Chapter 5 #2
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.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”
I can hear her frustrated sigh. “We’re supposed to be in this together, aren’t we? Partners in survival?”
“Partners don’t always share everything.”
“Bull. Partners trust each other.”
The word “trust” hangs between us like a challenge. Trust. When was the last time I trusted anyone? When was the last time anyone trusted me enough to risk their life alongside mine?
“Trust has to be earned,” I tell her.
She lets go of my hand, shifting back. “Good to know where I stand.”
Fuck.
“I was looking for someone,” I say finally. “A bear seer. A teenage girl named Adelaide. Her parents hired me to find her after she was kidnapped.”
“Hired?”
“I track people. It’s what I do.” I shift position, my knees protesting against the stone floor. “Was what I did, I guess I should say. Finding Adelaide led me to a whole network of trafficking.”
“Thaddeus?”
“And others like him. They collect anyone they think might be useful to their purposes. “
“Did you find her? Adelaide?”
My throat tightens. “Yeah. I found her.”
“But?”
“Not in time.” The familiar weight of failure settles on my chest. “They’d moved her an hour after I got captured.”
Lithia’s grip on my hand tightens. “I’m sorry.”
“I should have acted quicker. Should have called for backup instead of trying to be a hero.”
“You tried to save a child.”
“Doesn’t matter if you fail.”
“Doing what’s right always matters.” Her voice is firm, certain. “Even when you fail. Especially when you fail.”
I want to argue with her, but don’t have it in me to protest actions that happened so long ago.
“What about you?” I ask. “You’re a smart wolf. Why are you blaming yourself for being in here?” I can smell the bitter shame-scent of her guilt.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“How?” I hear her move, shuffling away from the wall. “Talk to me, Lithia. What’s eating at you?”
For a moment, I think she’s going to shut down completely. Then she takes a shaky breath.
“I was supposed to protect my Alpha Female. She was taken because I failed to see the threat.”
“Which was?”
“Zella. A fellow wolf.”
I wince. “Pack or friend?”
“Both.” Her voice hardens. “For five years she was in our pack. For five years I trusted her. I never saw what she really was.”
“Sounds like she was good at hiding her true self.”
“No, it’s because I was arrogant. I thought I could read people. I assumed my instincts were foolproof.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Turns out I’m about as perceptive as a rock.”
“So you’re blaming yourself for not being psychic?”
“I’m blaming myself for failing in my duty. Kitara, the Alpha Female, trusted me to protect her. My Alpha, Ryker, trusted me. I couldn’t protect her from the person sitting at our own dinner table.”
The pain in her voice is raw, deep.
“Where is she now? Your Alpha Female?”
“I don’t know.” The admission seems to physically hurt her. “They caught her. We were together for a little while then they separated us. For all I know, she’s dead.”
“But you don’t think she is.”
Her voice lifts slightly, surprised. “What makes you say that?”
“Because if you thought she was dead, you would have given up by now. You’re fighting to get back to her, which means you believe she’s still alive.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “You’re right. I can’t feel her through our pack bonds—the silver disrupts that—but something inside me says she’s still breathing.”
“Why?”
Lithia’s silent so long I assume she’s not going to tell me. It’s a surprise when she finally speaks.
“Kitara is a seer.”
I close my eyes. “Which is why they want her here.”
“Yeah.”
I pull my arm out of the hole, shaking it out as I rotate to slip my other through. There’s an ache in my shoulders and neck, but I’m so desperate for more of her touch that I’d rather die than not have my hand out and ready for when she next wants to touch me.
“Then hold on to what you know. They crave seers. Kitara is useful to them. Whatever instincts you think failed you before, they’re telling you she’s alive now.”
“What if I’m wrong?”
“What if you’re right?”
I jump when her thumb absently strokes along my knuckles.
“How do you do it?” she asks suddenly.
“Do what?”
“Stay sane. You’ve been here three years, Kier. Three years of this hell, and you’re still fighting. How?”
The question cuts deeper than any torture they’ve put me through. Because the truth is, I haven’t been sane. Not really. The voices, the hallucinations, the conversations with dead people—I’ve been teetering between madness and sanity for longer than I know.
I assume I’ve been here three years. But for all I know it could be longer.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “Maybe this is just an elaborate shared delusion.”
“That’s a cheerful thought.”
We fall into comfortable silence, her hand warm in mine.
The distant sound of the corridor door opening reaches us—the soft scrape of metal on stone that signals the beginning of morning rounds.
“Someone’s coming,” I murmur.
Lithia’s fingers tighten around mine for a moment before reluctantly letting go. “Guards?”
“Yes, one with the bucket woman,” I say, withdrawing my arm from the hole and adjusting my position. “She comes twice a day.”
“The one who never speaks?”
“That’s her.”
The footsteps draw closer—light, hesitant steps that lack the confident stride of the guards. They pause outside my cell, followed by the familiar jingle of keys.
The lock turns, and the door swings open. She enters, small and hunched, moving with cautious efficiency. Today she carries not just the replacement bucket but also a small tray with what passes for breakfast in this hellhole—a bowl of thin gruel and a cup of water.
I remain still, pressed against the wall opposite the door, my head down in the non-threatening posture I’ve perfected over the years. Through lowered lashes, I watch her.
She sets the tray down near my sleeping pallet, then moves to exchange the waste bucket. As she lifts the old one, her eyes widen slightly at the stone fragments and bloody debris inside. Her gaze flicks to me, then to the wall I share with Lithia.
For one heart-stopping moment, I think she’ll raise the alarm.
Instead, she makes a small adjustment to her movements, tilting the bucket slightly to shield its contents from the view of anyone who might be watching through the door’s observation slot.
With practiced motions, she transfers the bucket’s contents to a larger container on her cart, making sure the stones are buried beneath other waste.
As she places the clean bucket in the corner, she pauses. Without looking directly at me, she reaches into her pocket and places something small beside the food tray. Then she’s gone, the door closing and locking behind her.
I wait until I hear her enter Lithia’s cell before moving. The object she left is a scrap of cloth, wrapped around something solid. I unfold it carefully to reveal a small piece of metal—part of a broken buckle or clasp, its edge sharpened to a crude point.
A tool. A weapon, even.
She’s left me small gifts before. An extra piece of bread. A cloth to clean wounds. Never anything this obvious though.
The voices in my head begin to speak.
Could be a trap.
Could be a chance.
Could be escape.
Could be a test.
Could be…
Could be…
I carefully hide the metal shard in a crack in the wall near my sleeping area.
She might be our way out of here.
I can hear the scrape of Lithia’s spoon as she eats her gruel.
“This is disgusting.”
I huff out a laugh, picking up my own meal. “You get used to it. Mostly.”
“I need to get out of here,” she says after a moment. “My Alpha needs me. My pack needs me.”
I need you.
I push my food around, watching the muck congeal into a weird grey lump. “If we’re going to escape we need to do it together. Better odds than going solo.”
She’s quiet. “That makes sense. How do you think we should do it?”
“I’m not sure yet. But between the two of us, we’ll work out something.”
“We better.” I hear her place her tray on the ground. “’Cause I think the meals might be what breaks me.”