Silence

The familiar scent of stale sweat and disinfectant clung to the air, a constant reminder of the hell Diovanna called home. She moved with practiced ease, a blur of motion in the sparring ring, delivering a roundhouse kick that connected with satisfying force. James, a hulking brute who strangely enjoyed this twisted existence, crumpled to the ground, a few teeth skittering across the grimy floor.

Stepping out of the ring, she reached for a towel, wiping the sweat from her brow. But before the relief could fully settle, a sharp, stinging slap landed across her face, sending her head snapping sideways. The metallic tang of blood bloomed in her mouth, a taste as familiar as her own heartbeat.

“You may be our best assassin, but remember your place, Dove,” Mrs. Lucia’s voice, a venomous hiss, cut through the air. “We own you. Did we tell you that you could step out of the ring?”

Diovanna’s eyes, though wide, betrayed no emotion. She shook her head, a silent denial, but Lucia wasn’t waiting for an answer. “No, I don't think so. Since you can't seem to follow simple orders, you are going to the pit.”