He lets out a little laugh that’s got no humor to it. “I figured you’d never want to leave this place after all the time and effortyou’ve put into working for the district. All that legacy bullshit your dad’s been banging on about for most of our lives.”
I shake my head, staring from the pile of bodies in front of me to the people trapped in place as living statues. There’s so much rotten in this city, I’m not sure there are any parts that can be saved.
“None of it means anything,” I say. “All the legacy shit has always just been a way for the great Lucien Nightshade to continue to feel powerful without having to put in any of the work. If we—” I swallow hard and find I can’t continue. If we lose Silver because I was too stubborn to get the fuck out of dodge before it was too late, I’m never going to forgive myself.
I can’t even say the words aloud, though. Can’t risk putting any of that shit into the universe.
“It’s all been someone else’s dream, not mine.”
I don’t even know what my dream could be. I’m pretty sure it involves two unique eyes that look like starbursts and which make my breath catch and my heart pound.
“Last time you guys tried rescuing Silver from the judiciary, it didn’t go so well,” Ro points out.
“Only because she’d done a damn good of saving herself. I don’t think that’s going to happen this time, though. We’re going to need a plan, and fast.”
27
Silver
The cells haven’t changed a bit in the decade since I last saw them. Same windowless rooms. Same harsh fluorescent lighting that’s not even dimmed in the middle of the night. No way to tell what time of day it is, or how long I’ve been stuck inside.
Same leering asshole guards making comments that make me want to punch them in the teeth. Although, when I was a kid, they were more gleeful about how monstrous I was and how I was going to be put down like a dog. These days, they’re more sexual. Offering their pencil dicks for one last fuck before...
Before something.
I haven’t quite worked that part out yet. I don’t exactly know why I’m here. All I know is Simpson’s convinced he’s going to use me as his little pet, and he’s the one that ensured I was shoved into this cell.
I’m doubtful they’re gonna take me out of here in a body bag. Not this time. Instead, I’ll likely get dragged out as his little necromancer toy, or when he decides that he’s curbed his impulses for long enough and he wants to use me as his personal blood bank.
A shiver of pure horror goes through me.
Nope. Not thinking about that. If I think about all the reasons I’m here and what might happen next, I’m going to lose my damn mind and spiral into panic.
And that won’t help anyone.
Instead, I focus on daydreaming about the cell door opening and me blasting a fireball right in the guard’s faces. Burn their stupid eyebrows clean off their faces.
Hanna would approve.
I huddle further into the corner, wrapping the scratchy blanket around my knees. There’s not a lot in here. A small cot that crinkles when you sit on it thanks to the plastic sheeting, a toilet in the corner, but no sink.
The cell is barely big enough to fit the bed. It hits solid wall on three sides and I have to keep my eyes downcast so I don’t focus on how fuckingtrappedI feel right now.
At least last time, I was in a slightly bigger cell since it was one designed for multiple occupants.
