Day 6 (continued)

Juliette's body feels limp in my arms as I pull her upright, her face streaked with tears and her hands still shaking from watching Aria's death. She leans against me heavily, her head resting against my shoulder as she struggles to catch her breath. Her small frame trembles against me, the adrenaline still coursing through her system.

I signal the cleaning crew to come in and lead Juliette out of the machine room into the holding area of the dungeon where Harper awaits.

After I signal the cleaning crew to come in, the heavy steel door slides open with a mechanical groan, admitting two masked figures in blood-stained coveralls. They move methodically around the impaler machine, hosing down the floor and cleaning blood from the restraints with industrial-grade disinfectant. Juliette's breathing has steadied slightly as I guide her out, her hand gripping my forearm with surprising strength. The holding area smells faintly of disinfectant and unwashed bodies, lit only by flickering fluorescent lights that cast harsh shadows across the concrete walls.

Harper stands as I enter, her face a mask of grim concern. She moves toward Juliette without hesitation, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry."

Juliette sags into the embrace, her body shaking with silent sobs. Her fingers clutch at Harper's back, fingers white with tension. I can see the wetness on her face, the streaks of tears cutting through the grime and dried sweat. Harper holds her tight, rocking her slightly as she murmurs softly.

"Shhh, it's okay. It's over now."

Harper's voice cracks slightly on the last word, the strain evident even as she attempts to comfort. She casts a sidelong glance at me, her blue eyes reflecting both gratitude and something darker – recognition of what must come next. Tomorrow one of them will die.

Juliette's shoulders heave with shuddering breaths as she slowly pulls away from Harper, though her hands remain clutching at Harper's arms. She wipes roughly at her face with the back of her hand, smearing tears and dust across her skin. She looks like a little girl doing this.

Her eyes find mine, red-rimmed and swollen, but still holding something steady beneath the grief. She straightens her posture with visible effort, wiping at her face again with her sleeves before speaking.

"I want to lie down," she says hoarsely.

Her words sound rough from crying, but there's no weakness in them – just simple truth. She sways slightly on her feet, exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders. Harper immediately moves to support her, sliding an arm around her waist. Juliette allows it without hesitation, her body leaning into the contact as if starved for human touch. She still hasn't let go of Harper's arm completely, her fingers twitching occasionally.

She looks at me with haunted eyes as Harper leads her toward the beds. I follow a few steps behind, my own body weary from the today's events. Juliette sinks onto the edge of the closest mattress, her hands now resting in her lap, fingers interlaced so tightly the knuckles have gone white. Harper kneels before her, speaking softly as she rubs Juliette's thighs. Harper kneels before Juliette, hands rubbing slow circles on the shorter girl's thighs. Her touch is gentle, grounding.

"I know what it's like," she says quietly, speaking just for Juliette. "I did it too, remember? Twice."

Juliette's breathing falters slightly at Harper's words. Her fingers tighten around Harper's hands where they rest on her thighs.

"Yes," she whispers. "I remember."

A single tear escapes down her cheek, which she quickly brushes away with the back of her hand.

My stomach twists as I watch the two girls – Harper kneeling before Juliette, Juliette gripping Harper's hands like lifelines. The space between them hums with unspoken grief, with the unbearable intimacy of those who have already shared too much pain. Harper's thumbs rub slow circles on Juliette's thighs as she speaks again, her words soft and steady.

"You're safe for now," she murmurs. "Just let me hold you."

Juliette's breath shudders out of her, her fingers flexing against Harper's. She nods once, sharply, then leans forward until her forehead rests against Harper's. Her entire body trembles with the motion, as if her muscles have forgotten how to hold her upright.

The room's stale air thickens as I watch the moment unfold before me – Harper's steady presence and Juliette's ragged breathing syncing into something almost peaceful. Juliette's hands still clutch at Harper's, her fingers quivering against the other girl's skin. Harper tilts her head slightly, pressing her forehead more firmly against Juliette's, as if offering herself as a solid surface to anchor to.

