Then a hand clamps over my mouth.
It’s firm and practiced, not gentle or cautious. The heel of a palm crushes my lips closed while fingers dig into my cheek. Another weight pins my shoulder, and I make a sharp, panicked sound that never makes it out of my throat.
My body reacts before my mind does. I thrash, knees coming up, nails scraping wildly at skin and leather. The sleeping platform creaks beneath us.
Someone hisses something low and urgent in a language I know too well now. “Keep her quiet.”
It’s not Crat'ax. He’s not even in here.
Fear detonates in my chest, hot and blinding. I bite down hard, teeth scraping skin. The hand jerks. Someone swears under his breath, then clamps tighter. My head is yanked back, exposing my throat, and the cool night air hits sweat-slick skin.
Shapes resolve in the dark. Cavemen. But not from this tribe.
Yellow stripes ghost pale in the low light, smeared across arms and chests. Adropo tribe.
My stomach drops through the floor before I actually see the floor move and a man puts his head up through a hole that looks like it was part of the design of the hut.
No, no, no?—
I twist harder, fighting like an animal, heels striking wood, elbows flailing. Fingers grab fistfuls of my hair. Pain flares bright and sharp along my scalp. I scream into the hand over my mouth, the sound muffled and useless.
Someone leans close to my ear.
“Be still,” a voice whispers. It’s rough, and it’s familiar. And somehow scarred.
Sprub’ex.
The betrayal hits harder than the fear. My vision tunnels, red at the edges. He was here. He helped build this hut. He stood beside us yesterday, watched Crat'ax work, watched me smile, watched me eat.
All the time, he was planning this.
My body is tipped, feet lifting, the world turning sideways. Cold air rushes up from below as the hidden opening yawns wider. Hands slide under my arms, lowering me down through the floor like cargo.
I kick blindly and connect with nothing but air.
Then I’m outside the hut, hanging between platform and water, the bay a black void beneath me. Iodine and algae sting my nose. I hear the soft slap of water against wood.
There are two canoes waiting.
I’m passed down into one of them, my weight jolting the narrow hull. Paddles dip immediately, smooth and silent. Someone wedges themselves behind me. Long legs bracket mine, and an arm locks across my chest. I spot faint purple stripes.
Sprub’ex again. I can smell him. Old oil, old blood, something sour beneath it.
I fight again. There’s no thinking now, only instinct. I thrash, arching, trying to twist free, clawing at the arm across me. Fingers dig into my throat. He’s not squeezing there yet, but close enough that I feel the promise of it.
“Don’t,” he breathes, almost pleading. “Don’t make this worse.”
Worse than what? I don’t stop, but there are limits to how much I can thrash around with no effect before it starts to feel useless.
The canoe glides away from the platform, faster now. Another Adropo man hisses a warning as the hull bumps lightly against the other canoe, keeping pace.
My heart pounds so hard I’m dizzy. The platform looms above us, dark and silent. Crat'ax’s hut. Our hut.
He’s not here. He doesn’t know what’s happening. And these guys are paddling right for the shadows.
Panic sharpens into something fierce and focused. If I don’t do something now, I won’t get another chance. I draw my knees up and slam my heel backward with everything I have. There’s a solid, unmistakable impact.
“Oof!”
