Chain of Armor: Book 3 of The Black Chains

Mia's POV

The road had long since disappeared behind me.

I don’t remember when the pavement turned to gravel. Or when the gravel turned to dirt. Or when my shoes—one gone, the other barely holding on—stopped protecting my feet at all.

Every step burns.

Every breath feels like broken glass scraping through my lungs.

But I can’t stop.

Stopping means he finds me.

And if he finds me—

A sob claws its way up my throat, sharp and violent, but I force it back down. I bite it down hard enough that it hurts.

Noise is dangerous.

Noise gets me caught.

Keep moving.

The night presses in around me, thick and suffocating. There are no streetlights. No houses. Just shadows and trees and the distant hum of something mechanical—engines maybe.

Or maybe I’m finally losing it.

My legs give out.

I hit the ground hard, my hands slamming into dirt and gravel. I catch myself on instinct more than thought—but it’s wrong, too late, too clumsy.

Pain flashes instantly as skin splits, sharp and immediate across my palms, a hot sting that should’ve made me recoil.

But it barely registers.

Everything feels… far away.

Like I’m not fully inside my own body anymore.

My fingers twitch against the ground as I try to push myself up, but something in my right hand doesn’t respond right—too weak, too wrong. A deeper ache blooms fast beneath the surface, radiating up my wrist in a dull, worsening throb that tells me something more than just scraped skin happened when I landed.

I swallow hard, trying to focus, trying to move anyway.

Get up.

But when I press weight into that hand again, pain spikes so sharply my vision blinks white for half a second.

No—no, that’s not right.

I lift it slightly, shaking, barely able to curl my fingers.

Something’s wrong.

Sprained. Maybe worse.

The realization doesn’t fully land in words, just sensation—instability, weakness, pain that doesn’t match the injury I can see.

My breathing stutters.

But I force myself forward anyway.

Because stopping still isn’t an option.

Get up.

I force my arms to work. Force my body upright.

One step.

Then another.

My vision blurs, black creeping in at the edges. I blink hard, trying to clear it—but all I see is him.

The way his mouth twists when he’s angry.

The way his eyes go empty right before he hits me.

The sound—

No.

Don’t think about it.

I stumbled forward, and all I could taste was blood. My ribs scream, sharp and deep. Something is wrong there, more than bruising—but I don’t have time to stop and figure that out.

I don’t have time for anything except getting away.

Then I hear it again.

Engines.

Louder this time.

Real.

I lift my head slowly, like it weighs too much for my neck to hold.

And through the trees—

I see light.

Not soft.

It was not safe-looking. Not something you would choose to go towards.

Harsh. Bright. Flickering.

A building.

My heart slams so hard it makes me dizzy.

Terror hits first.

Because people mean questions.

Being found by him.

But then—

Something else hit me.

Hope.

Only a little bit, but it’s enough.

I push forward anyway, each step more unsteady than the last. The ground tilts beneath me—or maybe I’m the one tilting. Branches scratch at my arms, my face, pulling at my hair.

I don’t feel it.

Not really.

All I can see is the door.

Big. Metal.

Cracked open just enough to spill light and noise into the dark.

Laughter.

Music.

Men’s voices—low, rough, overlapping.

I step out of the trees and into the open.

The world spins.

There are shapes inside. Moving. Too many. I can’t make sense of them.

My heart is pounding so hard in my head.

Say something.

Ask for help.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes.

I try again, forcing air into my lungs, ignoring the tearing pain.

“Help—”

My voice cracks.

Someone turns.

A man. Broad shoulders. Near the door.

I take another step.

Then another.

My knee gives out.

I hit the ground hard, white exploding across my vision.

No. No, no, no—get up.

I claw at the dirt, dragging myself forward. The light feels farther away now, even though I know it isn’t.

“Help me,” I whisper, the words breaking apart into a sob.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Fast.

The door slams open wider.

“Hey—Guys!”

A voice. Deep. Sharp. Alert.

Boots hit the ground in front of me.

I try to push myself up and lift my head, but it won’t work. Everything is slipping. Fading.

Then—

Hands.

Strong.

Warm.

They catch me before I can collapse completely.

“Jesus—”

The voice is right above me now.

“Hey. Stay with me.”

I try to see him.

I really do.

But everything is blurred, smeared together. All I can make out is dark fabric—black leather stretched over a broad chest.

And there—

Something catches my eye.

A patch.

It flickers in and out of focus, but I catch pieces of it.

