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“No. The guards here.” The moment I swing my attention toward the one who shuffled off, he adds, “Not Tom. He’s been good to me.”

“What were they having you transport?”

“Not sure. They were steel containers.”

Steel containers. Like the one that held the mutation?

“From where?”

“The convent. I volunteered, thinking it’d be a chance to see you.”

Oh, my God. The mutations were coming from the convent? The same freaking convent I was almost shipped off to?

“Jack told me … he said your transport had been compromised by marauders.” The troubled tone of his voice makes me think he’s believed me to be dead for weeks.

“What? How …” How would he know that? The truck crashed. “And you were intercepted, as well.”

“Not entirely by chance.”

“You went in search for me. Will, do you have any idea how stupid that was!”

“Their useless search parties produced nothing.”

“Miss Thalia?” The sound of the guard’s summon snaps my spine to attention, and I back away from Will’s door to avoid suspicion. “Remus told me to come fetch you. Said you’re to bathe before bed.”

Giving a quick nod, I glance back to Will, before striding toward the awaiting guard and back up the stairs. My mind spins with how Jack would’ve come to the conclusion that we’d been attacked by marauders. The obvious is the dust storm. But, perhaps, if they searched the nearby cave, they would’ve found the remains of Gwen and the Ragers. The stolen equipment from the truck might be another clue, albeit less conclusive with scavengers roaming the desert. I suppose it makes sense that Jack would suspect marauders.

It’s not until I’ve reached the top of the stairs that the guard’s summons hits me. A bath. To clean myself.

Preparations for what Remus has planned.

I exit the stairwell to find a second guard waiting for me, and with a jerk of his head, I’m expected to follow. I glance back toward the front door, where more guards stand by. Not that I could, or would, run now that I know Will is one of the prisoners here. Whether I make my acquaintance with him known to Remus is yet to be seen. My thoughts skip back the events of dinner, the jealousy in his eyes when he forced his guard to undress based on him having given me a look.

No, it’s better they don’t know. For now, I’ll keep it to myself and seek out opportunities to check on him.

“Where do I bathe?”

“The only bath in this place is in Remus’s room.” The guard leads me beyond the corridors of cells, toward the back of the prison, where we stop before thick, ornate wooden doors. After a series of knocks, he opens both doors onto the room on the other side.

Exhaling a nervous breath through my nose, I take in the surroundings. A large, ornate bed, on which Agatha lies sprawled in a sheer gown. A structure in the corner that reminds me of a tipped cross, with cuffs dangling from each end. A wall of tools on the far wall holding objects I’ve never seen before that send a shudder across my bones.

My staring is broken by the click of the door, when the guard retreats, closing me inside.

“Jesus Christ, you look like you were ravaged by an animal. Were you ravaged by Titus?” The air of humor in Agatha’s voice makes me think she hopes so.

Ignoring her, and the pearl necklace still dangling from her neck, I clear my throat. “You asked that I take a bath?”

“I didn’t. Remus requested it. He appreciates a clean cunt. Cleanliness is next to godliness.” With a lazy roll to the side, she climbs to her feet, the long sheer skirts of her dress flowing behind her. “C’mon. He won’t appreciate another man’s blood on you.”

My mind scrambles for a plan while my feet carry me after her. There’s nowhere to go, unless I choose to dive over a cliff. I could run and hide, but they’d surely find me.

I feel as if I’m back to square one. To the day of my ordination. My thoughts sink back to my father and the question of whether he’d have been disappointed in my choices. I suspect if he were here, he’d point the obvious. That at least in Szolen, I wouldn’t have been a prisoner. I would’ve fucked a number of men indiscriminately, but I would’ve lived like a queen afterward.

Agatha guides me to the bathroom that houses a large, white, porcelain tub, and stands off to the side. A jerk of her head toward my dress is my cue to remove it, and when I do, she tips her head in appraisal.

“You have a beautiful body, I’ll give you that. What joy he’ll take in spoiling it.” With a wave of her hand, she ushers me to the bathtub.

Titus’s blood smears across the porcelain, as I sit down on the cold surface, while she flips on the faucet. The water pressure is low, pouring out of the spigot at an agonizing pace, for the chill that races over my skin.