“I know.” Something clatters through our hole.
“What this?” I reach into the crack, pulling out a metal shard. In the dim light from under the door, I can see it’s part of a broken buckle sharpened to a crude point.
“The woman who empties our waste buckets left this for me,” he explains.
“Kier, you should keep this. You might need?—”
“No,” he cuts me off. “You take it. When they come for you, you’ll know what to do.”
I finger the sharp tip, testing its strength. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously. If anyone asks, tell them I gave you flowers and chocolates instead.”
I almost smile. He’s given me his only weapon, his one advantage in this hellhole, without hesitation. That he cares enough about my safety to leave himself defenseless catches me off guard. Something warm and unexpected unfurls in my chest. When was the last time someone put my wellbeing before their own? I can’t remember.
The chaos in the corridor continues for hours. Guards rushing back and forth, radios crackling with contradictory orders. Some guards seem to be abandoning their posts entirely, while others argue about duties and chains of command.
Through it all, Kier and I wait, looking for our opportunity to strike. But luck isn’t with us. The facility may be in disarray, but our cells remain locked, our silver restraints still burning against our skin.
As the hours pass, the chaos gradually subsides. It seems someone has taken control.
“Have they left us?” I ask Kier, who’s still working on the stone next to my head. He stops scratching.
“No. It sounds like someone’s taken control again.”
“Damn.”
Whatever routine may have existed is now gone, and mealtime passes without any sign of the woman who usually comes to feed us.
I manage to doze fitfully, exhaustion finally overcoming adrenaline. When I wake, there’s a shadow under my door.
Fuck.
I slip the metal piece into my pocket, settling back against the wall.
Keys jingle, the lock turns and my door swings open to reveal three figures silhouetted against the dim corridor lighting.
I stiffen as a familiar scent touches my nostrils.
Zella.
She steps into my cell, her blonde hair catching the light from the corridor. I glare up at her, hating the way her blue eyes gleam with cold satisfaction. She’s dressed in combat gear—black tactical pants, a fitted jacket, silver weapons gleaming at her hip and thigh. She looks every inch the warrior she’d pretended to be in Shadowmist, except now that facade has been stripped away to reveal the predator underneath.
Bitch.
Behind her stand two guards I don’t recognize. Larger than the usual facility staff, with the controlled movements of elite soldiers rather than prison workers. They carry themselves differently, and there’s a sweet sickness to their scent that wrinkles my nose.
They’re no normal wolves. There’s something not right with them.
“Lithia,” Zella greets, smiling pleasantly. “Enjoying the accommodations?”
I want to rip her throat out. The silver restraints prevent me from even standing, but the wolf in me snarls and paces, desperate to tear into the woman who betrayed everything we’d offered her.
“Like a fucking plague.” I force myself to meet her gaze, refusing to show the rage that threatens to overwhelm me. “Come to finish what you started?”
She chuckles, walking around my cell. “Not quite. I came because Thaddeus is dead, and someone needs to continue our important work.”
I bite my tongue to keep from asking what that work is. I know it’ll niggle her more if I give her nothing.