Worn around the edges.

Thick stitching, differnt from the other parts.

Words curved across the top.

Sergeant at Arms.

I don’t fully understand it.

Not really.

But something deep inside me does.

Authority.

Control.

Protection.

The one who steps in when things go wrong.

The one who doesn’t let things spiral.

The one who keeps people safe.

Safe.

The word hits me again.

Stronger this time.

My fingers move without thinking, curling weakly into his shirt—right over that patch.

Like it means something.

Like it has to mean something.

“Please,” I breathe.

“I’ve got you,” he says, his voice rough and certain. “You’re okay.”

No one has ever said that to me and meant it.

My body shakes once—hard, violent—like everything inside me is finally giving out.

“What happened to her?” someone demands behind him.

“Doesn’t matter right now,” he snaps. “Stacy!”

More footsteps.

Faster.

“On it,” a woman’s voice answers.

I try to hold on.

To his voice.

To the warmth of his hands.

To the solid, steady way he’s holding me like I won’t fall apart in his arms.

But it’s slipping.

All of it.

The darkness is pulling harder now.

“Stay with me,” he says again, closer this time.

Like, he can keep me here just by saying it.

I want to.

God, I want to.

But I’m so tired.

My grip loosens.

Not completely.

My fingers still cling weakly to his shirt, brushing over that patch like it’s the only real thing left in the world.

My head falls against his chest.

And for the first time in what feels like forever—

I stop fighting.

And I let go.

I come back in pieces.

Not all at once—never all at once. Just fragments. Sound before sight—pain before memory.

Voices drift in first.

“…too deep for just tonight—she needs stitches.”

“She’ll get ’em. Do what you can now.”

“Hold her still.”

My body tenses before I even understand why. Instinct. Fear. My heart starts racing, pounding so hard it makes my ribs scream in protest.

“No—” The word scrapes out of my throat before I can stop it.

Everything sharpens at once.

Light burns my eyes as they snap open. I gasp, trying to pull away, but hands are already on me—firm, steady, not letting me move.

Panic explodes.

“No, no, don’t—please—” My voice breaks into something ugly and desperate. “I’ll be quiet, I swear, I’ll stop—”

“Hey.”

The voice, female. Calm, but firm.

“Look at me.”

Safe.

The word floats somewhere just out of reach. Meaningless. Distant.

But I look anyway.

Her face comes into focus slowly—blonde hair pulled back, eyes sharp but kind, locked onto mine. There’s blood on her hands.

My blood.

I flinch.

“I know,” she murmurs, catching it. “I know it hurts. I need to clean this, okay?”

“No—” I try to pull my arm away, but it sends a bolt of pain straight through me. I choke on a cry.

“Easy,” she says. “Easy. I’ve got you.”

Hands tighten around my shoulders—strong, unyielding. Not trapping. Holding.

Grounding.

I freeze.

“Bree, keep her steady,” the woman adds without looking away from me.

Another presence shifts closer on my other side.

“Got her,” the other woman says quickly.

Her voice is different—lighter than the other woman’s, but focused now. No teasing. No joking. Just attention. Real attention.

A second set of hands comes in carefully, bracing my arm from underneath so it doesn’t move wrong again.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she says, softer now, like she’s trying to thread her voice through the panic instead of fighting it. “Just don’t jerk, okay? We’re just trying to help you.”

My breathing is still all wrong—too fast, too shallow, like my body forgot how to do it properly.

I shake my head slightly. “I can’t— I can’t—”

“I know,” she says immediately. “I know. Just stay with us for a second.”

The woman leans in again, closer this time, her expression steady.

“Look at me,” she repeats.

I do.

Because I don’t know what else to do.

Behind them, I hear movement—footsteps, heavier now, controlled but fast.

The man who caught me.

He’s there.

I feel him before I even see him.

That same grounding pressure I recognized before presses in at my back again, different from the women’s hands—stronger, anchoring in a way my body reacts to instinctively.

His voice drops low.

“Talk to me,” he says.

Not a command.

A tether.

I try to answer, but it comes out broken. “I—I can’t—my hand—”

“I know,” he says immediately, closer now. “I’ve got it.”

And then his hand is there—careful, warm, wrapping around my wrist where it’s shaking uncontrollably.

Not forcing.

Not restraining.

Just holding it still so it doesn’t hurt worse.

“I’ve got your hand,” he says again, quieter. “You’re not doing this alone.”

Something in my chest cracks open at that.

