I do not answer. I merely study the wolf for a fraction of a second. Bevan understands my first language far better than I gave him credit for.
His friend finally appears out of the gloom, carefully cradling the dying boy in his arms.
“Ah, at last.”
Clay narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t retort.
Imran’s face is almost serene, despite the blue tinge to his lips and his ashen, translucent skin. “I’m really going outside?” he croaks, his voice a whisper. “Truly, Clay?”
I have no time for more tedious, emotional Digger farewells. For my plan to work, we need to be through to solitary before the evening lockdown sequence initiates.
“Yes, you’ll get beyond these walls, but only if we leave right now.Allons-y!”
I turn on my heel, leading oursinguliergroup out of the Digger block. As we move deeper into the structural anatomy of this place, the air begins to vibrate.
The Wards are humming at a sharp, aggressive frequency that suggests Quo is not entirely ignorant of our movement.
It is of no real concern to me.
When the time comes to face the perimeter, the wards will simply not see us at all.
38. TALIESIN
Breaking out of a high security prison shouldn’t feel this easy.
It’s unnatural.
Every instinct I have, honed by years of dodging COs and scrap-fighting in the Ashgrave gutters, is screaming at me to stay in the shadows, to hold my breath, to wait for the inevitable scream of a siren.
Instead, we’re…strolling.
François leads the way with his cocksure arrogance that makes my skin crawl. He doesn’t bother to check around corners, or even keep his fucking voice down.
Behind him, I’m the one doing the not-so-heavy lifting. Imran is a skeletal weight across my back, his thin arms looped weakly around my neck. He’s seventeen going on eighty, and every time he lets out a wet, rattling cough against my shoulder, I feel a piece of my own heart chip away.
It’s like carrying a bundle of dry sticks.
Passing through the corridor from education to the Guild block, the guard called Copeland steps out, his hand already hovering over a stun-baton. “Hey, fuckers. Where do you think you’re going? Back to your cells, there’s a headcount.”
François raises a hand, stepping forward until he’s inches from the guy’s face. Those light-drinking eyes lock onto Copeland’s pupils. “You were just about to unlock the next gate for us,” François murmurs, his voice rippling with that strange, magnetic weight. “And give us your security ID. Then you’ll find a quiet place to sleep. When you wake, you won’t remember a thing.”
The guard’s face goes slack. His jaw drops just a fraction. “Let me get the gate for you,” he replies, letting out a long yawn. He hands over his security cards and wanders away, leaving the gate swinging wide.
“Laughable,” François sighs, gesturing for us to follow. “The mental fortitude around here is profoundly lacking.”
Rory looks at him, then at me, her eyes wide and full of a fear she’s trying to hide. “I hate that motherfucker,” she hisses under her breath.
“Frank?”
“That guard, Copeland.”
François stops dead in his tracks. He turns slowly, his eyes fixing on Aurora. “He laid his hands on you,chérie?”
“He certainly tried to,” she growls, her fists clenching at her sides.
François turns to look past her shoulder, targeting the ambling shape of the guard down the corridor. He raises his right hand, his fingers twisting in a sharp plucking motion as a green spark flares across his knuckles.
A muffled, agonized groan echoes from the darkness down the hall as Copeland suddenly collapses to his knees, clutching his skull before crawling into the shadows.
