He stopped, turning to glower at me, as though annoyed I had waited until now to say it. “You might as well wash yourself,” he muttered, his gaze leering far too long on my rumpled clothes. “Follow me.”
He strode ahead and, for a moment, my vision doubled from exhaustion. Or maybe from the powder in my pockets. Looking around, I noticed there were no vents in this hallway and inhaled a lung full of air.
“Do you think,” I began, exhaustion weighing on me, “I could have some food now?”
I couldn’t afford to be this depleted. I would collapse in the padded room if I tried to follow the plan. The Sight had taken too much from me, and the bloodbane on my fingers made it that much worse.
A chill traced my spine at the thought of one more night there. It rallied alarm into my body.
It had to be today. It had to.
My steps faltered, and I pitched sideways. Cahir caught me with an arm around my waist, hauling me against him. I clenched my jaw and shoved at his chest.
Pain exploded across my cheek an instant later, and I hit the floor hard, swearing against the sting. Anger flared, lending me just enough strength to lift my head and glare up at him.
Cahir smiled. “Push me again, and you won’t eat for a week,” he said pleasantly. “On your feet, half-breed.”
I dragged myself upright and followed him to the washroom. It was a white-tiled space with two stalls and two bathing areas partitioned by thin curtains.
Cahir shoved a towel into my chest. “Soap’s in the wall,” he said, his hand rising to my throat as his influence washed over me, numbing and invasive. “Don’t try to be clever. Wash, and I’m going to have your food brought to your room.”
I nodded, mimicking a compelled state. He wouldn’t go far. Likely only down the hall.
The moment he left, I slipped into the nearest stall and closed myself inside. I dropped the toilet lid and climbed onto it.
Alone in the white room, I had ripped new holes in the padding behind the bed, scraping it wider until I could fill my pockets with bloodbane powder. Most of it was already gone, smeared along doorknobs, dusting the rugs on the upper floors where the Scions tended to linger. There was only a small amount left now.
I lowered my trousers and opened the air vent just above the stall. Holding my breath, I shook the fabric inside the opening, covering my nose as the powder vanished into the vents.
My gaze flicked to the door. My handler would not be gone for long.
Only after sealing the vent again did I slip into the shower stall and fully undress. I turned the water on and flinched at the icy cascade. It was a hurried wash that I used to scrub every trace of bloodbane from my hands, my hair, my skin.
My clothes hung along the lower ledge. I eyed the shirt, inspecting the seams of the sleeve. Stretching the fabric taut, I bit down and tore a strip free.
I rolled the cloth tight and tucked it near the soap.
When the door opened again, I was already wrapped in the towel, dropping the discarded clothes to the floor in front of him.
Cahir’s eyes leered over me before he tossed a bundle of clean clothes my way.
“You have two minutes,” he said.
I returned to the stall and dressed quickly, pulling on the bra I’d kept and the fresh clothes he had brought: a plain white shirt and trousers meant to help me blend into the interior of that dreadful box. I kept the folded sleeve concealed in my underwear and stepped out of the stall.
He escorted me towards my cell just as another Scion appeared.
“Her soup’s inside,” the man said.
Cahir nodded and unlocked the door by turning the lever. No key. The mechanism clicked, and he stepped aside just enough to let me pass.
Inside, my gaze snagged on the tray of yellow soup waiting on the floor. No water. I turned back towards him, leaning close to the threshold.
“Can I sleep after?” I asked. “I’m drained.”
“Eat the soup,” he replied, ignoring me.
“If you exhaust me completely, I won’t be able to see anything for him,” I said, keeping my tone as level as I could. “I won’t be useful.”
