Chapter 14 #2
Ana flinched at the hatred in my tone, her whole body recoiling as if I'd physically struck her.
But then her eyes met mine—those deep brown eyes that had seen too much, endured too much—and I saw empathy swimming in their depths, mixed with a profound sadness that seemed to age her beyond her years. "It could have been worse."
The quiet certainty in those five words deflated some of my. The implication hung heavy between us, unspoken but understood. I wondered how much horror this girl had witnessed during her time here. What atrocities had she seen that made a murder and kidnapping seem like mercy by comparison?
"Where are we exactly?" I changed my tactics, forcing my voice into something calmer, more controlled. Anger wouldn't get me answers. I needed intel if I planned to escape.
"I don't know the name of this place, but it's an island off the coast of Florida." Her voice carried the flat affect of someone reciting facts they'd long since stopped questioning.
An island off Florida. My mind immediately started cataloging possibilities, distances, escape routes.
The Keys stretched out in a chain, some close enough to the mainland that you could practically spit the distance, others farther out where the Gulf met the Atlantic.
Then there were the barrier islands—some barely a mile offshore, others several miles out in deeper water.
I didn't know which one we were on, and that made all the difference.
A strong swimmer could make a mile, maybe two, in calm conditions.
I'd grown up near the ocean, done open water swims before, back when I had time for that sort of thing.
Three miles or more? In unknown currents, with no gear?
That was a death sentence. The Gulf Stream could sweep you out to sea before you made it halfway.
Sharks, hypothermia, exhaustion—pick your poison.
Still, I filed the information away. If I could figure out exactly where we were, if I could get to a beach, if the conditions were right.... It was a lot of ifs. But it was something. More than I'd had five minutes ago.
"How long have you been here, Ana?" I asked, watching as she gestured toward the tray with a delicate sweep of her hand and slid a chair out for me to sit, the legs scraping softly against the polished hardwood.
I complied, sinking into the cushioned seat as my stomach rumbled too loudly to ignore any longer.
"I don't know for sure. A couple of years.
" The words sounded resigned and hollow, as if she'd long ago stopped counting the days.
Her shoulders sagged. "My brother Sebastian is here too.
My sister Merri was taken as well, but we don't know where she is.
" A tremor ran through her voice when she mentioned her sister.
"Other than the Master...." A bitter taste coated my tongue as I said the words, the title leaving a residue of disgust in my mouth like I'd bitten into something rotten.
"Are you the only one here other than the cat aliens and soldiers?
" I needed to know the full scope of this place.
How many prisoners, how many guards, what the odds looked like stacked against me.
I might only be a second-grade teacher, someone others might see as woefully inept to plan a daring escape.
But anyone who'd spent any time shut up in a cramped classroom with twenty or more energetic, unpredictable seven-year-olds understood just how varied and adaptable my skill set truly was.
Ana shook her head sadly, the movement slow and weighted with sorrow. "There are others too... always others, but they don't stay long until the Trogvyk take them away." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might draw unwanted attention.
"Take them away to where?" I pressed, reaching for the glass of orange juice and taking a sip.
The flavor burst on my tongue so vividly I nearly moaned—fresh-squeezed, pulpy, sweet with just the right amount of tartness.
Real fruit, not the concentrate I normally drank.
The contrast between the luxury of the food and the horror of the situation felt obscene.
"I don't know." Ana clasped her hands together, fingers wringing and twisting around each other, knuckles going white from the pressure. "But they never come back, like my sister."
A pang of sympathy twisted in my chest. The girl looked so lost, so defeated, her shoulders curved inward like she was trying to fold herself into something smaller, less noticeable.
I wanted to reach out and comfort her, tell her everything would be okay, wrap her in reassurance that might ease the haunted look in her eyes.
But I couldn't afford that kind of softness right now.
Not when I needed to stay focused, stay alert, keep my mind sharp, and keep my emotions locked down tight.
