Weeks turned into months, and Mia's body transformed under the relentless grind of the wheel. Her once-slender arms had grown stronger, her shoulders broader, and her legs more defined. The constant labor, though grueling, had carved muscle into her frame, and her movements carried a quiet strength that hadn't been there before.
Her face, though smudged with dirt and shadowed with exhaustion, had a fierceness to it now. Her emerald eyes burned with determination, and her jawline, sharper than before, seemed to reflect her unyielding will. Even the guards had begun to notice the change, their sneers occasionally faltering when their eyes lingered too long on her.
But what they didn't see—what they couldn't see—was the fire inside her. It burned brighter with each passing day, fueled by her growing bond with Garrick and her quiet, calculated observations of their captors.
Garrick, too, had changed. He no longer kept to himself, his gruff demeanor softening whenever Mia was near. Their whispered conversations had grown longer, more personal. He told her stories of his old pack—of the brother he'd lost in battle, of the mate he'd failed to protect.
Mia, in turn, shared fragments of her own life. She told him about Hazel, the witch who had betrayed her, and the Silver Moon Pack, the family she had never truly known.
"You're stronger than you look," Garrick said one evening, his voice low as they turned their wheels side by side.
Mia glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "You're just realizing that now?"
He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "No, I've known for a while. But you're not just strong. You're… determined. Stubborn, even."
"Stubbornness is the only thing keeping me alive," Mia replied, her smirk fading.
Garrick's expression grew serious. "It's more than that. You've got fire, Mia. I've seen plenty of people break in this place, but not you. You're different."
Mia's chest tightened at his words, but she quickly masked her emotions with a shrug. "I don't have a choice. If I break, they win."
Garrick nodded, his dark eyes gleaming with a rare hint of admiration. "They won't win. Not with you here."
As the weeks passed, Mia and Garrick's bond deepened. They became each other's anchor in the endless grind of the dungeon, their whispered words a lifeline in the oppressive silence.
Mia found herself looking forward to their conversations, to the way Garrick's gruff voice softened when he spoke to her. She noticed the small ways he tried to protect her—the way he would subtly shift his wheel to take on more of the weight when he saw her struggling, or the way he would distract the guards with a sharp comment whenever they got too close to her.
In turn, Mia began to trust Garrick in ways she hadn't trusted anyone before. She shared her plans with him, her observations about the guards and the fortress. She told him about the loose stone near her wheel, about the guard who always left his keys within reach.
"You're playing a dangerous game," Garrick warned her one night.
Mia met his gaze, her green eyes steady. "It's the only game worth playing."
Garrick stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. "If you're serious about this, I'll help you."
Mia's breath caught in her throat. "Why?"
"Because you're right," he said simply. "This isn't living. And if anyone can get out of here, it's you."
Mia's growing strength didn't go unnoticed by the other prisoners. The men who had once ignored her now watched her with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Some even began to speak to her, their voices low and cautious as they shared bits of information about the fortress.
"She's got them all wrapped around her finger," one guard muttered to another as they patrolled the chamber.
"She's trouble," the other guard replied, his eyes narrowing as he watched Mia work. "We should've broken her by now."
But Mia paid them no mind. She kept her head down, her hands steady on the wheel, her mind racing with plans.
One evening, as the guards herded the prisoners back to their cells, Garrick leaned close to Mia.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the clinking of chains. "Meet me by the third wheel during the night shift. There's something I need to show you."
Mia nodded, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She didn't ask what he meant—she trusted him enough to know that whatever it was, it would be important.
That night, as the other prisoners drifted into uneasy sleep, Mia lay awake, her thoughts racing. She couldn't deny the strange pull she felt toward Garrick—the way his presence steadied her, the way his words gave her strength.
But she couldn't afford to let herself get distracted. Whatever bond they shared, whatever feelings were beginning to bloom between them, would have to wait.
For now, she had to focus on survival.
And if Garrick's plan could bring her one step closer to freedom, she would follow him into the dark.
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