The Season Trials

C H A P T E R T W E L V E

C H A P T E R           T W E L V E

I'm dumped haphazardly—thrown a more apt description.

The second I land, I have to fight to tamper the cry of pain. I don't dare open my eyes; don't dare move an inch. I can't let them see that I'm still breathing.

"Another one down." The voice is dark, deep and heavily masculine.

"I thought she'd last longer. The General normally keeps his pets around a little while longer." Whoever's speaking is feminine, her voice nasally.

"He clearly wanted her dead. No skin off my back. I didn't think she'd kill the girl though. I lost that bet." It's the male speaking again, his voice echoing loudly.

"We'd better get back before the others notice we're gone," the female says.

Their footsteps echo in the opposite direction. Then there's silence.

I fight to keep my panic down, but it's a futile effort. The smell is so putrid, so acidic... I'm choking on it with every breath. I can't tell what it is—and I'm not sure if I want to know. Everything remains still around me, eerily so.

I try to hold my breath, ignore the odour, but it's almost impossible. So I look beyond it. I need to escape somehow and dwelling on the origin of it won't help me in anyway.

Throat suddenly tight, I fight back the sting of tears. I'm almost unable to, driven beyond the point of exhaustion, but I manage.

Then I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting—futilely—to calm my racing heart.

I don't move until the silence has stretched on for what feels like hours; until I'm sure they're truly gone. I can't run the risk.

Only when I'm sure I'm alone do I move my hand a barely perceptible movement. No one starts yelling. I don't hear the sound of weapons being drawn. I hear nothing but the sound of my own laboured breathing.

Next I move my feet.

Nothing.

Palms glowing clammy, I take the final leap—opening my eyes slowly. At first, I see nothing but darkness. Slowly, my eyes adjust and I'm able to make out a dim light coming from somewhere nearby.

Am I in another cage? Locked in a cell? I can't—

I blink up at the ceiling. They think I'm dead. They wouldn't bother the trouble of locking me in a cell; wouldn't waste the effort one of their worthless Gifts. That begs more questions than it answers. Where am I then? Where have they dumped me?

Paranoid, I don't sit up. For all I know they have cameras watching, waiting to catch someone who's outsmarted them. The General doesn't seem like someone who'd run the risk of someone undermining him, making him look like a fool.

Only, I note wryly, I have made him look like one. I've managed to outsmart him.

He just isn't aware of it. And he can't know—otherwise I'll no longer be pretending to be dead. I can't let the small victory cloud my judgement, can't afford to gloat over it, even momentarily.