Page 3 of Fate of the Fallen

At the sight of Richie’s face—even riddled with distress and concern—I was happy to see him. After giving a tight smile that never reached his eyes, he nodded toward the guard who escorted him down. The two exchanged a knowing glance, and then it was just the two of us, my brother and I.

Of course, there was also the witch I was sure sat listening in a nearby cell.

“How bad is it?” I asked, still clutching the bars, finding the courage to ask more. “Am I a dead man?”

Richie’s gaze lowered to the floor and it wasn’t lost on me that he didn’t rush to reassure me. Didn’t rush to comfort me as my thoughts took a shift toward darkness. In other words, killing me was not off the table.

“We’re doing everything we can,” was his answer. A nondescript, open-ended answer at that.

My head lowered.

At the sight of him shifting something from his shoulder to his hand, I looked up again.

“I brought you a few things,” he explained

It was a backpack, one he attempted to pass me through the bars. My eyes darted around my cell for a place to hide it. Maybe sensing the sudden spike in paranoia, Richie shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. The Elders said it was okay to bring some of your stuff. Two guards checked it and said we were all good.”

The thrumming behind my ears settled a bit and I knelt to sort through the items.

A handheld video game I hadn’t played since who-knows-when, tons of batteries, a blank notepad.

I smiled up at him. “No pen?”

Richie pushed a hand to the back of his neck. “There uh … therewasone, but the guards didn’t think that was a great idea,” he shared.

Here I was, nearly nineteen years old, and no one trusted me with an ink pen. Not that I blamed them for knowing exactly who I was and what I was capable of. Who’s to say I wouldn’t actually hurt someone if I got desperate enough to get out of this cell?

EvenIdidn’t find it hard to imagine.

“I’ll bring you some crayons or um … markers or something tomorrow,” he offered.

I stared, realizing he was completely serious. The sound of a loud, humorless laugh leaving my mouth clearly startled him. It bounced off the cold, hard surfaces that surrounded us, an eerie sound that contrasted the general feeling of despair clinging to these walls.

… Crayons.

I really screwed up big this time.

Quieting down again, I stared motionlessly at the few remaining items Richie brought—two magazines, a deck of cards, and a watch. This was it, and while I was grateful to havesomething… I now wanted out of this place even more than before.

Both arms throbbed as my veins began darkening again. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the one thing I trusted to bring me solace.

Roz.

Just like that, the tension began to disperse. Only, I now had a nagging feeling in my chest. I needed to hear her voice.

“Can I use your phone?” I practically begged

The question made Richie’s brow twitch when he answered.

“I um … I’m not sure that’s allowed.” He spoke in a whisper, inching closer to the bars that separated us; the bars that separated me from freedom, from committing an act so disgusting I felt like a monster just at the thought of it.

“Besides,” Richie went on. “I probably don’t even have a signal down here.”

While under normal circumstances that would have been true, I knew better. During our stay at the Damascus Facility, I’d heard several staff members make mention of how good reception was just a few floors up on authorized levels. If they had capabilities to get clear signalsthatdeep, I knew it was possible here, too.

“Can you just … check?” I asked hopefully, glancing at the pocket where a rectangular-shaped imprint had drawn my attention.