"I thought we were supposed to escape once back here," I whisper through clenched teeth to Iris, who is seated two people away from me. I'm straining to free my hands, bound behind my back. The rope is loose, but stubborn all the same to free through.

"Quiet, Kendi!" she replies, calm as a meditating monk.

"I don't see you struggling. I don't see any of you struggling!"

Alonov, seated beside Echo to my left, turns to Iris. "It wasn't your wisest decision to confer her the new head of your Order," he whispers.

Fermon, like a well-timed echo, leans toward Iris on her left and adds, "Should have stuck with the incompetent father. At least he didn't insist on making decisions."

"Hey! Whose idea was it that the only way out is through? Tell that to the metal doors in a bedroom," I retort, a new form of anger brewing inside me.

After our deliberate capture in the Mirage forest, each of us was tied up and carried on a man's shoulder. Turns out Dry Bones isn't that far away when you run. When we arrived in the city, we were blindfolded, and now here we are, in a queen's bedroom with an oddly single twin bed centred at its heart, draped in a pristine white sheet. The walls are painted a deep jungle green, lending a sombre atmosphere to the space.

We've been placed in chairs arranged in front of the bed, with an inviting warmth radiating from the open fireplace behind us, adding brightness to the dim chandelier that hangs low above our heads.

I am between a sedated Cain and Echo, whose snores are becoming increasingly irritating, especially now that Echo can echo more than just words.

"We are getting out of here. I just need a moment to think," Iris finally says something I almost want to hear, just at the moment I manage to free myself.

With my chin up and a proud, triumphant smirk on my face, I declare my success, showing everyone my free hands.

"Put your fucking hands behind your back, Mortal," Vianney warns sharply. "Everyone's hands are loosely tied. It's a test."

I snicker. "A test to see if I can get free? Sure!"

"They wait to see who is eager to escape first. That's the first person they torture for answers. It's a simple game of cat and mouse."

"Oh, shit!" I exclaim instead of firing back when the sound of a latch scraping against the other side of the door disrupts the tension.

"Don't bother. We have a camera right above your heads," a woman says as she enters the room.

She's scrawny, with curly, unkempt ginger hair that seems too tangled to comb through. Her thick eyebrows contrast sharply with her soft-looking, pink-glossed lips. She wears a creased white blouse over a pair of black trousers and cowboy boots and is flanked by two individuals in black suits reminiscent of medieval knights although without the metal sheen, heavy gear and helmets. Instead, they wear ski masks, with arrows on their backs.

Is this a joke?

"The chandelier. I mean the chandelier," she emphasises, noticing our lacklustre reaction to her entrance.

"We get it," Iris replies, her voice tinged with fatigue.

"Good!" she muses, coming in front of us and climbing the bed. She lies down, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Now you can help me. The bounty on you is, whew—let's just say I can give the king a run for his money, and the instructions were to bring you in. Dead. But what good would that do if I don't have what I need? I mean, sure, I can stuff all your heads in a sack, collect at least half the reward, but that's not nearly enough now, is it?"

"We don't have what you need," Iris calmly states.

"Good. You know what we are after. I can cut a deal. Him for your lives."

The two bodyguards move from the sides of the bed to positions behind us. One inadvertently blocks the heat from the fireplace from reaching my back.

"Honestly speaking, I wouldn't waste my time sitting here in your rather drab room if I already knew his whereabouts. Allow me to make you a counteroffer: let me deliver him to you, and then you can proceed to cut off all our heads."

The woman chuckles, almost impressed. "I'm not totally against that idea." She still doesn't move from her position on the bed. "I'm inclined to get this done quickly so I can fill a pool with all the money and make it my sanctuary. I want the results sooner rather than later."

"And I'm offering you just that!"

At this point, I'm not sure to trust Iris. The last time I did, I got involved in a conclave that led us here. But no one else is panicking, fidgeting or questioning her plan. Whatever this is, it's certainly not thrilling.

"I'll go alone. You'll have him here by morning."

"I thought you didn't have what I need."

"I don't. I just..."

