*
I HAVE BEEN IN solitary nine times in my one hundred and seven days at the Garden. The first few times for three days. The next few for a week. Then two weeks. This is the longest I will have been here.
Sometimes I wonder why the Governess puts up with me at all. My body may be healthier from growing up outside the city walls, but I wonder if that makes me worth her trouble. As hard as I push to stay away from the auction, I sometimes worry that she’ll try to dump me early—give me to some pimp from the Black Lanes, like the others who don’t make the cut.
At least while I’m here I’ll get to see Brax. If he’s stuck around, that is.
The Watcher goes inside and sits in his rigid metal chair before the window. If I’m going to get out of here I have to get that key on the belt across his chest. I can’t be too quick about it though; I need to sit back, bide my time. Wait until he stops expecting me to bolt. That’s when I’ll strike.
I just need to get close enough to slip it off without him noticing. Not an easy feat, but there’s no way around it. The bracelet can’t be cut off—I’ve tried with every sharp piece of metal and rock I’ve managed to smuggle back here. I have to get the key, and for that I’ve got a plan.
Once this bracelet’s off, I’ll wait until dark and then follow the runoff stream through the weeds into the sewer. It’s big enough for Brax to fit through, so it’s big enough for me.
Then, freedom. I’m getting my family, and going so deep in the mountains the Trackers will never find us.
I unlace my slender black boots and set them aside. My toes curl around the grass and weeds, and I cringe at a bite of pain from the gravel beneath. My feet have been spoiled by these city-wearer’s shoes. They’ve lost their calluses from my life in the mountains. I add this to my checklist of things I must remedy before my escape. If I’m going to run, my body’s got to be ready to move.
The Watcher stares at me blankly as I pass in front of his station. The way a dead person stares at some fixed point in the distance. The way my ma saw through sightless eyes after her soul left her body.
Daphne’s words return to me—about men proving that Mother Hawk doesn’t exist. The idea of it sours in my stomach. But the thought of my ma’s soul going to the next life, of her bearing more children and loving them as she loved me, feels even worse.
I feel my brows draw together and ignore the guilt I feel for putting her out of my mind.
After I’m sure the Watcher’s bored with watching me drag my chain through the dirt, I walk back around the other side of the office, beyond where he can see. When I pause to listen I can tell he hasn’t got up to follow. Good.
Behind the back wall I see something that surprises me.
A man leading a tired bay mare in a red halter. He’s tall for a Driver; his outstretched arm rests on the mare’s withers without having to reach up. His lanky body fills the typical garb of his people: scuffed leather boots, rawhide pants, a dirt-streaked tunic, and a faded maroon handkerchief rolled around his neck. His hair is messy and ragged, but as golden as the sun in the mountains, and his face has been darkened by a lifetime of outdoor work.
My next thought is that he must be new, because he’s about to do something incredibly stupid—something I’ve never seen another Driver try in their time here.
Thirty paces away, he’s leading the mare through a break in the fence towards the narrow runoff stream. He clearly doesn’t realize that it flows from the pond in the rec yard, where it’s been treated with chemicals to keep it looking clean. It’s poisonous. If I hadn’t heard the girls whispering about it the first time I’d been sent here, I would have tried to drink it.
Just like this boy’s about to let his horse do.
I don’t think about what I do next. I don’t consider that he’s a Driver and dangerous, maybe even lethal. I don’t think about how the Watcher will react when he hears me. I’m thinking about that horse and how her stupid owner’s about to get her killed.
“Stop!” I shout, waving my free arm and running towards the stream.
The Driver sees me a second later, and before I can take another breath, he whips a gleaming dagger from his belt and hurls it directly at my chest.