Clay is silent for a second, then gives a decisive nod. “Alright. I get it. We owe the guy. Big time.”
“It’s not just the debt, though that’s enough,” I say, leaning forward and lowering my voice. “Taking care of his sister buys us a favor we can’t afford to pass up. That guy is going to be the King of Havengard one day. Having a King owe the Diggers? That’s the kind of leverage that changes things.”
“I’m with you,” Clay nods, though his face is still grim. “But the block is restless. They think you’re just protecting a pretty face. You going to tell them the truth?”
I shake my head. “No. There are people in this prison linked to those traffickers. I can’t risk the word getting out. You’re the only one I trust with this, Clay. Well, you and Layla. Everyone else stays in the dark.” I look at him, my mind already spinning. “Now, how the fuck do I get a note to Cosmo Drakeward?”
Clay pulls out his notebook. “Ronnie Brooks. He’s on the HVAC crew, set to be released in ten days. I can make sure he passes a message through the rebel channels.”
“Good.” I take a scrap of paper and a pencil. I think for a second, then scribble:
I have your sister. She’s safe for now, but I can’t guarantee how long. Get her out—and me with her. You owe me.
I hand the paper back. “Thanks, man.”
“You got it, Boss.” Clay reaches into his bag and hands me a length of threadbare, stained cotton. “And here’s that extra sheet you wanted for the cage.”
I take the rough fabric. “Perfect.”
The Princess is going to hate it, but it’s the best I can do.
Fucking eighty-nine degrees.
My best is way more than she deserves.
6. AURORA
The sheet Taliesin tosses through into the cage is thin, gray, and reeks of chemicals.
But as I tie it around the bars near the ceiling, the three-foot-wide slice of privacy feels like a godsdamn luxury.
Now, on to the next problem. The one that’s currently making my face burn.
I look over at my captor, who is busy acting like I don’t exist. “Can you whistle or something? I need to use the… facilities.”
“So?” he grunts, not even looking up.
Fuckhead.“So I don’t want you to hear me. And I want a toothbrush. And a shower. Providing necessary hygiene is in the Geneva Convention.”
I have zero idea if that’s actually true, but if it isn’t, it should be—and yes, I’m aware I sound as whiney as Julian.
Taliesin’s gaze finally fixes on me, heavy and unreadable. “It’s your funeral, Princess. The showers are communal. I’m not stopping the rest of the Diggers from using them just so you can have some ‘me time.’”
Communal? My stomach drops to my bare feet. “You mean… like, unisex?”
“Yep. Still want that shower?”
I swallow hard, my skin literally crawling. I’m soaked in a layer of sweat and grime that feels like a second skin, and the thought of staying like this is almost as bad as the thought of being naked in a room full of strangers.
I can handle it,I tell myself, even though my hands are starting to shake.
Eyes on my body won’t actually hurt me. Probably.
Don’t freak out, Aurora. Do not let him see you freak out. I take a deep breath, forcing the unconcerned ice-mask into place. “Yes.”
He sighs, the sound clearly stabbing at his chest. “Fine. I’ll take you.” His amber eyes are bloodshot and heavy. “I’ll watch your back, but be quick and don’t say anything stupid. The Diggers have a no-rape rule, but the Guild doesn’t.”
Fuckkkkk.
