“The man will suffer a pain that will never lessen when he awakes,” François says smoothly, turning back around to lead the way. “He’ll wish for death before a week has gone by.”
Yes. Good. I give de Vaux a brief nod of approval as I adjust my grip on Imran’s legs.
Rory blinks. “Oh, uh, thanks, I guess.”
“Pas de problème.Let’s go, we have places to be beyond thisbasse-fosse.”
We set off again, our footsteps muffled by the hum of the ventilation system. The silence of the corridor feels heavy, pressing in on us with the weight of what we are attempting.
I shift Imran’s weight again. The kid isn’t heavy, but his bones dig into my back. Every time he exhales, I feel the vibration of his rattling lungs against my spine.
My mind drifts back to the small farm my parents moved to when I was twelve. They’d inherited it from a great aunt. My dad would sit on the porch in his wheelchair, after the accident at the Anther plant.
“I always thought the greatest thing for a man to be was a provider. If you couldn’t provide for your family, what use were you? And look at me now, Tally. Legs that don’t work, and I’ll never again have a paycheck.”
I thought he was sad, but instead he smiled at me.
“But I’ve learned that’s not true. Your mom works hard, provides, and she doesn’t resent me at all. I can cook some, I can help a little, but mostly, I’ve adapted to a change that I thought would end me.”
He clapped a hand on my back.“The worst can happen and you will either die, or get through it. It’s one or the other. Just make sure you don’t end up alive but full of resentment about what could have been. There’s no point. There’s only today, and tomorrow and hopefully the day after that.”
At the time I’d thought that kinda morose, but it’s that attitude that’s allowed me to get through Quo. I can’t change what’s happened, I can only keep moving forward.
I glance at the side of Aurora’s face. She’s walking with that elegant, dancer’s grace, moving into an unknown future.
And I’m so fucking glad I’m by her side.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she whispers, her shoulder bumping mine.
“Just remembering something my old man said,” I grunt. “About adapting to change.”
“A useful skill in our current situation,” she says softly, her hand brushing mine again.
“Save the sentiment, wolf,” François drawls from the front, not even turning around. “We are entering the Guild’s territory. The air here is… different.”
He’s right. The temperature has dropped by several degrees, and the lighting is more consistent.
“I’m going to see my mom soon, right, Tally?” Imran’s voice is a dry rasp against my ear.
“Save your breath, Im. You’ll see her soon enough.”
Gods willing.
We turn into the long tunnel that acts as a bridge between the Guild blocks and the industrial guts of the prison. The scent hits me before the movement does: stale sweat, unwashed fat, and an unhealthy mixture of lust and hate.
I pull Rory behind me, shielding both her and the dying boy on my back.
“Bevan?” François asks, his voice bored. “Is your primitive brain grinding to a halt?”
“Shut up,” I hiss. “Something ahead.”
Shadows shift against the damp concrete, silhouetted by the weak emergency lights. As we move closer, the sight that greets us isn’t exactly a threat—unless it’s to the content of my stomach. Fucking gross.
Gleb is there, backed against a stack of industrial crates. His face is twisted in a mask of sweaty exertion, his breathing coming outin hog-like snorts. Odessa is pinned between him and the metal, her head tilted back against his shoulder. Her navy jumpsuit is unzipped to the waist, and Gleb’s thick hand is buried deep inside the fabric, working with a frantic, desperate rhythm.
They freeze. Gleb’s hand jerks out. “What the fuck, Gleb? Get back to it,” Odessa hisses, eyes still closed.
“Bevan,” Gleb growls.