"Do you know why I lie like this when I'm interrogating my prisoners?" she interrupts the goddess, her voice unwavering. "You probably think I'm just a weird skinny lady with bad hair and too busy to iron my clothes. That's what you're thinking, isn't it, Mortal? Well, you're right, I am that, but I'm also more. I personally find it easier to extract information by simply listening and not resorting to intimidation. Mu Xi Nu might despise my methods, but the countless confessions I've obtained in this very room have proven its effectiveness. I suck the guilt from the prisoners just by having them in this space. The walls are dull and bare. There are no paintings to give it any life.

"A twin bed in a room that's practically bigger than most houses in Dry Bones. It just goes on and on. When you are sad, feeling like you have nothing left to live for, you are more likely to tell me what I want to hear. There's a misconception about torture that has been circulating. To some extent, it is true. But the only reason your legs aren't tied or your hands loosely tied is to see how far you can run this madness. Think of it like the white soundproofed room in an asylum. This is it, just with a bit of colour and warmth. Everything else is the same.

"But you," she pauses, her finger pointed directly at Iris, "seem too eager to go fetch me The Eunuch Satyr. You've been here before?"

"Not that I can recall."

"Hmm, your shortness of breath, suppressed anger and I guess clenched fists behind your back tell me a different story. What happened the last time you were here?"

"I'd love to chat, but I want this over and done with."

"I want this done too, goddess." She falls silent for a minute, her gaze wandering aimlessly across the unadorned ceiling. Then she sits up, abruptly. "Allow me to twist the knife. I'll grant your wish, goddess, however, you must join Mu Xi Nu."

"I'll do it!" Vianney intercepts. "Don't make the goddess join a fraternity with rules as antiquated as they come."

"You're angry," the woman observes. Even though she's sitting up, her eyes avoid direct contact with ours.

"My feelings don't have to get involved. Just let me out, I'll do everything you need me to but keep Iris out of it."

"No! Take her!" she orders one of the frat guys behind us who promptly unties Iris and leads her out of the room. "For every hour she's not back, one of you gets taken out of the room." She jumps out of bed. "As antiquated as they come, right."

"You scathing bastard."

The woman smiles at Vianney's remark as she skips out of the room. "This is going to be fun!"

"Should we laugh?" Fermon asks Alonov.

"I don't see why not," his brother replies, as usual, permitting them to proceed. Their laughter is not the usual exaggerated, boisterous kind. It's a series of short 'ha's, continuous, slow, solemn, like a depressing mantra in a berserk sequence, oddly identical and not as annoying as you'd expect. But right now it is.

"Shut the fuck up," Vianney lashes out at the Erotes, who abruptly cease their moment of mirth.

I rise from my chair, taking the opportunity that I had my hands untied the whole time and I wasn't dragged out to be tortured as earlier fear-instilled, then recline on the bed, just like the woman did, hoping to recognise the serenity of her alleged method of torture.

"Get back to your seat, Kendi or you'll have us all in deep shit."

I chuckle. "I thought we were in one already."

"This isn't funny!" Vianney exclaims angrily.

Unable to withstand not having a face-to-face conversation, I get up. "What's up with you? You've been angry ever since the Mirage."

"I'm so glad you noticed," he retorts. "That's very keen of you."

I scoff. "Did I upset you in some way? Because the last time I checked, I was mad at you."

"Grow up, Mortal. Sooner or later you would have to confront your reality, both emotionally and physically more than just in an intense dream."

"Sure, sign me up for that. Not some sick satyr after some drama."

He scoffs as well. "Drama. Oh, how I'd wish for some right now. Tell me, Mortal. What happened between you and our arch-nemesis by nature?"

"Stop calling me that!" I yell. With a low voice, I add, "It's unsettling."

"Everything seems unsettling with you."

"So, this is about him. I see." I nod my head in disbelief.

"It's about you, Kendi. You and your choices. Look at where you are now."

"I didn't decide for the Order, your trusted goddess and these fools stuck in some kind of loop did, gawd. Why does everyone want to place the blame on me?"

