“Yes. They keep her deep in the mine somewhere. She’s alive but sick. They tell Prudence that cooperation will earn her daughter better medical care. She does what she has to, to keep her daughter alive.”
“Bastards.” The venom in her voice could strip paint. “How do you know all this?”
“I’ve been in her mind.”
“What?”
“Not intentionally.” I shift position, uncomfortable with the admission. “One day they brought Prudence to my cell, and when she touched me to show me my fears, something… broke open. In both of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“The barriers between our minds. I wasn’t seeing my own nightmares—I was seeing hers. Her memories. Her pain.” The memory still makes me sick. “I saw her daughter, Meg. Saw the moment they told Prudence that Meg was sick and needed treatment. Saw how they used that love to turn her into a weapon.”
“Are you a seer as well?”
“Not that I know of.” I turn her hand over, tracing the lines of her palm. “But the mind does strange things when it’s pushed past its breaking point.”
“Has it happened again?”
“A few times. Brief flashes when she’s working on someone nearby. I feel her guilt, her self-hatred. That’s how I know she means it when she apologizes. The pain in her mind when she hurts people—it’s almost worse than what she shows them.”
Lithia processes this. “Could I do it too?”
“Maybe. If you’re desperate enough.” I press my palm to hers, relishing the heat. “I don’t recommend trying. It nearly shattered what was left of my sanity.”
“How did you do it?”
I’m silent as I try to find the words to explain. “I guess the best description would be that I didn’t fight the connection. It was my fifth session in three days and I just… gave up. When it started, I could see it all playing out before me, every sickened second. But instead of participating in the scene, it was like I was floating above it. As it continued, I noticed a weird pull from one side of the vision. When I followed it back to its source, that’s when I found myself in Prudence’s mind.”
I swallow, remembering her thoughts. “To do what she does isn’t just about unlocking our fears–it requires her to experience her own. There’s a cost to everything.”
Lithia’s grip tightens on my hand. “Do you think I could break through?”
“If you don’t, you’ll be forced to endure whatever hell she shows you, just like everyone else.”
I hear Lithia inhale sharply. “Does it get easier?”
“Never. Each time is worse than the last.”
“How much worse?”
I search for the words to describe the horror. “They’ll use what they learned from the first session. Your fears about losing people you care about—they’ll build on that. Make it more specific, more personal. Lithia.” I squeeze her hand. “I’ve been here three years. I know how this works. If you fight too hard, they’ll continue to bring in Prudence or use other means to gather information until they can manipulate you. But if you give them small things—non-critical information, stuff that won’t hurt your pack—they’ll think they’re making progress.”
“It’s not in my nature to roll over.” She’s quiet for a long moment. “What kind of small things?”
“Personal details. Your favorite color. What you like to eat. Names of wolves who aren’t in positions of strategic importance.” I squeeze her hand. “Things that sound valuable but aren’t actually useful.”
“And if they want more than that?”
“Then you give them a little more. But never the important stuff. Never anything that could genuinely harm your pack.”
“You’ve done this?”
“Many times. The key is making them feel like they’re winning while never giving them anything that actually matters.”
“What have you given them?”
The question catches me off guard. “Nothing important,” I say finally.
