Page 11 of Glutton for Punishment

Despite Councilor Blaise’s smug promise that my “evaluation” would begin soon, no one has come for me. Not in seven days.

The universe must have its attention elsewhere… I feel oddly blessed.

The guards arrive twice daily and shove trays through the slot without a word. Food. Water. Nothing else despite our questions.

We’re left alone with our thoughts.

I have so much I should say to Atticus—questions, apologies, fears—but I think we’re both too worn down to reach for the words. We’ve only spoken on small occasions. Quiet check-ins. Are you hurt? Can you stand? Did you eat?

The rest of the time, we exist in the same hollow, waiting, wondering what’s next.

I know there’s a lot he’s trying to untangle. Turning against his father. Claiming our bond in front of the Council. Finding out Maddox is also my bond.

We have everything to talk about—but sitting here together, the silence holds tighter than any words ever could.

Each cell has a small, curtained corner with a sink, toilet, and a drain in the floor. It’s barely privacy, but it’s enough to keep a little dignity.

Every morning I splash water over my arms and face, rubbing at my skin until the chill bites, pretending it’s a routine instead of a reminder of how little control I have left.

Anticipation coils in my chest, making each hour stretch and scream like it’s being dragged through molasses.

And beneath it all, my freshly completed bond burns.

The ache flares, a constant pull deep in my chest, crying out for Maddox’s proximity. The other bonds stretch too, tugging in 3 different directions, but they’re distant, dulled.

This one is different. It’s raw. Some nights it hurts so bad that I have to bite down on my sleeve to keep from making a sound.

Staying close to Atticus helps. That part of my bond content to just be in the same room as him.

We’ve gravitated towards sleeping near the bars that separate our cells, close enough that I can feel the faint warmth of him through the cold steel dividing us. The pain eases, just a fraction, even if we aren’t touching.

I miss my friends.

I wonder if they think I’m dead. If the Council told them anything at all. If my bed at the academy is already empty, the gossip trail ablaze about the sinless who is now gone.

Despite having Atticus, the loneliness is torture. I didn’t have a lot to lose when I left Wrath. I lost Sadie, and that ripped a hole in me. But to lose my new best friends, five people who grew to mean the world to me… it’s all consuming.

A sob tears free—quiet but broken. I clamp my mouth shut too late.

A finger nudges against my hand through the narrow gap between the bars. Shifting closer, I thread my pinky with Atticus’s. The contact is small, but it anchors me.

I focus on that single point of warmth. A quiet promise that I’m not alone. Before I know it, the dark takes me.

***

I jolt awake, heart slamming before my brain catches up.

My eyes fly open and I freeze. At some point during the night, Atticus and I turned toward each other.

My limbs thread through his, despite the bars, like the cell barrier couldn’t keep us away. His hand is under my head, fingers tangled in my hair. My fist is locked around his forearm, grip tight like I anchored myself there and refused to let go. One of my feet is wedged between the bars, tangled with his legs.

Atticus’s eyes open. Surprise flashes across his face—then turns to something softer.

We pull apart quickly, clumsy and flushed, as footsteps echo closer.

I expect to see the guards again, but my heartbeat spikes as Councilor Blaise strolls into the room. He looks out of place, untouched by the damp rot of this place with his crisp clothes, polished shoes, not a speck of dust on him.

A warm smile curves his mouth, looking all wrong on his face. It makes my skin crawl.