“I’ll manage.”
He doesn’t look convinced. But he nods. “Which woman are we using?”
“Zephyr volunteered.”
He tenses—predictably. But he’s kind enough not to object. Always so considerate, my Thorne.
Lila sputters, choking on air. She draws my eyes, but Thorne stays pinned to me, waiting for me to confirm his lover’s fate.
I wasn’t lying. Zephyr offered. And it would be like her to steal away Sawyer Hansley, just for the sake of taking what’s mine.
She thinks I’m obsessed with him.
Sometimes, I’m scared that I am.
Lila flips onto her back. The cage rattles as her choking intensifies. Then gradually weakens.
It’s sick, but part of me is grateful for the distraction.
Her arms are awkwardly bent beneath her body as she finally silences. Thorne taps the desk.
“Are we sure it’s safe?” he asks, unable to wait any longer. “What if he hurts her?”
I huff. “Of course he’dhurt her. That’s the point.” I shake my head. “But that’s not… It’s not Zephyr. She’s too weak. His methods would probablyworkon her.”
“Then who?” He squints, no longer worried but curious.
I don’t answer. I just stare at him until he gets it, until his eyes bug, his shoulders slowly falling with dread. He points his stare at the sleeping pills, thevery illegalcontraband I had him sneak into the compound. For me.
“No,” he whispers.
This is going to be the biggest challenge of our relationship.
Yet some part of me, deep down … is excited.
CHAPTER 26
SAWYER
The air cools as I descend into the mines, wet stone breathing against my face. Every sound feels amplified—my own breath too loud, shoes scraping grit. My ears buzz, straining for anything that doesn’t belong to me. But there’s nothing.
No guns.
No Keepers.
No drones buzzing above my head.
And still… my steps are hesitant.
I’m not impulsive.
This feels impulsive.
What did the horn signal? How long will it hold the Keepers at the compound? How much time is required to get from here to the gap in the fence?
No answers. Just me and a stashed hiking bag strung over my shoulders. The bottom slaps the backs of my thighs as I creeppast three wheelbarrows sitting half-full, stone dust clinging like dried blood. A shovel lies discarded in the dirt and three pickaxes follow, dropped where hands must have let go all at once.
I pick up my pace and weave through the tunneled path in search of the money tucked within these walls. The candles thin as I go. Their light stretches and weakens until I lift one from its hook and carry it with me.