"Athena and Corinth are the richest cities in Greece. So when it came to whose turf this was, a war that started centuries ago still lingers in the specks of time. It evolved to more than just wealth; it became tribal. Athena appropriated Corinth's traditions as their own while Corinth duplicated Athena's values and claimed originality. Parents couldn't bear the relationships formed between these two tribes. Intermarriage, they called it and condemned it. No Athenian and Corinthian should look, talk, wave or even walk on the same streets with each other. So, like this fraternity's cruel rules, it became a ceaseless cat-and-mouse game. Athenians wait for Corinthians to leave before venturing out, and vice versa. It's now a norm, a contagion that spread like wildfire because our ancestors couldn't agree on sharing their wealth or their propaganda."

"I don't see where you're going with this, Vianney."

He chuckles, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm saying, you're not meant for each other."

And so, I laugh. There it is. The claim, the first step of possession. He thinks he knows what's best for me. I'm supposed to throw my hand across his face, and glare at him with so much anger it melts his face like hot lava. But I laugh. I'm laughing at the fucking pattern that is repeating itself. This time I had to sit for a history lecture before he made his intentions clear.

"It's funny!" he says, annoyed frustration leaking in his tone, nodding his head in exasperation.

"We are not having this conversation here, Vianney."

"He's unconscious."

"It's not about him. Do you really think you know what is meant for me and what is not? I met you five minutes ago."

"Five minutes for a satyr to realise he dove into a well."

Ignoring his cryptic remark, I turn to the Erotes. A ping of anger boils within me but I set it aside for a minute, a minute to breathe, a minute to overlook the intense, gradual tug by the Bermuda that is shockingly effective.

"The only reason they took Iris was because she was here before, which means they know we are planning to escape. We need to find another way." I drum my fingers bemusedly.

"There's no other way, Kendi. This is not an escape room you enjoy on earth. It's hell!" Vianney retorts.

"I wasn't talking to you," I snap back.

"But he's right. We wait for Iris," Fermon adds.

"We can't wait. Every hour passing we lose each other. I say we join Iris outside and avoid this altogether."

The latch on the other side of the door scrapes again. The doors swing open to reveal the woman once more but she doesn't come in this time, just orders the frat guards who march in towards me and Vianney.

"Hey!" I protest, attempting to break free, but his grip is unyielding, his fingers tightly wound around my arm as he drags me out of bed and towards the exit.

"Just like your little Order, we also have our visions, missions, and values. You two need to keep at least five of them."

"We do not need your help!" Vianney yells as he struggles to free himself, having the guard tie back his hands in front of him.

"Of course, not!"

They lead us through an extended brightly-lit corridor, with the same bare, jungle green walls, devoid of any character. The woman is skipping ahead of us, humming to a tune so horrifyingly out of place for the situation. We then stop at the end of the corridor. Another pair of metal doors greet us, towering like the walls of a fortress. The woman pushes them open with a chant before throwing us into a completely white room, exactly like that of an asylum, with cushioned soundproofed walls, ceiling and floors.

"Have a dialogue! Harmonise. Unite and shut the hell up. We might be retrogressive but we love our silence."

The door swiftly closes and we are left dissecting the message she just delivered. They maintain the facade of a fraternity while furtively carrying out ruthless assassinations.

I retreat into a corner then. Dry Bones has proven unpredictable once more. We were on a mission moments ago, now we are prisoners, not sure for how long, our devoted goddess is gone and no possible way out now.

It's not like we are in a time crunch, but what do I know? Every information has been shared in pieces like the bread of the Last Supper. I don't even know why I'm compelled to help. I'm not getting anything out of it. Maybe an adventure, but that has not yet happened.

"Earlier you had asked what duty everyone has in this Order, and Emfri told you that you're needed for passage to the underworld. That is partly true."

"We don't need to speak, Vianney."

"Just hear me out, okay? I am the recruit, as I mentioned before. The Order doesn't necessarily need more members, but I have an eye for determining who can help Iris, even if it's temporary. What do I get out of it? Nothing concrete. I gain freedom, and someone values my eye for talent. I don't get to trade prostitutes, at least not for now, something I began doing to survive, which made me realise how good I can be. I get to make use of that here, in this Order, even in what might seem like an absurd mission."

"It's not absurd," I defend the mission, though Vianney and I view it differently.

"To Iris, it isn't. But to you, to me, to your father. I get why he was reluctant."

"You do believe in fate, don't you, Vianney?"

