Shadowed

XXII. Traitorous

"It worked," whispers Angella. Her tone is restrained, like she wants desperately to let herself be relieved. But she can't. We're still in enemy territory. We're not safe yet.

Abby chuckles. "Of course it did."

She rolls over and pushes flyaway strands of hair out of her face, lifting an eyebrow to look at Angella. "Did you think it wouldn't work? This was too easy, honestly. Any idiot could break out of there." She wags a thumb in the direction of the open trapdoor.

"Keep your voice down," hisses Drew. I roll over from where I'm sprawled on the floor, next to the gaping hole we just climbed through.

We've ended up in a dark sort of hall-like chamber. The walls and floors are both made of wood, long, pockmarked panels running all the way to the ceiling, where small, flickering light bulbs hang every several feet. Holes mar the pattern of the boards, each one the entrance to another cell, where a Hunter could drop food and taunt the prisoner from above.

There's no windows. No outside light. No clues as to where we might be, how far from the city we've landed.

"There's no one here," murmurs Abby. "See, I told you not to worry."

Angella stands up, tentatively dragging her foot across the floor to make sure she doesn't fall down the trapdoor. "Don't let your guard down. There's always someone here."

"You know this place, then?" asks Drew.

"I thought I already told you that," I say, looking at Drew. His face is shiny with sweat, weary and exhausted.

He grins wryly. "You might have. That screaming, though—I think it messed with my head, you know what I mean?" He presses a finger to his temple, staring off into the distance. "I feel like I was in a fog, or something. It was hard to think down there."

He's hiding it well, but I can see just how rattled that place must have made him. All of us. Even Abby, who's currently picking at her fingernails nonchalantly, her heels dangling back down the trapdoor, is shivering slightly.

But Drew's right. Already my head is clearer. Maybe it's the absence of screaming. Even though we're surrounded by open trapdoors cut into the floor, I can barely hear the terrified cries at all. They've faded into the backdrop, another thing for me to ignore, to push out of my mind, to remember only when it's quiet and I can't fall asleep. 

The screams are gone now, but the prisoners under this floor are still there even when we can't hear them, the ones down there crying and begging for help and desperately carving something into the wall to make sure they keep hold of their humanity. And the ones who've tried everything, but still slip away. Through the cracks.

I shudder. Don't think about it. 

Now that we've escaped those cells, I can feel the fragments of hope in the air. The others grasp onto them even though they're fleeting, even though they're only empty promises. But I won't, because there's no chance at freedom ahead for me.

My mind is made up. I'll get them as far as they need to go, but I'm staying behind.

I have to. It's the only way to guarantee their safety. If I escape with them, the Hunters will stop at nothing to get me back—especially now that they know who I was traveling with, who my allies are. It will only make it easier for them to get me to comply.

They're keeping Drew and Abby here as some kind of leverage. I could never put them at risk on purpose. They have to go and I have to stay, to appease the Hunters, to give them what they want. And because I need them safe.

It won't work. But it has to work. I'm willing to do all sorts of things to satisfy the burning itch of curiosity inside me, but keeping Angella, Abby, and Drew in the grip of bloodthirsty Hunters is not one of them.