Page 75 of Raven

He nodded. "Yes. Yes. Please ..." He put his hand to his chest. "Tell me what I can do to make this up to you. Please, tell me."

It was hard to hold onto the connection between us. I had to loop it, and keep pushing, but I had to keep it at a balance. My panther roared in me, I'm not sure if it was out of approval, or if he felt the agony I was channelling.

"Do you have keys?" I said, testing, daring ... I didn't rise to my feet, but I crawled close to him, close to the door. "I have to go and bury my mother," I said. "They left her."

He started sobbing at the sound of that. "They killed her. They ..."

"They did. Now she's alone. Do you have a mother?"

He nodded violently. "Yes."

I closed my eyes for a moment, concentrating. I reached deep within myself, to that raw, aching wound of losing my mother. The pain of it was still fresh, still bleeding. I took all of that—the shock, the disbelief, the crushing grief—and channelled it into the guard.

But I twisted it. I made it personal for him. I imagined what it would feel like to lose his mother, to have her ripped away suddenly, violently. The emptiness, the void left behind. The knowledge that he'd never hear her voice again, never feel her embrace.

The guard's face crumpled. A keening wail escaped his lips, a sound of pure anguish. He doubled over, clutching at his chest as if physically wounded.

"Mum," he gasped between sobs. "Oh god, Mum ..."

I watched him, my face a mask of sympathy even as I continued to pour grief into him. "It hurts, doesn't it?" I saidsoftly. "To lose someone like that. To know you'll never see them again."

He nodded, unable to speak through his tears.

"Now imagine," I continued, my voice low and intense, "imagine if someone had taken her from you. Murdered her. Left her body alone, uncared for."

The guard's sobs intensified. He looked up at me, his eyes wild with grief and horror. "I ... I can't ... It's too much..."

"But that's what happened to my mother," I pressed. "And you ... you've been keeping me here, away from her. Unable to bury her, to say goodbye."

His face twisted with fresh guilt and sorrow. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm so sorry. What ... what can I do? Please, tell me what I can do."

I leant in closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "Let me go. Let me go to her. Let me bury my mother."

The guard's hand moved to his belt, fumbling for his keys. His whole body shook with the force of his emotions—the manufactured grief for his mother, the very real guilt for his actions.

"Yes," he mumbled, tears still streaming down his face. "Yes, of course. I'll ... I'll help you. We have to make this right."

He reached for the lock.

THIRTY-FOUR

The guard's fingers shook as he wrestled with the lock. My heart thundered in my chest, so loud I was sure it would give me away. I white-knuckled the bars, forcing calm into my bones, clinging to the thread of guilt I'd woven through the guard's mind. Tears carved paths down his face. He swiped at them with the back of his hand.

"Sorry. I ..." he choked out.

Finally—the soft click of freedom as the lock surrendered.

As the cage door swung wide, I pounced. My body coiled and released, every muscle singing with pent-up energy. The guard, drowning in the sea of guilt and grief I'd dumped on him, never saw it coming. I snatched his arms, spun him, and hurled him into my cell. My fist rocketed into his jaw, and he crumpled, out cold before he hit the ground. I dragged his dead weight onto my bed, my muscles screaming in protest.

I froze, ears straining. No alarms. No shouts. Not yet.

Swiping the guard's keys, I slithered out of the cell, yanked the gate shut, and snapped the lock home. The corridor yawned before me, a dimly lit tunnel of oppressive silence. I crept forward, my bare feet silent on the cold floor. Every corner, every turn screamed 'trap', but I carried on, senses on highalert. I kept low, hugging the shadows. I needed to put as much distance between me and here as possible, even if I had no clue where 'here' actually was.

Lucky for me, when they'd paraded me around on that Moon night run, when my father had shown off his prodigal son, he'd unknowingly mapped out my escape route. Without that, I'd be a rat in a maze, probably ending up right back where I started.

The guy in the cell a few down from mine wasn't napping. He was pressed against the bars, eyes wide when he clocked me.

"Hey ..." he hissed.

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