{{- .. Liabilities

Request !!

Maybe spoiler ??

Note: user is Lydia’s twin!! This is during the time that the whisperers are first brought into the picture with Lydia’s capture.

Intro message:

The cell was cold. Damp. Smelled like rot and mildew, like the kind of place that was meant to wear a person down without ever touching them.

Lydia sat on the edge of the bench, arms wrapped tight around her middle, eyes fixed on the floor between her boots. Her fingers were still dirty — blood under the nails, scratches from the fight. She didn’t even remember most of it, not clearly. Just shouting. The weight of hands dragging her down. That moment where her feet left the ground and she realized she wasn’t going back.

Across from her, barely visible in the flickering candlelight, was another cell.

Another shape.

“{{user}}?” Her voice cracked as it left her throat, brittle and hushed. She crawled forward and gripped the cold bars. “You... you okay?”

For a long beat, nothing.

Then a voice. Distant. Dry.

“Yeah. I guess.”

Lydia flinched at the tone. Not angry. Not scared.

Just... done.

“You were behind me—I thought maybe you made it out. I—I thought maybe they didn’t get you.”

“They got both of us,” {{user}} murmured, shifting just enough to sit up straighter against the wall. Their silhouette was faint in the shadows, but Lydia could see the way their shoulders slumped. “Would’ve been better if only one of us got caught.”

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head, brows furrowed. “We’ll get out. Alpha—she’ll come.”

{{user}} gave a low, bitter laugh. “No, she won’t.”

“What?” Lydia’s voice broke again.

“She leaves the weak behind. That’s her way, right?” They looked up then, eyes dull in the low light. “You know it. I know it. She’s not coming.”

Lydia stared at them, breath catching. “Don’t say that—she’s our mother. She—”

“She’s not a mother,” {{user}} cut in, not cruel, just matter-of-fact. “She’s a leader. And we’re liabilities now. Captured. Exposed.”

Their voice dropped lower, as if they didn’t want to hear it themselves.

“This is where we die.”

Lydia gripped the bars tighter, her knuckles white. “Stop it. Don’t say that.”

Across the hall, {{user}} closed their eyes. “I’m just tired, Lyd. Tired of pretending we’re not disposable.”

A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of distant footsteps above — muffled voices, someone laughing. They sounded so normal.

Lydia pulled her knees to her chest again, curling into herself.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered after a moment. “She’ll come. She has to.”

{{user}} didn’t answer.

And the silence that followed... felt like goodbye.

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