Keira sat up and the room spun around her. Whatever the guards had drugged her with hadn’t completely worn off. She could still taste it lingering on her tongue. When the walls stopped their crazy dance, she slowly got to her feet. Someone had unbound her hands, but the tips of her fingers tingled numbly. She shook her hands, fighting the effects of the drug. There was no clock in the room. No windows. No way at all to tell what time it was or how long she’d been knocked out.
There was a bench along one wall of the room that was big enough to be a narrow bed. They could have at least left her there, instead of dumping her on the floor. But the guards had just thrown her on the ground, like a thing. Keira shivered. That’s how the Reformers thought of her, as something to be disposed of, like a spoiled apple or a broken cup.
Keira made her way over to the bench and sat down. She set her hands on either side of her, drumming her fingers against the smooth surface. She ran imaginary scales for a moment, driving the last of the Darklings’ drug out of her system. The best option would be to get out of Darkside completely, if she could.
Carefully, slowly, she lowered her guard enough to let the earth she knew slip into view. At first, it seemed out of reach, like it had been when the guards had bound her in the cave. Keira leaned forward, adjusting her focus. She saw something shift and felt an unbearable press of weight against her skin.
The last of the drug’s fog swirled out of her mind as the answer became clear. She couldn’t see anything on the other side because they’d gone over the Darkside mountain. Which meant they were who knew how far out in the Atlantic Ocean, lost in its featureless depths.
It really was the perfect prison. The only certain escape also meant certain death. Keira curled her fingers around the edge of the bench, letting the corners bite into her skin. It kept her grounded. Focused.
The familiar headache took up its pulsing rhythm behind her eyes as she pushed the ocean out of sight. When it was gone, Keira stared around the tiny room. There was a table in the corner with a square tray on it. On the tray stood a glass filled with a purplish liquid and a bowl of something mushy.
It had been so long since she’d had anything to drink. Her head throbbed.
Can I even eat things here? What if it’s poisoned?
She stood up, relieved to find her legs steady underneath her. Carefully, she made her way over to the tray and lifted the cup. She sniffed it. It smelled like oranges and mint.
The Reformers already had her—why would they be sneaky about poisoning her now? Still, she stood for a long moment with the glass pressed against her bottom lip, deciding.
She was so thirsty.
Slowly, she tipped the glass until the liquid touched her mouth. It was cool and sweet, with a fresh, green edge to the taste. If it was poison, then death was delicious. Keira gulped down the contents of the glass, her head clearing with each swallow.
She set the glass back on the tray and looked at the unappetizingly gray mush. Leaving it where it was, she turned and paced the perimeter of the room, running her fingers over the walls, searching for something—anything—that might be a way out. She drummed her fingers against the strange surface and finally found a section near the corner that sounded more hollow than the rest of the room. She tapped carefully, listening as her knocks outlined an area big enough to be a door.
Hope stirred in her, like the first crocus pushing up through the long-frozen dirt, but she shoved it back down. It might mean nothing. Still, there was no vent to crawl through, no window to jump from. If she had a chance, this was it. She ran her fingers over and over the expanse of wall, looking for a bump, a ridge, a dip—anything. Up and down, across and back, she searched for a way to open the door.
She found nothing.
The cell was sealed like a tomb.
Is that what this room really is? A tomb? Have they thrown me in here to die?
The idea was terrifying. Keira hammered at the wall as though she could beat it down—as though she could push the lid off her own coffin.
And then, without warning, she was falling.
The sensation was so unexpected that Keira barely managed to brace herself for the impact. Her palms slammed against the ground and she instinctively wrenched her face to one side so that her right cheekbone, rather than her nose, smacked the stone. Pain exploded across her eye, sending a starburst of sparkles across her view of a long, featureless hall.
Get up, get up! The voice in her head was insistent. Instinctive. But before she could listen to it, a pair of hands curled around her upper arms, yanking her to her feet. Keira whipped her head around to see who held her. The sudden movement sent another flash of pain through her head and she bit down on the inside of her cheek, determined not to cry out.