Splintered

Chapter Sixty-One: Got One Foot in the Door

"Haze?" Rowan's voice cracked, sounding so young and so very lost.

Hazel's wasn't any better.

"Ro?"

She crept further into the District Seven jail. It was a cramped cement room with slits for windows and a row of rusting cages, reeking of mildewed tears, alcoholic sweat, and disintegrating concrete.

Peacekeepers glared from each corner. They were the calloused expressions they often developed when one of their own had been harmed. And by the looks of it, more than one was itching for revenge.

Hazel crossed the bitterly cold space until she was inches away from the bars caging her brother.

He slid closer in kind. His hair was disheveled, and the collar Fern had so lovingly pressed straight was crumpled and torn at the seams. A maroon bruise cascaded from his temple down his eyebrow ridge. Crimson pooled under the surface of one sclera.

"What have you done?"

His gaze dropped for a moment before sliding back up to settle over her shoulder.

"Can we talk?" he croaked.

His good eye flashed with heat at Snow, who was hovering at the entrance, watchful but allowing them space.

"Just us?" he clarified.

"Out of the question. This one's violent and can't be left alone with anyone." A burly peacekeeper barked. His hair was a mess, and dirt was caked on his legs and arms. Judging from his appearance and his tone, his grievance was personal.

"I'm not going to hurt my sister, you ass," Rowan bit out.

Hazel tapped the cage, pleading, "Stop."

Snow cleared his throat and raised his hands, voice low, but eerily calm. "Give them five minutes, fellas."

"But sir..." protested the annoyed, unkempt guard.

"I'm not in the mood for arguments, private." Snow corrected, his tone was like a block of ice.

Each of the peacekeepers immediately submitted to the order, but not without loudly trudging out of the room, grumbling as they went.

Hazel glanced over her shoulder at Snow, and he met her stare steadily.

"I'll give you two sometime."

Once the door thudded shut, she returned her attention to her brother.

As he limped closer to the bars, his injuries became clearer. Bruises burgeoned along his neck and the left side of his face. A clotted over abrasion skirted his hairline and ear, like his head had been shoved into the gravel.

It blistered her very soul to see him like this.

"What have you done?" she wheezed.

"There's too many of them," Rowan rambled almost incoherently, "Can't even walk in the woods alone anymore without tripping over a bloody peacekeeper."

"You're lucky they didn't shoot you."

"Doubt it was luck," he sighed, searching his sister's face before his stare fell to his feet.

"Doubt it was just a walk," she countered.

"I was just defending myself. But, you're right, the only reason I'm probably still alive is that they recognized me."

"Why were you out there, Ro?" Hazel pressed.

His stare fixated on her once again, pain furrowing his brow.