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But I don’t know the question because I’m not paying attention. I’m thinking about swimming across the lake with my sister, feeling like we could never lose when we were together. It’s a new tactic, but I’ve got nothing but time.
“We win again,” I whisper to no one. There’s a future I’m left to live, something more outside the walls of this prison. I let every good memory flood my thoughts, hoping it will bring me more of the future.
We can still win.
Someone’s banging on the cell window, and the sound echoes in my ears. I’m awake but unable to move, my body too weak to sit up or open my eyes to see who threatens me today.
In the darkness of sleep, the vision repeated, but I can’t make sense of what I saw. An earthquake that sent a man over the edge of a cliff? I sense there are people around me when he falls, but I can’t see them or talk to them. It’s a cycle of the same image, and nothing new helps me decipher its meaning.
“Rowan,” a familiar voice says.
Maybe I’m still dreaming.
Maybe I’m dead.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Rowan! Wake up and eat!”
Moving my hands from my face, light hits my eyelids, telling me another day has passed. I’m still here - still alive in the same dirty clothes. A dry cough leaves my lungs, and my dry lips crack, desperate for water.
The smell hits my nostrils, and my bleary eyes shoot open, my body reacting on its own, in dire need of food. Something warm and inviting begs me to it, and I crawl toward the smell and the noise. I want to fight it, knowing it could be drugged, but the image of the future weakens my resolve.
I reach for the tray of oatmeal covered in fruit. Fucking fresh fruit. Those bastards are torturing me. Before I can stop myself or try to resist, my hand dips into the bowl and reaches my lips, sending bursts of flavor into my mouth. My stomach cramps in response, starved for something - anything. I’m animalistic, going through the motions of eating without thought.
“Rowan,” the voice says again. I pick up the bowl and bring it to my mouth, slurping up the contents like a dog. “Slow down. You haven’t eaten in days.”
My eyes flick to the window, and if there was an extra ounce of water in me, I would have cried. I’m barely able to lift my bloody lips in a smile.
“Hi,” I croak out when I see Alexander. The way he looks at me makes me want to disappear. He runs a hand down his face and takes in a shuddered breath before bringing the speaker that hangs from my cell window back to his mouth.
“Thank you for eating,” he says.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“The Eminent wishes to see you, and they don’t want you to appear…”
“Tortured,” I say into the bowl, letting the rest of the warm food slip onto my tongue. It’s an immediate charge to every cell in my body, sparking life back into my heart, eyes, and soul. After gulping down some water, I stand, finding it difficult to be upright from the stiffness in my joints.
“I won’t answer their questions,” I say to the pane between us.
“They’ve noticed,” he says. His eyes bore into mine, an acknowledgment that I haven’t betrayed the trust he warned me not to give.
Alexander places a palm on the glass, and I do the same, leaning against it for support. We’re friends by circumstance, but there’s a reason. The same feeling I had with Lori is there, and I have no choice but to follow my instincts.
“Why are you here?” I ask again.
I search his face with wild eyes as he casts his eyes toward the cameras in the corners of my room. He steps closer to the glass and points to the tray, narrowing his gaze.
“There are good people in the underground.” His words are slow — controlled. Careful about what he can say in a manner I’ll understand so that whoever is listening will not. “Since I’m the one that found you, and by all rights could have killed you, maybe you’ll talk to me. Will you cooperate and answer my questions?”
I nod my head.
“Okay, then. I’m glad I got you to eat. I’ll be with you when you see the Eminent, but you’ll need to get better first. Can you do that?”
I nod again and lower back to the ground, feeling full for the first time since I arrived, ready to sleep again even though that’s all I’ve been doing.
“And, Rowan. Use your napkin,” Alexander adds. He points to the tray again, his lips pressed together in a firm line. “Don’t be a slob.”
