instinct to kill, to avenge every shock and every freezing night, screamed at him. But something held him back. Her indifference. She wasn't afraid of him. She wasn't playing a game. She just didn't care.

Ina reached the middle of the stairs. She stopped. She didn't turn around.

"Also," she said, her voice echoing in the stairwell, "if you want to kill me, wait until I pay off the debt. Otherwise, the bank will seize you and sell you to the fighting pits. You'll be back in a cage, only this time, you'll be fighting to the death for someone else's amusement."

The words hit Harlan like a bucket of ice water. He hated cages. He hated being property more than he hated her.

"Target Mental Corruption Index decreased to 20. Current status: Extreme suspicion, attack suspended."

Ina allowed herself a small, tight smile. She continued up the stairs and pushed open the door to the living room.

Ina stepped into the living room. The sunlight streaming through the dirty windows was blinding after the darkness of the basement. Dust motes danced in the air.

She scanned the room. Behind the sofa, in the shadow of the overturned furniture, she saw a flash of gold.

Angel. He was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest. He was still shivering. The bandages she had left him were wrapped around his torso in a messy, haphazard way. Some of the cuts were still bleeding through the gauze.

Ina sighed. She walked to the coffee table and picked up the bottle of disinfectant. She moved slowly, making sure her footsteps were audible, toward the back of the sofa.

Angel heard her. His golden ears flattened against his head. He pressed himself harder into the wall, a low whine escaping his throat.

Ina stopped a few feet away. She crouched down, bringing herself to his level. She held up her hands, showing him the bottle and the clean cotton pads she had grabbed.

"Let me redo this," she said, her voice soft. "If you don't clean it properly, it will get infected."

Angel shook his head frantically. Tears welled in his eyes. The original owner's memories were too strong. Every touch meant pain.

Ina didn't push. She sat down on the floor, a half-meter away. She placed the bottle between them. "I won't hurt you," she said. "I didn't hurt you earlier, did I?"

Angel hesitated. He looked at her, his blue eyes filled with confusion. She was right. She had given him water. She had backed away. It didn't make sense.

"Target loyalty fluctuating. Current status: Extreme fear mixed with confusion."

Ina saw the crack in his armor. She inched forward, moving slowly. She reached out and gently touched the edge of the sloppy bandage on his arm.

Angel went rigid. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He waited for the pain.

But it didn't come. Ina's fingers were careful. She untied the knot, her touch light. She avoided the raw skin. Her hands were large and calloused, but her movements were surprisingly gentle.

Angel opened his eyes. He stared at her hands, confused by the lack of cruelty.

Suddenly, the front door exploded inward.

The sound of splintering wood was deafening. Ina and Angel both jumped.

A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright sunlight. He was tall, his shoulders broad. His silver hair was disheveled, and his clothes were dirty and torn. In his hand, he carried a bag of cheap nutrient fluid.

Denton Carr. The white tiger.

He had just come back from a day of hard labor in the city. He had been working to pay off the original owner's debts.

His eyes swept the room. He saw Ina crouching over Angel. He saw the bottle of disinfectant in her hand. He saw Angel cowering against the wall.

The angle was bad. From where he stood, it looked like she was forcing something on the boy. The memories of the original owner's "medicine"-the acid, the poison-flashed through his mind.

His amber pupils contracted into thin slits. A deep, terrifying roar ripped from his chest. He dropped the bag and lunged.

He was fast. Faster than Harlan. He crossed the room in two strides.

His hand closed around Ina's wrist. His grip was crushing. He yanked her away from Angel with brutal force.

Ina lost her balance. Her heavy, momentum-laden body was violently shoved backward. She couldn't catch her footing, stumbling back several clumsy steps under the sheer power of the beastman before crashing heavily into the glass coffee table.

The glass shattered. The sound was sharp and violent. Pain flared across her back and arms. Shards of glass bit into her skin.

"You crazy bitch!" Denton roared. He stood over her, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with fury. "You promised! You promised if I went out to work, you wouldn't touch him!"

Ina lay in the wreckage of the table. She pushed herself up, wincing. Her hand was cut, blood dripping from her fingers onto the floor.

Angel peeked out from behind the sofa. He looked at the furious Denton, then at the bleeding Ina. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no sound came out.

Ina looked up at Denton. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She just stared at him, her eyes cold and assessing. It was the look of a soldier evaluating a threat, not a victim fearing an abuser.

Denton faltered. The coldness in her eyes threw him off. This wasn't the whining, hysterical woman he knew.