The first woman adjusts slightly, still holding my arm steady. “Okay, I’m gonna clean this now. It’s gonna sting a bit, but I’ll go slow.”

I shake my head weakly. “No—no, don’t—please!” Im begging between breaths.

“Hey,” He says immediately, voice cutting through the fear before it can build. “You’re safe. You hear me? I’m not going to hurt you.”

Safe.

That word again.

It doesn’t land all the way.

But it steadies something.

Just enough.

The woman starts working carefully, and I feel it before I see it—the sting, sharp and immediate—but this time, I don’t spiral alone into it.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” he says quietly, close enough that I feel it more than hear it.

My chest tightens.

I don’t believe him.

I want to.

That’s the problem.

The woman—Stacy, I think someone called her—starts working again. A wet cloth presses against my side.

Pain flares so sharply it steals the air from my lungs.

I gasp, back arching, hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto. The world tilts hard again, like it’s trying to rip itself out from under me, and my body reacts before my thoughts can catch up.

I find him.

My fingers twist into the front of his shirt before I can stop myself, clinging like he’s the only solid thing left in a place that keeps turning to chaos.

He doesn’t pull away.

Doesn’t even hesitate.

Instead, his hand comes up—slow, controlled—and gently wraps around my wrist where I’m gripping him, not forcing me off, not breaking my hold.

Just… guiding it.

Steadying it.

Like he’s reminding my body I don’t have to fight to stay upright anymore.

“Breathe,” he says, low and steady. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

His other arm shifts behind me, bracing my back, keeping me anchored when everything inside me wants to tip over. The pressure of his grip isn’t restrictive—it’s supportive, like he’s giving my body something to lean into instead of collapsing from.

I shake my head, tears spilling hot and fast down my temples. “I can’t—”

“Yeah, you can.” His grip shifts, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, holding me still but gentle. “In. Slow.”

I try.

God, I try.

The air stutters in, uneven and shaky, but it’s something.

“There you go,” he murmurs.

The cloth presses again—more pain. I whimper, grip tightening instinctively.

“I’m sorry,” Stacy says, not sounding sorry in the useless way people usually do. She sounds focused. Determined. “This needs to be cleaned, or it’ll get infected.”

“Infected…” The word feels distant. Unimportant.

None of this matters if he finds me.

The thought slams into me so hard it knocks the breath right back out of my lungs.

“He’s going to find me.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t—he’s going to—”

“No, he’s not.” The man’s voice cuts through mine, sharp and absolute.

I go still.

“No one’s finding you,” he continues, quieter now but no less certain. “Not here.”

My head turns slightly, just enough to try to see him.

It’s blurry at first. Too much light, too much movement. But then he comes into focus.

Dark eyes. Hard. Focused entirely on me. Jaw tight like he’s holding something back.

Anger.

Not at me.

For me.

I don’t understand it.

“Who did this?” someone else asks from somewhere in the room.

My stomach drops.

“No—” I shake my head weakly. “Don’t—please don’t say anything—”

“Easy,” the man says again, his thumb brushing just slightly against my hairline. The smallest movement, but it stills me instantly. “You don’t have to tell anyone anything right now.”

Right now.

That means later.

Panic flickers again.

Stacy presses something against my side—bandaging, I think. My mind is starting to drift, the edges of everything softening.

“You’ve got older bruising too,” she says, quieter now. Not really to me. “Different stages of healing.”

Silence answers her.

Heavy. Thick.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

I hate that she can see it.

Hate that anyone can.

“You’re okay,” he says again, softer this time.

I shake my head against him, barely moving. “No, I’m not.”

The truth sits heavy in my chest.

I’m not okay.

I haven’t been for a long time.

His hand stills for a second in my hair. Then—

“That’s gonna change.”

Something in his voice makes my eyes open again.

Not hope.

Something stronger.

Promise.

It terrifies me more than anything else.

Because promises can be broken.

And I don’t think I could survive that again.

“Please…” My voice is barely a whisper now, exhaustion dragging me under. “Don’t let him find me.”

His grip tightens just slightly, like he’s anchoring me there.

“He won’t,” he says.

No hesitation.

No doubt.

The room starts to fade again, voices blending, the pain dulling just enough for my body to start shutting down.

I don’t fight it this time.

Not as hard.

Because for the first time in a long time—

I’m not alone.

And just before everything goes dark, I realize something that should scare me more than it does.

I’m trusting a stranger.

And they don’t even know my name.