Juliette's shoulders now rise and fall with deep, measured breaths. The shaking has lessened, though her grip on Harper remains firm.

"Come lie down," Harper says softly, her hands moving to Juliette's shoulders.

I watch as Harper guides Juliette onto the mattress, the smaller girl collapsing onto the thin pillow with a soft exhale. Harper settles beside her, propping herself up on one elbow as she traces idle patterns on Juliette's arm.

For a long time, neither speaks. Harper's fingers draw slow circles on Juliette's skin—not sexual, just contact. Proof that they're both still here, still breathing.

Finally, Juliette's voice breaks the silence, barely more than a whisper.

"Tomorrow it's just us."

Harper's hand stills on Juliette's arm. Her jaw tightens, then relaxes.

"I know."

Another long pause. Harper's fingers resume their patterns, tracing the curve of Juliette's shoulder blade.

"I don't want to die," Juliette says. Her voice is flat, matter-of-fact.

Harper's breath shudders out. "Neither do I."

Juliette turns her head to look at Harper, their faces inches apart on the shared pillow. Her blue eyes search Harper's face.

"But one of us will."

Juliette curls into herself on the bed, her small frame shaking under Harper's arm wrapped around her. She turns away from me, but I can still see her shoulders rise and fall in quick succession. Harper stays close, her hand resting lightly on Juliette's side as she murmurs soft words meant for only her ears.

I leave the girls alone and exit the dungeon. The heavy door seals behind me with a pneumatic hiss, cutting off the soft murmurs from within. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I walk down the sterile corridor, my footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. My reflection in the polished metal doors shows someone who looks older than his years – lines etched around tired eyes, shoulders that carry too much unseen burden. The observation room beckons ahead, its monitors blinking with camera feeds from every corner of the dungeon.

I settle into the worn chair before the monitoring screens, my gaze fixed on the girls. Juliette sleeps curled in Harper's arms, her face tucked into the crook of the taller girl's neck. Harper strokes her hair absently, her fingers catching occasionally in the blonde strands. When Juliette stirs, Harper murmurs something that makes her settle again.

The cameras catch everything – Harper's occasional glances toward the cameras, her hand rubbing slow circles on Juliette's back. When Juliette wakes fully, Harper hands her a plastic cup of water. Juliette drinks, her hands unsteady.

Their quiet conversation comes through the speakers in fragments. Juliette thanks Harper. Harper says she knows. Juliette's fingers trace small patterns on Harper's arm as she speaks in tones too low to catch. Harper's face is tight with suppressed emotion as she listens.

I check the time – four hours have passed.

I check my mail – there's a new message from Jeff. I click the email open with a grimace.

Subject: GOOD JOB TODAY!

"Especially the farewell party for Aria. That fawesome was AWESOME! Good luck tomorrow!"

The word 'fawesome' is underlined in garish blue, dripping with manufactured enthusiasm.

I minimize the email with a rough click, the words "fawesome" and "good job" burning in my mind.

"Go fuck yourself, asshole." I mutter before heading to my quarters.

I stride through the complex, the polished floors echoing with my anger. My private quarters are a luxury suite with a bed that's never slept easy, a shower that can never rinse away the day's filth, and a desk stacked with folders containing the girls' files – photographs and medical records that used to feel like people and now just look like names on a schedule.

I take off my shirt and throw it across the room. My hands shake as you pour whiskey, three fingers of amber liquid sloshing over the edge of the glass.

I down the first glass in one burning swallow, then the second. The alcohol does little to dull the image of Aria's final moments – her face contorted in agony as the metal speared through her, the wet sounds of her last breaths, the way her muscles spasmed when I held her head.

The third glass remains untouched. I sink into the chair at my desk, staring at the photo of Aria that sits atop her file. The calm and composed girl in the photo looks nothing like the terrified girl I fucked and then watched die. I close the folder with more force than necessary. Tomorrow's going to be hard. And the day after even harder.