winter of orphic love | ot7 poly | ✓

Chapter 22 The Heart of the Pack

"They're going to kill them," Hobi whispers as he cradles my trembling body in his arms. He presses his head down against mine and lets out a shaky breath. "I can't believe we walked right into this."

It is the regret that destroys me from the inside out. It unleashes a new monster of havoc inside of my brain and forces me to look at my mistakes. It forces me to meet their ugly gaze and swallow down the bitter pill of deliberating making a bad decision.

I'm so stupid.

The jail cell is cold and dimly lit. The bars are frosted over as the temperatures continue to drop. I swear I saw spots of ice forming on the uneven concrete floor as we were shoved into this prison. I am beginning to feel the biting cold on my skin even as I draw closer to Hobi's body.

Namjoon isn't here.

The image of his body on the ground causes my sanity to spiral further.

He could be dead. They could be torturing him. We aren't there to protect him anymore.

The thought of Namjoon being dead makes me sick to my stomach. I fight back a rush of tears as the situation worsens by the second.

The pack is going to be killed.

Hobi says the pack is okay, based on the fact Xander hasn't returned to gloat about his vile victory over the Bangtan pack. The silence means that nothing is happening. At least, I hope it does.

"This isn't good," he continues, still shaken from the previous events. "We have to find a way out of here, and we need to rescue Joon."

"How?" I ask, clinging onto his clothes like a lifeline. I bury my head into his chest and force back rising sobs. "How are we supposed to get? The others don't know what happened, and they're probably fighting off whatever ambush Xander planned for them. We're going to be the last things on their mind."

"Don't say that," Hobi reprimands.

"It's true, and frankly I'd rather them focus on protecting themselves right now."

"I know that, but you make it sound like you aren't worth saving," he says with growing concern. He tips my face up and rests his hand against my cheek. "Have faith in them, and in us. I'm not doing a good job of staying positive, I'm sorry. I'll do a better job of staying calm now."

My heart sinks with disappointment. "No Hobi, don't do that. Don't hide your emotions from me. I'm sorry for saying that. It was immature."

"We'll work on it," he amends with a gentle smile. "But I am sorry for scaring you."

"I'm sorry too." I force myself to take deep breaths to avoid spiraling into a panic attack. That's the last thing we need right now. Yet when I look at the bars of the prison, my risen hopes deflate and sink down into quiet misery.

How are we supposed to get out of here?

I scoot away from Hobi's embrace and rise to my feet. I walk up to the bars and trace my hand over the metal. I study the small room beyond the bars: the wooden desk, the faded posters on the wall about work ethics, the stains on the peeling wallpaper, and the smeared footprints on the tile floor.

The room is empty, however, I am certain there is a guard posted at our door. We're unarmed and outnumbered. They confiscated our bags when they captured us and dragged us down to the basement level prison. I didn't realize the courthouse had a prison room; it must have been installed after the fall of man.

I rest my head against the bars, leaning forward, and wishing we had thought this through.

We were too hopeful. I don't know what we were thinking.