Nora Stevenson

Prologue

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

My eyes stare blankly into the gloom as my heart goes a thousand beats per minute. I can see nothing. All is black. I wonder half-heartedly what time is displayed on the large analog clock on the dark wall behind me. Time seems to go by in slow motion, skipping from moment to moment, as if watching a flipbook. I blink.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

My breath catches in my throat as I slip into reverie. My skin prickles. I scan the dark room, eyes darting about like a wild animal aware of its predator. A breeze tickles the hairs on my arm and, out of habit, my muscles stiffen and my head snaps toward the window.

"You're late," I remark monotonously.

"Sorry, boss." A young man of considerable height stands silhouetted against the sliver of moonlight that remains. Although I can see no facial expressions, his playful tone gives me a short-lasting flicker of hope. An image of him surges into my mind with no warning. His brown eyes dance mockingly, complementing the smirk made by his thin, pale lips. "Traffic was hell." I force a smile, blocking out the pain of my memories.

"Get to work."

"Yes, boss," he says as he walks toward me, his bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. I fix my eyes on the wall opposite me. The ridges in the hard stone seem to move sluggishly as the moonlight shifts.

The man beside me yanks a paper clip out of his winter coat pocket and unfolds it. I stare at the metal bonds enclosing my ankles. I itch to be free.

Picking diligently at the lock restraining my wrists, my rescuer is oblivious to my intense gaze as it rests on his face. My stomach lurches. He hasn't changed. His disheveled locks frame his thin yet vibrant face with dark curls.

As if watching cogs turn, I scan his mind. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, absorbing his emotions and thoughts. My chest burns fiercely with the fire of adventure. But wait. That is not all. I sense something foreign. What is it?

My eyes pop open and my breath quickens as I am filled with panicky energy. My gut twists into knots, and I long to be out in the open, running, anywhere but here. I know this feeling. This is fear.

Once again squeezing my eyes closed, I discard the panic and search his thoughts more deeply. My jaw clenches and my hands form into fists. I am familiar with this. Preparing to once more cleanse my mind from his anger, I stop.

Why is he angry?

"Liam," I say, "look at me. Look into my eyes." Liam complies, and waves of confusion roll off of him. He dares not blink. I stare into the depths of his dark eyes and reach out into his thoughts. Words flash through my mind. Loss. War. Betrayal. Abigail.

I realize now that many seconds have passed, and Liam's mouth has slipped into a slight frown. "Boss?"

Quickly, I withdraw from my inner world and regain focus. "Nothing." His gaze lingers on me for a second more and then he turns back to his work. The second latch clicks.

"Alright. Just two more to go." Suddenly, the echoing clack of the warden's shoes comes into earshot. The guard is coming my way, returning from his post at the opposite end of the hall.

"Hurry!" I whisper frantically, jerked into realization. The warden's step becomes gradually louder as I urge Liam to set me free. Click. Easing the handcuffs off of my wrists and ankles, I stand up and push messy strands of dirty blonde hair out of my face. "Let's go."

Liam places a rope in my small hands and crouches beside the small square window and interlocks his fingers as a platform for me to use. I put one foot on his hands and grope for edge of the carved out window with my calloused fingers. I look back at the cell which has been my home for the past week. The footsteps grow ever closer. Heaving a deep breath, I launch myself on and off of Liam's hands and vault through the miniscule window, tossing the rope over my shoulder toward my rescuer.

I land with a thump on the compact dirt, hardened by drought. Tugging on the rope, I face the building and watch as Liam jumps down from the window. He runs toward me.

"Let's go, Nora," he says in a barely audible whisper.

"Yeah,"I mumble, and we sprint into the desert, hoping for cover to present itself. I glance back at my former prison and resolve to find the person who did this to me.