The Girl Who Dared to Think (The Girl Who Dared #1)

Gerome looked expectantly at Devon, and the older man stared at me, his eyes hard. “It seems like a reasonable request, but I fear you humanize them too much.”

I fear you don’t humanize them at all. While Gerome’s participation in this was, in the loosest way possible, understandable, Devon’s was not. He was a man who could actually change things in the Tower, but decided not to. And that made him worse in my eyes than anyone else involved in this monstrosity.

There was an abrupt movement in the cell, and I looked over to see Grey sitting back down, staring at the glass. I hoped he’d received the message I had risked so much to send. And understood it.

“Disgusting,” Devon muttered. “Like an animal, really. Imagine what depravity it must require to become a one.”

Gerome nodded, obedient as ever.

“We tried rehabilitating them,” Devon said, his lip curling. “We really did. But no matter what we did, they fell, and they fell, and they fell, and they dragged others with them. Good people. Honest people.” He shook his head.

Rehabilitating. Yeah, right—from what I had seen and heard coming from those rooms, rehabilitation was anything but. You couldn’t get compliance from people by driving needles into their heads and scrambling their brains. They’d be lucky to function at all after something like that, but I doubted they could do more than perform the simplest of tasks. No creativity. No innovation. No thoughts.

Which definitely meant they weren’t dragging anyone down with them, as Devon had stated.

I watched as Grey folded his knees to his chest, using him as a visual reminder to hold my tongue and keep from saying anything rude to Devon. Keep from giving us away. I hated being in that room with Devon, and found myself hating him more than I’d ever hated anyone or anything in my life.

“Do it, Squire,” Devon said. “Earn your place. Show us why Scipio graced you with that nine.”

I swallowed, and Grey looked up. I knew he couldn’t see me, but in that moment I met his gaze. Held it. Here sat the man who had saved me. Who had taken a risk on me—and had been repaid with capture, with torture. The wound on his chest was turning yellow with infection, and I could see the tired pain he was in, the hollow hunger in his eyes. I felt my heart swelling. This confirmed all over again that my purpose was not to kill.

“Do it,” Devon said again, his voice sharper this time.

My purpose was to save.

I slapped my hand onto the button, feeling a wave of terror flowing through me, seated deep in my bones, convincing me that I had just condemned a man to die. This wasn’t supposed to kill him anymore—this would just be steam. Please let it just be steam. There was a click, a whirr, and then the gas began pouring into the room.

Grey’s eyes grew theatrically wide when he saw the white mist pouring in, and he immediately flattened himself to the ground. He’d gotten my message, I told myself. He was acting.

Devon let out a little chuckle of amusement at that. “Does he think that will help?” he asked into the silence. My hand clenched into a fist as his words crashed into me, and I fought off the urge to hit him.

Noise from the other room was completely cut off, and I watched, clenching my hands behind my back until my nails bit into my skin. Anger shifted to apprehension and fear as I saw the first tendrils of mist slip into Grey’s nose, and waited, apprehensive and nervous and certain that Zoe had made a mistake.

Please, I begged. Please let this work.

Nothing happened for a second, and then Grey gasped, his breath becoming ragged like he was struggling to inhale. His hand darted to his throat, scrabbling there until he scratched long, pink lines down his skin. I stared in horror as blood began to trickle onto his collarbone and he started to slam himself against the glass. Once, twice, three times he battered himself, eyes wide, before he tipped over and started convulsing on the floor, a slip of saliva spilling from his mouth. He kicked once. Again. Then he was still. There was no way to tell whether Grey was acting or not, which made it all the more terrifying to watch. I kept looking for a sign, but coming up short.

I hit the button to vent the gas two seconds later. I wanted to believe this plan had worked, but if he was acting, it was so realistic, and all I could hear were the voices in my head screaming at me that I had just murdered him. Something had gone wrong. I had just killed him. Devon was smiling in grim satisfaction, while Gerome wore the same steely expression as always.

I waited a moment, but that was all I could manage. In my pocket, I wrapped a sweaty hand around the pill case and opened it, letting the pill roll free.

“Sir,” I said, my voice finding a strong note and holding it. “May I go inside now?”

“You may,” Devon said, lifting a hand and waving it dismissively.

I moved over to the door and opened it. I followed a long, narrow hall down about fifty feet, until it opened up slightly. There was another door at the end of the hall, and I noted it, making an educated guess that it led to where the prisoners were kept when they weren’t in the cells or rehabilitation rooms. I turned right to enter the holding area. An exposed tile shower stood outside the cell, as well as a heavy metal table. I walked past it, too, trying not to think about all the degrading things that might have happened in this room.

The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was the smell. The cell was obviously filthy, but the stench just reared up to punch me right in the nostrils. Excrement. Blood. And in the middle of it all was Grey, streaks of pink leading to his hands. He was so still. His eyes were closed. If he was breathing, I couldn’t see it.

I knelt, putting a hand on his chest and hoping for a heartbeat.

His chest was still beneath my hand.

No. No! No! No! No!

Keep it together, I ordered myself, palming the pill. Stick to the plan. He’s alive.

I reached for his chin, pretending to shut his mouth, and as I did so I let the little pill slip past my fingers and between his teeth. It was a small motion, shielded from the audience by my body. Hopefully nobody would suspect a thing.

Swallow, I thought at him, willing him to do so. Don’t let them find your Scipio-damned body with a pill in its mouth.

As if in answer, I saw his mouth move. It was only a little, but the movement was definitely there. I felt my heart leap into my throat, then forced myself back into the moment. There was no time for emotions. I had to get him out of there. I lifted him, a full dead weight in my arms, and began dragging him from the cell. Luckily, I had been trained in how to move unconscious people without causing too much harm to myself.

“SQUIRE.”

Devon’s voice was cold as steel as he snapped out the command. I leapt, Grey slipping from my arms to collapse against the floor as I jerked around to stare at the Champion standing in the doorway.

“Sir?”

“Step away,” he said, his voice sharp as he yanked his baton out, its tip igniting with blue light. “He’s not dead. The gas didn’t do its job.”