Page 10 of Freed Wolfsbane

Peering under my own cot, I see a set similar to what Anson’s pulling on. I grab them and slip them on. Even though they’re a bit too big, it’s better than having to wander the facility in only grippy socks.

Pounding footsteps sound in the hallway. I whip my head around as I stand up to stare at the corridor in apprehension. Like yesterday, two guards come into view. However, these are different than the first pair. