Between the wire and the fire

It was evening.

But Ayumi hadn't seen the sky in two days.

Night, in that place, was nothing more than the absence of light.

No stars. No moon. Just darkness pressing against the walls — and voices… voices that scratched at the silence.

The screams of the other hostages echoed through the corridors.

Raw. Ragged with real pain.

Sometimes they sounded far away, sometimes far too close.

She couldn't cover her ears. She couldn't do anything.

Only listen. Only imagine.

She curled into herself, as much as the ropes would allow.

Her body was no longer a body.

Just wood, burning from the inside out.

That afternoon, she had heard voices in the hallway. Two men talking.

One of them had said:

"Two families have paid. We're releasing them tomorrow."

And Ayumi, in the darkness of her tired mind, had thought:

"I'm glad…"

Not out of envy.

Genuinely.

At least someone had made it.

At least someone was going home.

But her?

Her arms were now swollen, numb, turning purple.

She couldn't feel them anymore. The pain had been replaced by nothingness.

A scarier feeling: the absence of pain.

It was the third day. Three.

The hours bled into each other. The walls seemed to shift.

Sometimes she thought she would faint, but her body wouldn't even grant her that.

Then she heard the lock.

A click.

The door creaking open.

That same boy.

She recognized him by the way he entered — quiet, controlled.

Always leaning against the wall, like he was just waiting for the world to burn out on its own.

His face lowered, gaze lost, either in the void or in something deep within himself.

Ayumi didn't speak. Not right away.

There was something sacred in the silence that night.

Or maybe… something terrifying.

He moved.

Came toward her. Still without a sound. As if he didn't even touch the floor.

She couldn't quite see his face. Too many shadows.

Only his hands — cold, precise — moving behind her.

Keys.

A faint metallic jingle.

Then… the sound of iron loosening.

The ropes slackened.

Ayumi collapsed forward. Her arms dropped like soaked cloth.

A sharp, sudden pain shot through her shoulders. But then, just as suddenly — absence.

Her arms were dead weight, hanging from her body.

She whimpered.

"Thank you…" she whispered.

Then louder:

"Thank you… thank you… thank you…"

She repeated it without even knowing why.

Because she was alive? Because she could breathe a little easier?

Because someone had finally touched her without hurting her?

He turned. His voice was flat, cold — like a slab of stone laid on a bed of flowers.

"Orders from the boss."

Nothing more.

No intent.

No concern.

Just duty.

Ayumi lowered her eyes. She didn't dare ask anything else.

She had learned to read the distance in people's eyes.

And his… his were far from everything.

And yet…

despite everything…

something in her still looked at him with gentleness.

Not because he deserved it.

But because she didn't know how to be anything else.

---Feitan...---

The keys slid into his palm with a precise jingle.

Chrollo hadn't even looked up when he handed them over.

He spoke as always: soft voice, calm, devoid of pity.

"The mother asked for fifteen more days. We gave her ten. She'll call tomorrow to confirm. If she doesn't… you know what to do."

Feitan didn't ask anything else.

He didn't need to know why.

The world was divided between those who had value, and those who were dead weight.

And Ayumi — that trembling sack of bones and fear — was nothing but ballast.

He smiled.

A real smile.

Rare. Sharp.

Thin as a blade.

But real.

Not out of sadism.

Not because he enjoyed hurting her.

Feitan took no pleasure in the suffering of others.

He found order in it.

And the idea that his task was nearing a final conclusion…

that this useless heap would soon be removed from the world…

gave him peace.

He entered the room as always: silent, in shadow.

The metal of the key glinted between gloved fingers.

He saw her right away: sitting on the floor, trembling, arms in her lap like broken things.

Her face still dirty, skin stretched thin from fever or exhaustion.

Feitan stared at her.

And for a long, long moment, his mind filled with pure contempt.

"Look at her. Still alive. Still kind. Still stupid."

That was what bothered him most.

Kindness.

That useless, fragile mechanism she stubbornly kept alive even now.

As if she didn't understand.

As if there was still something left to save.

He stepped closer. Each step was slow, measured.

She saw him and tried to lift her gaze. Her lips moved, maybe to thank him again. Again.

Feitan stopped less than a meter away.

His voice came out dry, harsh: "Be quiet and don't move"

She lowered her head weakly.

Said nothing.

He tilted his head, looking at her like one might look at a sick animal still trying to breathe.

The words dropped like a stone into the room.

She raised her eyes just slightly.

Confusion. Pain. Fear.

Feitan continued, his tone flat, surgical.

"Your mother asked for more time. We gave her ten days. If she doesn't call to confirm tomorrow…we start with you."

He let her absorb it.

Let her understand.

Then, slowly, he knelt down in front of her.

He stared. Up close.

That cutting stare, those unwavering eyes.

"You know what it means to start, don't you?"

Ayumi trembled. Eyes glossy. But she still didn't cry.

Feitan stood.

Slipped the keys into his pocket.

Took a step back.

And before leaving, he looked at her one last time.

Not with anger.

Not with emotion.

With pure, absolute contempt.

"I told you not to hope. Now you'll understand why."

And he closed the door behind him.

No sound.

Only darkness.