Defying the Glade.

Through The Bars.

When I woke up, my head was pounding, my face sore, and my hands felt like dead weight from being tied too long. The blanket under my chin wasn't mine, and neither was the pillow tucked beneath me. My heart lurched as I realized who it had to be.

"Chuck," I whispered into the silence.

The slammer gate creaked softly, and there he was, slipping through like a shadow, clutching a little metal cup. He ran up to me, worry painted across his young face.

"Amelia," he whispered harshly. "What the hell did they do to you?"

I blinked back tears as he set the cup into my hands. The water inside was cool—icy almost—and when I drank it, I swore I tasted the faintest hint of fruit. The relief was so strong I couldn't help the noise that escaped me, a soft hum of pleasure.

Chuck managed a tiny smile. "Knew you needed it. Figured plain water wouldn't cut it."

I stared at him, my chest aching. "You're going to get into trouble for this. If anyone finds out you're here—"

"I don't care," he cut in, his voice firm for once. "I couldn't just leave you like this." He reached into the bundle he carried—bandages, ointment, a rag—and held them up proudly. "Got Frypan to 'accidentally' leave these out. Thought we could... you know, fix you up."

Tears stung my eyes as he untied my hands, clumsy but determined, wincing when he saw the angry red marks around my wrists. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I should've been faster."

"Chuck..." My voice cracked. "You're the only one who's been kind to me since I got here. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He ducked his head, embarrassed, but I saw the way his lips twitched into a proud smile. "Just... don't give up, Amelia. Please."

I lay back, hugging the blanket he'd brought. It smelled faintly of soap, a comfort I didn't realize I needed until that moment. My eyelids grew heavy, but before I drifted, I felt him carefully slip something into my palm. When I opened my hand, my breath caught—
a chocolate bar.

I laughed through my tears. "Chuck... I told you once I loved chocolate. You remembered."

"Course I did," he whispered, glancing at the door nervously. "But don't tell anyone. If Gally finds out..." He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

I squeezed his hand. "You're too sweet. I really hope you don't get into trouble for this."

He gave me one last look—half a smile, half fear—before slipping out, the door closing behind him.

I must've drifted in and out, because the next thing I felt was a key turning and soft footsteps outside the cage.

"Amelia?" Thomas's voice, careful. "Time's up."

The gate rasped open. I pushed myself up and the world tilted. Thomas's eyes went wide when he saw me—split lip, bruised cheek, wrists raw and scabbed.

"What the hell happened?" He lifted a hand and hovered it near my mouth, then barely brushed my lip with his thumb. I flinched. "Does it hurt?"

"No," I lied, even as it stung hot. "It's fine."

He didn't believe me. He offered his sleeve, dabbed away the dried blood, then stepped aside so I could shuffle out. Outside air hit my face—cooler, cleaner—and yet the whole Glade seemed to stop and stare. A few boys looked away; a few didn't. I yanked my hood up.

Alby strode over, all authority and iron jaw. "You're out. Don't make me regret it," he said. Not a question, not kindness—just an order in a sentence suit.