“Is there a problem here?” The weird thing is, the Matron is looking at Jasina. Not me.
“Why would there be a problem?” I am, however, the one who answers.
The Matron drags her poisoned gaze away from Jasina and directs it where it should’ve been all along. Is that…contemptI see in those eyes? And actually, do they have the same eyes?
“What is your name?” I ask the old woman.
She presses her lips together and huffs air through her nose. “Matron Bell.”
“Bell?” I smile at the creamy-thighed girl across the table from me, raising my eyebrows. “As in Jasina Bell?”
“My niece.”
“Your aunt?”
Jasina shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.
“Well, Auntie Bell, I hate to disappoint you, but things are just fine.”
Matron Bell, however, flat-out ignores me. “Come along, Jasina. Your time is up.”
I stand up, point at Mitchell—who is watching this whole exchange, since that’s his job—and he comes over. “What’s up?”
“I’m not done here.” I nod my head towards Jasina. “Can you escort Matron Bell a suitable distance away so this Little Sister and I might finish our conversation?”
Mitch’s eyes are dancing, his brows up. He really wants to ask me what the fuck is happening here, but deep down, he’s a professional. So he doesn’t. Instead, he bows to me. “Yes, Extraction Master.” Then he turns to the Matron, grabs her hand, and hooks it on his arm as he turns her around. “Have I ever told you the story of how I became the Extraction Master’s valet, Matron Bell?”
I wait until he’s a good distance down the center aisle—which is plenty of time for Matron Bell to shoot me not one, but two death glares—before sitting back down at the table.
“Now, where were we?” I look at Jasina. “You were in my quarters.”
She stares right back at me. “Your fingers were between my legs.”
Ohhh. She wants to play, does she? “You found a secret passage.”
“You have a Looking Glass.”
My eyes narrow. “What do you know about it?”
She shrugs up one shoulder. “Nothing. Not really. I was shown something similar in the Matron Tower. But it’s… well, completely different, actually.”
“You’re a spy.”
“I’m the Rebellion.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Why haven’t you told your bodyguard about it?”
“I asked you first.”
“Fine.” She draws in a deep breath. “Because I don’t think you want to do this. I think, given the chance, you’d be on our side. I think you regret—deeply—the fact that you sent Clara into that tower. And I think, if you had a choice, you would not be Extraction Master.”
“So you think I’ll take your side?”
She huffs. “Which side would that be?”
“You tell me. You’re the rebel.”
