Scarlett Romero has spent her entire life as an ordinary citizen; going to school, getting a job and definitely not killing people in the middle of the woods on a Friday night.
Until one Friday night, she does.
All she can remember is acting out of...
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Chapter Thirty-One "Does This Really Count as Winning?"
Scarlett's POV:
Citadel prison is in chaos, each floor the same as the next; cells empty, guards screaming and crying and begging for mercy, inmates either scrambling for a way out or throwing themselves at any guard that crosses their path. The guards' guns are no match for the ferocity of a mythical creature who had their freedom stolen from them.
I rush down the stairwell, shoving passed panicked prisoners trying to run before they get recaptured. My injured leg shakes and threatens to give out under me, only held up by the air whispering briefly in my ears. But it doesn't hurt, and I don't know if I should see that as a good thing or not.
I run to the fifth floor, pausing to take a weighted breath before bursting through the door. I need to get the guards out of the way so Kylie can free the inmates. If I take the time to do it myself... Alexander and the children could be long gone.
Shaking my head, I grit my teeth and refuse to think about it. The universe wouldn't take Alexander away from me, not when he's one of the only two people I have left. Not when he's so close to escaping the prison that's held him for ten years.
Stalking down the hall, I let the elements angry whispers erupt in my head. It takes a couple seconds for the guards to realise who I am, and a couple more for them to understand me being here isn't good for them.
None of them approach me, and I almost think they're going to let me walk past until a woman with scratch marks on her uniform snaps out a baton. Like she's flipped a switch, the rest of the guard's spring into action.
They come at me all at once, three hanging back and lifting their guns. I pull up a shield, an invisible armour that catches any bullets about to hit me. But that doesn't stop them from emptying their magazines and trying to attack me on foot.
Watching the entire floor full of guards trying to break through a wall they can't see, I know I have two choices. The first, try and lure them out of the floor. The second, make sure that if I knock them down, they won't be able to get back up.
The burning anger in me begs for the second option, but I know I can't. If I kill them, and I look back at this moment, I'll end up making myself feel bad about it – and I already have enough self-hatred to last a lifetime. But I also know I won't have a chance to lure away every guard from the fifth, fourth and third floor. They just need to be... immobilised.
Pretending I can't hear their aggravating yells and low taunts, I lift a hand. The concrete beneath their feet cracks, and everything suddenly falls blessedly silent, inmates and guards alike looking on in unison.
Then the earth starts to move, reshaping to slap over the guards' feet. They all screech, weapons falling from their grasp as they start shoving at the concrete. I lift my other hand, and after another rumble from the ground, the guards' hands are encased as well.
