My chest felt tight at the sound of my own breathing getting louder, the only noise I could hear inside this box.
I hadn’t been able to see this new place. Cahir had flung me directly to the corridor outside with dark grey carpet and matching painted walls, marching me towards the only door waiting at the end, without answering a single question.
My pulse had leapt since the moment he brought me in and searched me, alarm clamouring in my ears while his hands swept over every inch of me. He’d found Joy’s relic tucked between my breasts and took it with him, along with my boots and socks.
Back in the old building, he would have taken my life. The thought alone stirred a rising panic that I had to shove down.
I had come for the family. For the boy. I’d known there would be consequences, and I’d made my choice.
I forced myself to draw a deeper breath and take in the room.
There was no lock on this side of the door, just more padding. I ran my fingers along the wall. The padding yielded beneath my touch, cool at first, then warming unpleasantly. The sensation made my skin crawl.
I reached for the eagle the way I had learned to tap into my access. The bird surged in the edges of my mind, but barely, as if it had been weakened. It still flapped its wings but found no passage for us to fling or to send a message. I could wield here, but it was too taxing.
Kneeling before the door, I searched for the hinges and locks between the gaps. I’d heard a click when it closed. I concentrated, reaching for my access and recognizing the metal lock. It didn’t shift when I tried to move it.
Reagan had my blood, I reminded myself. He would come and find me. Arranging the flask had sounded like such a far-fetched precaution when he had suggested it days ago.
I stood, my hands balling into fists, nails forming small pink crescents on my palms.
This was bad. I had no illusions about it. But I’d been in worse situations. This was better than drowning. If I survived a siren, I could survive this.
Moments passed before a click echoed in the room. My would-be executioner stood in the doorway.
“Your turn,” Cahir said blandly, assessing me. “Milady.”
This was the man who had bargained with the Elven Lords, trading their information for a promise to leave them unscathed.
I fell back a step. “Turn for what?” I asked, shielding the fear from my voice.
His gaze swept over me slowly. “To prove you can give your services to the Order.”
“Do you keep prisoners here?” I asked, jerking my chin to the room.
Cahir tilted his head, as though weighing the question. “Only the ones who can provide something,” he said mildly, “in whatever limited way they can on this side of the country.”
He stepped inside, closing the space between us, and my blood froze. For all I knew, this man was another violent Scion with the same cruelty as Caius.
“Are you going to be useful, milady?” he challenged, his voice a mockery of the title.
He shoved me back until the padded wall caught me, and my heart thundered in my chest.
“Yes.” I raised my hands, trying to keep space between us.
Cahir yanked them down, and his fingers curled tightly around my throat.
The corridor behind him lay empty. We were alone.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, his thumb pressing deeper into my throat. He angled my face this way and that and I watched him with a scathing look.
“We can get along, you and I,” he murmured, eyes dropping below my neck and roaming freely.
My stomach churned, my heartbeat skidding wildly.
“Go on,” I whispered. “Touch me properly. When you do, he’ll know exactly where I am, and he’ll do far worse to you.”
His hand remained at my throat. I could almost feel the slow turn of his thoughts, grinding through the risk. “He cannot find you here.”
