Not this again.
I tighten my hold on the knife’s handle, waiting for him to get close. If I can get past these doors, maybe I can find Cole. He told me to stay put, but does he even know what they’re doing to me down here? Can I even trust him anymore?
The man stoops and grabs my hair, tilting my head to the side.
“No,” I croak out, my throat rough and pulsing with the pain of my infection.
He scoffs, squirting a bit of the liquid out of the syringe. It splashes on my skin, and my body moves of its own accord, taking out the knife and shoving it down into his shin. Almost immediately I drop it, my hands shaking after I stain them with tendrils of his blood.
“Fuckingbitch!” he cries out, his grip on my hair loosening. My legs barely cooperate as I push off the ground and stagger toward the door. My fingers fumble with the latch, slick with sweat.
But the second I wrench it open, hope dies in my throat.
Someone else is here, hidden in the shadows of the hallway beyond my cage. We briefly make eye contact, and I see his expression. There’s no surprise there, as if he’s been expecting this. As if he’s been expectingme. He grabs me before I can even think to scream, his arms wrapping around my waist and hauling me back inside.
It’s pointless. Pointless. Pointless.
I can never get away.
“If you let this weak-ass girl stab you and run, you really shouldn’t be on this job.”
“Shut the fuck up,” the man I stabbed says, hissing in pain. “Bring her here.”
I fight against his grip as best I can, but I know it will just be another lost fight.
My body gives out, and I feel the pinch of the syringe somewhere in my neck before the fight drains from me completely. I want to curl up in a ball and cry, like I always do after they inject me. Only this time, I can’t. For the first time, I’m draggedoutof the room like a fish out of water, granting me my wish. But this is far,farfrom how I wanted things to play out. I’m terrified of what—or who—might be waiting for me outside.
Low voices hum around me, silhouettes in red robes walking the dimly lit hallway. I’m dragged through a maze of long, cold corridors with a faint smell of church incense, then hauled up a bunch of stairs. Up and up we go, and more light—and fresh air—welcomes me.
Then I’m in a large, modern room with open windows overlooking a town. It looks pristine, a stark contrast to the dark basement where they’ve been keeping me. I’m placed into a soft armchair, my feet tingling from the change in temperature. It’s so warm in here.
“Do anything stupid, and we’ll throw you right back into the basement. Understand?”
I think I nod faintly, but I’m not sure. Behind me, heavy footsteps walk in—not just a pair, but many, enough to make me wish I’d used that knife on myself instead. Tears streak my now-warm cheeks. A hand slips beneath my chin, but I keep my eyes closed.
“What is this?” a stern voice asks in front of me. “Why is she this weak?”
There’s some shuffling behind me before someone says, “Someone probably gave her an extra shot…”
The hand under my chin retracts so abruptly that I have to keep myself from falling forward. And just then, just when my eyes glance aimlessly for a brief second—I see him.
My brother stands upright, wearing the same long crimson cloak I’ve seen on others, his buzz-cut hair and eye scar the same as when I last saw him.
So it was all real, then.
I look at him, but his gaze is trained ahead—void of any emotion, still, and unbothered. He doesn’t seem to care that I’m here, that I’m hurting so much. My heart feels like someone pulled it out of my chest, and I whimper in pain, with my aching throat and all.
“C-Cole,” I say, my voice broken.
An even sharper pain spreads across my face when the heavy back of a palm hits my cheek. My head twists to the side, hair sticking to my wet face, obstructing my vision. I look into the void, shocked, but the adrenaline makes me come to my senses quickly.
“No one asked you to speak.”
A low hum of approval rumbles from the man in front of me. I look down at his expensive shoes and the crimson cloak that covers half of them. Swallowing, I force myself to glare higher, tracing his body until I have to crane my neck to see his face. A white mask hides it, save for the two holes showing his ashy green eyes. Not as bright as Rowan’s, but muted, like they’re mixed with gray specs of dust.
Where have I seen them before?
There’s nothing warm about them—just a cold stare that makes my skin crawl, a stare that pins me in place, making sure I know exactly who holds the power in this room. He watches me in eerie silence and I watch him back, completely oblivious to who he is and what he wants from me.
