Chapter Text
Zahra al Ghul would say that she is used to screams. She had to be, growing up in the league of assassins. She had heard screams of fear, of pain, of grief for fallen comrades, but she had never heard the kind of screams that emanated from Mother’s chambers for the past three days and three nights seemingly without rest.
“Bruce! Br-Bruce! Dad! B!”
The sound of it made something freeze inside Zahra every time she heard it. It was crippling and strangely… resonant.
Zahra again noticed and felt a strange kinship with the unknown individual who never ceased screaming as she hurried by Mother’s chambers. She mentally shook herself. She had other things to do besides muse on whatever project Mother was working on now.
Zahra silently crept along in the shadows, hoping no one would notice her as she made her way down to the deepest parts of Grandfather’s compound. She did not want any evidence that she was doing something she was expressly warned away from. Disobedience hurt.
She stopped in front of a cell door labeled E23. The cells were usually used to hold prisoners or Grandfather’s dissenters. However, on occasion they would be used for training new assassins to withstand conditions their enemies may foist upon them, should they be held captive.
Zahra picked the lock on the heavy wooden door and opened it, wincing as the hinges creaked.
The cell was small and dark, with dirt floors that smelled of mildew. A little boy lay on the floor. He lifted his head, blinking at the light from the corridor. His hands trembled, but resolutely shaped themselves into fists.
“It’s me, little brother,” Zahra whispered, shutting the door behind her.
Zahra’s younger brother, thin, too thin, Zahra fretted, opened his cracked and bleeding lips to hoarsely choke out, “Water.”
Zahra scrambled for the thermos she packed away, handing it to him. He snatched it from her hands and drank greedily, spilling some down his front. As her little brother cherished the feeling of cool water sliding down his throat, Zahra unpacked a tin of plain rice. When his attention drifted from the water towards the food, Zahra gave him a spoon and said, “Eat slowly this time, Damian. Throwing up will do you no good.” Not to mention it would be horribly suspicious if someone discovered it. It had been too long since Damian had been given food for him to have any in his stomach to throw up.
Damian nodded, reaching for the food. Zahra gave him a fond smile and nudged the tin closer to him. Once the thermos was emptied and the tin held no more grains of rice, Zahra began packing them away.
“You only have a week left of starvation training,” Zahra said, breaking the silence. “I overheard Mother and Grandfather speaking about it this morning.”
"I suppose they wish for me to finish my acclimation training soon, so that I may take up my duties beside Grandfather post haste," Damian said, but it sounded flat even to Zahra's ears.
"I'm sure Mother and Grandfather will be overjoyed with your progress. I know I am." Zahra brushed Damian's hair from his face. Damian's mouth ticked up into a slight smile. The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, making Zahra tense. Thankfully, they continued past Damian's cell.
"I should go now," Zahra said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I will be back tomorrow, little brother."
Damian's face fell, but he nodded all the same. "Tomorrow."
Zahra turned away, trying not to dwell on Damian's obvious distress. As she slipped back into the corridor, she steeled her face. Crying was a weakness she could not indulge in. It was unbecoming of an al Ghul.
Zahra sneaked back into her quarters, no one any the wiser about her absence, not knowing the changes the morning would bring.