Ina stood up. She wiped the blood from her hand on her pants. Her voice was low, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"If you don't need your eyes, I can donate them for you. Look closely at what I was doing."

She kicked a piece of glass aside. She pointed at the floor. There lay the disinfectant, the cotton pads, and the unused bandages. No acid. No poison. Just medicine.

Denton followed her finger. He saw the supplies. He looked back at Angel, noticing for the first time that the messy bandages had been partially unwound, and the wounds beneath were clean.

His body went stiff. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a stunned confusion.

Denton stood frozen, his amber eyes fixed on the medical supplies scattered on the floor. He saw the expensive disinfectant, the clean gauze. It wasn't poison. It wasn't acid.

He slowly turned his head to look at Angel, who was still hiding behind the sofa. The boy's wounds were indeed cleaner. The blood had been wiped away.

Denton's massive frame seemed to shrink. He didn't know what to do. He was used to fighting the monster, not dealing with... this. He searched Ina's face for some sign of a trick, some hint of malice. He found nothing but a calm, steady gaze.

Before he could speak, a new sound shattered the silence. The high-pitched whine of a hovercar engine. It was loud, obnoxious, and getting closer.

A bright pink hovercar descended from the sky, landing right on the overgrown lawn. The door swung up, and a woman stepped out. She wore a tight leather skirt and high heels that sank into the dirt.

Charlee Guthrie. The daughter of the Black Soil City lord.

She walked up the steps, two burly bodyguards trailing behind her. She didn't knock. She just walked right in, waving a scented handkerchief in front of her nose to ward off the smell.

Her eyes immediately found Denton. They lit up with a greedy, possessive hunger.

"Denton," she purred, ignoring the broken glass and the bleeding Ina. "You've been in this trash heap long enough, haven't you?"

Denton frowned. He took a step back, his expression disgusted. "This is none of your business, Miss Charlee."

Charlee's smile vanished. She turned her attention to Ina, looking her up and down with obvious contempt.

"Ina, look at you. You're a mess." She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "I'll offer you five million Star Coins for Denton's contract. That's enough to pay off your debt to the loan sharks, and maybe buy some diet pills."

Denton's fists clenched. He knew the situation. He knew Ina was desperate for money. Five million was a lifeline. He felt a cold despair settle in his stomach. He was going to be sold.

Angel grabbed Denton's sleeve, his eyes wide with fear. If Denton left, there would be no one to protect him.

Ina casually wiped the blood from her hand onto her cargo pants. She straightened up, her chin raised. She looked at Charlee like she was looking at a piece of rotten meat.

"Five million? Do you think this is a scrap yard?" Ina's voice was flat, devoid of the original owner's usual fawning tone.

Charlee blinked, surprised by the defiance. "Don't be ungrateful," she snapped. "My father runs this city!"

She gestured to her bodyguards. "If she won't take the deal, take him by force. Let's see who can stop us."

The two guards stepped forward, reaching for Denton's arms. Denton's eyes narrowed. He prepared to fight.

"Bang!"

The gunshot was deafening in the small room. A bolt of blue energy struck the floor inches from the guard's foot, leaving a smoking, black crater.

Everyone froze. The guards jumped back. Charlee let out a short scream, clapping her hands over her ears.

Ina stood there, holding an old-model electromagnetic pistol. She held it with both hands, her stance perfect, the barrel steady and aimed directly at Charlee's forehead. Her eyes were cold. This was the look of someone who had killed before.

"Take your dogs and get out of my house," Ina said, her voice low and dangerous. "Take one more step inside, and the next shot goes through your skull."

The killing intent radiating from Ina was real. It wasn't a bluff. Charlee felt it like a physical force. Her legs went weak. Her face turned pale.

She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her heels. The guards grabbed her arms and dragged her toward the door. They scrambled into the pink hovercar and sped away, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Ina watched them go. She let out a breath, flicked the safety on the pistol, and tucked it back into her waistband.

She turned around. Denton was staring at her. The shock on his face was unmistakable. He had never seen her like this. He had never seen anyone handle a weapon with such casual deadliness.

Ina ignored his stare. She didn't lower her guard immediately, taking a slow, steadying breath as the adrenaline began to ebb away. The silence in the room was thick, suffocating, broken only by Angel's ragged breathing from behind the sofa. She looked down at the medical supplies scattered on the floor, then at Denton's rigid posture.

"Put the medicine on him," she said. "We'll deal with the broken door later."

She turned and walked toward the stairs, leaving Denton standing in the ruined living room, his world turned upside down.