The far door had no handle.
The door behind us was locked.
At dawn, they would take us upstairs to Zenith Tower.
I looked at the word my mother had left for me, for anyone else who entered this room and needed it.
Survive.
“I am,” I whispered.
Caspian crouched beside me.
The line between us held.
So did the other two, somewhere beyond the walls.
49
My fingers stayed beside my mother’s word.
Caspian stayed beside me. He didn’t touch me or ask whether I was all right. Sensible boy. There were only so many lies a girl could be expected to invent in one night.
The letters of my mother’s initials were shallow. Survive was deeper, cut with more force and less care. I could imagine her hand slipping. I could imagine too much, which was the trouble with finding proof. Proof did not bring anyone back.
“I can’t believe she was here,” I said. “Locked in this room.”
Caspian leaned closer.
The bond moved when he did. Quieter than a flare and somehow more dangerous.
“She was,” he said. “And she left a message behind. And you found it.”
I couldn’t answer him. My throat was too tight. I closed my eyes for a moment, then looked up at him.
His hair had come loose at one side, one pale strand fallen forward from the formal neatness he had probably been taught to maintain under threat of institutional collapse. His mouth was set. His eyes were darker here, with no light to catch the blue out of them. He looked tired enough that I could see the boy under the training.
I wanted to touch him.
I touched the table instead.
“Everyone talks about how she died,” I said. “Even when they are not saying it, they are pointing at the end.”
“This is not the end. Not for us.”
He looked at the word again.
Survive.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Beyond the left wall, something struck wood. Once. Hard enough to carry.
My Mark answered before I did.
Green-gold pain cut through my wrist and caught under my breastbone.
“Kieran,” I said.
