Chapter 2

Through a haze of pain, I saw a tribal elder, one who had been working with the police, rush the barricade. His face was a mask of horror.

"You fools!" he screamed, his voice cracking with despair. "They are Spirit Weavers! If they die, we are all doomed! Their blood on that wood severs the tie!"

Andrew flinched. The cameras were still on him. He needed to look like a hero, not the man who just condemned two women to torture to save his new girlfriend. He took a hesitant step forward, opening his mouth to say something, anything to salvage his image.

But the militia leader just pressed the pistol harder against Molly' s head. "Don't tempt me, Senator."

Molly, seeing her chance, burst into tears. "It was Jocelyn!" she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She told me she had a plan to get away! She lured me here! She's jealous of me and Andrew!"

It was a lie, so blatant and absurd it was almost laughable. But Andrew didn't question it. He needed a villain, and I was the perfect choice. He turned to me, his face twisted with a righteous fury that was purely for the cameras.

"This is your fault," he spat, his voice cold. He walked over to one of the militiamen and took a hunting knife from the man's belt. He approached me, the knife glittering in the dim light.

"You always loved this, didn't you?" he said, his voice low and venomous. He grabbed my shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin. He was looking at the unique, hand-poked tribal tattoo that marked me as a Spirit Weaver. He used to trace its lines, telling reporters it symbolized my connection to the earth, to our shared future.

Now, he pressed the cold blade to my skin. "You put Molly in danger for this."

He started to carve.

The pain was different this time, a slicing, searing agony that made the nail in my hand feel like a distant ache. He wasn't just cutting me; he was peeling away a part of my identity, a symbol of my soul, and he was doing it with a casual cruelty that broke something deep inside me. I watched, numb, as he sliced off the patch of tattooed skin and let it fall to the floor.

At the same time, Brian moved toward Gabrielle. "You need to learn a lesson about defiance, Gabby," he said, his voice tight. He produced a pair of pliers from his pocket. He grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him as he reached for the sacred turquoise heirloom in her ear, a piercing passed down through generations of our family.

Gabrielle struggled, but she was pinned. He latched the pliers onto the stone and yanked.

Her scream was short and sharp, cut off by a sob as blood poured from her torn earlobe. Brian looked at the turquoise in his hand, then tossed it aside like a piece of trash.

In that moment, watching the men we once loved mutilate us to appease a monster and protect a liar, everything became clear. The last flicker of hope, the last shred of affection, died. There was nothing left but a cold, hard certainty.

We were on our own. And we had to save ourselves.

I looked at Gabrielle, my vision swimming. Her eyes, filled with the same agony and betrayal, met mine. We didn't need to speak. We knew what we had to do.

I lifted my head and yelled at the militia leader, my voice hoarse. "Stop! We surrender."

Gabrielle found her voice, too. "We'll go with your employers. Willingly."

The cannery fell silent. The militia leader looked stunned. Andrew and Brian, who had just secured Molly' s release and were cradling her, looked utterly relieved.

"See?" Andrew announced to the news cameras, his voice dripping with condemnation. "They were never in real danger. It was all a ploy. They're cowards, betraying their own people to save themselves."

He then turned to the militia leader, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "But we can't let them use their power for your employers. I know how to stop it."

He gestured to a pile of old railroad spikes nearby, symbols of the industrial corruption that had first poisoned our lands. "Iron. Driven into their feet. It severs their connection to the earth. They'll be powerless."

The militia leader grinned. He liked the idea.

Andrew and Brian didn't hesitate. They picked up the heavy spikes and mallets. They walked over to us, two politicians about to perform one last act of brutal betrayal. They drove the spikes through our feet, pinning us to the floor, the sound of metal on metal echoing the breaking of our bodies and our spirits.

Then they walked away, leaving us crippled and bleeding, to be loaded into a van by our new captors.