Live — With A Slave

She was standing in the corner of the kitchen, hands folded at her waist, eyes fixed on a spot six inches below his chin. Her name was Kessa. She wore a simple grey tunic with a silver cuff on her left wrist—the Mark of Servitude, legally mandated for all Registered Bonded Persons.

"The rules," she whispered. "Bonded staff eat below eye level of the Principal." live with a slave

Elias stood up. Walked to the kitchen drawer. Pulled out the bolt cutters his uncle had hidden there for "emergencies." She was standing in the corner of the

Elias tried to treat her like a roommate. "Please" and "thank you." He asked about her hobbies. She blinked, confused. "I don't have hobbies, sir. I have duties." He made them both dinner. She stood watching him cook, her hands twitching, as if every instinct told her to take the spatula away. When he handed her a plate, she dropped to her knees. He nearly choked. "The rules," she whispered

She stared at him. The silver cuff on her wrist began to beep—a low, warning tone. The House Monitors had heard the forbidden word: escape .

He broke a rule. A small one. He asked her real name.