Sentiment was a luxury I didn't have if I was going to get out of here.
If I let myself feel too much, let the weight of what happened to Xabat pull me under, I'd drown in it.
"Who owns this place? The Trogvyk?" I shifted back to gathering intel, forcing my voice into something clinical, detached—the tone of someone conducting an interview rather than planning an escape.
"No." Ana shook her head, dark hair bouncing around her shoulders. "The Master is human."
The idea of it twisted my stomach into knots, bile rising hot and acidic in my throat.
A human. Not some alien with incomprehensible motives, but someone who shared my species, my DNA, my supposed humanity had chosen this.
Had built this prison, orchestrated these kidnappings, turned people into property.
Somehow that made it worse, more unforgivable.
I remembered what Xabat had told me about the Alliance suspecting a human was involved in abductions and wondered if I'd inadvertently stumbled into his operation. "Do you know his name?"
Another shake of her head, more emphatic this time, her eyes darting toward the door as if the mere question might summon him.
"I've only ever called him the Master." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, the words carrying the weight of enforced habit, of conditioning.
"My brother recognized him, though. He's famous. "
Famous? The word detonated in my mind like a grenade.
Fuck! Was this another Epstein island situation?
Some celebrity, billionaire, or politician with enough money and power to build their own private hell?
The thought made my skin crawl, made me want to scrub myself raw.
But people had escaped from places like that.
Survivors had made it out, told their stories, and brought monsters into the light.
Like them, I could escape. I would escape from here.
"How do people get on and off the island? Are there boats?"
"No. Only helicopters and spaceships." Ana's eyes widened as she caught on to my line of questioning, understanding dawning across her delicate.
Fear flooded in behind it, stark and immediate.
"You're not thinking of trying to escape, are you?
" Her small hand landed on my forearm, fingers wrapping around my wrist with surprising strength.
I could feel the trembling running through her like subterranean quakes.
"Please don't. It doesn't go well for those who try.
" The last sentence came out strangled, choked, as if she was seeing something in her mind's eye that she desperately wanted to unsee.
I studied her face. The terror etched into every line, the way her pupils dilated until her eyes were almost black, the rapid flutter of her pulse visible in the hollow of her throat.
She was so scared, so thoroughly broken by whatever she'd witnessed in this place.
It made me wonder exactly what horrors she'd seen.
What had she been forced to watch? I decided in that instant, the decision settling into my bones with absolute certainty.
When I found a way off this island, I'd take Ana with me.
And her brother. I wasn't leaving anyone behind to suffer whatever fate awaited them here.
I gave a noncommittal huff, neither confirming nor denying her fears, and took a bite of the large pastry in the center of my plate.
It was like biting into a sweet, fluffy cloud, layers of buttery dough dissolving on my tongue, filling my mouth with the taste of vanilla and almond and something else I couldn't quite identify.
.. maybe cardamom? Whoever owned this place apparently had a chef, a real one, the kind who trained in Paris or Milan and charged obscene amounts for their expertise.
"I'll leave you." Ana murmured, already backing toward the door with small, careful steps, her body language screaming retreat.
"The Master doesn't like it when I tarry.
You should eat and bathe. The clothes in the closet should fit you.
" A flicker of anger flashed across her face, just barely, so quick I almost missed it.
A spark of rebellion quickly smothered before it could catch fire, as though she knew better than to exhibit that kind of emotion where someone might see.
"The Master likes us to be pretty." The words came out flat, dead, carrying the weight of countless repetitions, a rule that had been drilled into her until it became reflex.
Fuck the Master, but I was hungry, and a shower would be wonderful.
Ana slipped out of the room with barely a sound.
I turned my attention back to the spread.
Besides the pastries, there were sausages, eggs, fruit, a pot of tea, something floral and delicate that I didn't recognize, along with a small pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes.
The china was fine, expensive, with gold edging that caught the light.
Everything about this place screamed wealth and control.