I look at him, sitting at the centre of the room.

"Fate? No! Purpose, sure. You are getting more out of this than you anticipate."

"And what's that, do tell?" I roll my eyes as I sink myself deeper into the corner.

"I figure you have been at the fire line for way too long. Battling with insecurities, failed relationships, disrespect and the glue to hold your breaking family together. I say you need this more than your father. Look at what you've done so far. If it wasn't for that unfortunate revelation back at the conclave, you would be worshipped for making a man talk on your first try. You faced your insecurities face to face, thanks to me of course," he sneaks in credit, "and you get to still help Iris fight because you see what other people like your father or Cain can't see."

"That's not true."

He crawls toward me, sitting in front of me. With his eyes, he forces mine to stare back into his.

"I might have dove into a well, but I did right after you," he confesses vaguely.

"I still don't know what that means."

"It means you're invaluable. I'm sorry I took my temper out on you," he exhales rapturously.

"Because I had a dream about Cain and not you? A dream you initiated?"

He shuffles closer and takes my hands in his, chuckling amusedly. "I guess I got caught up in the possibility of keeping afloat a rival that has been for centuries. It gave me hope."

"Vianney, I can't have this. You..."

"Possess? I know. But that's only when I'm afraid of what I'd lose."

He kneels before me, narrowing the space as he gently shifts my legs apart and crawls closer, drawing me into his intimate embrace.

"During my sales, I can draw blood if the buyers try to bargain less than I've offered. It's instinct."

He takes his still tied hands over my head and to my waist, then pulls me into him, my feet instinctively hugging his frame and our eye contact still intact. The tension in the air is apparent as he leans to the side of my face and uses his teeth to dexterously undo the rope around his hands. Without wasting any time, his right hand finds my face and he closes the distance between us, the protruding contours of our face touching. Our lips aren't too far apart now.

"I don't want Cain for you. I want me for you."

In this charged moment, desire and anticipation hang heavy, like a storm about to break. My breath hitches in my throat as that claim leaves his lips. My chest heaves up and down evidently, driven by the intensity of his stare and the proximity of our bodies. The warmth emanating from him is maddening, his scent utterly intoxicating and his very presence has the power to overwhelm me with a heady mix of anxiety and excitement.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I manage to breathe out, knowing fully well I'm about to submit. His eyes momentarily fall to my boobs as I inhale heavily, an action fueled by his utter seduction.

"It doesn't have to be."

"You don't understand. You are you, it is in your nature to go for..."

"It is. But this is not it," he interrupts once again, finding my eyes. "With a companion, I keep it simple, short and I'm not the one advancing. Usually."

He brushes his lips against mine slightly, our breaths mingling, igniting the fire that threatens to consume us both. Caught between desire and doubt, I concede that this might not be a wise choice, my heart and mind at odds.

"I can't trust you," I say.

"Not yet, you can't!" he replies, his intentions clear.

And he moves in, claiming my lips in an electrifying intensity, hungry and longing for more. I give in, loving the softness of the touch as I learn the rhythm and I scooch even closer, despite no distance left between us, in an aura of desperation.

The kiss starts slow, a heated moment of delight, but it swiftly advances into something more passionate and fervent as he removes my jacket. A deep, appreciative moan escapes his throat when I get rid of his harness then seductively slide my hands beneath his shirt, but leave it on as we continue to kiss.

"Don't take it off, so that I can pull you to me when you're not close enough!"

He grunts, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"Is that what you were telling Cain?"

We exchange positions, him turning to have his back against the white wall and now I'm on top of him. He slides his hands down my back and to my butt in a gentle caress, softly moaning in each of his motions. I begin to straddle him, eliciting more moans that have him stop kissing me and focus on the sensation beneath his pants.

"Don't ruin this for me, Satyr!"

He smiles and the shirt comes off eventually when he grows weary of my teasing and takes it off himself.

"Kendi!" he calls me softly, our foreheads touching as we embrace the intimacy. He throws his shirt over my head and then dramatically pulls me to him by the collar. "You, don't take it off!"

I claim his lips this time, craving more of it as each second passes. And with his wanting possession, a dominant trait of his, he lays me on the floor as he gets on top of me.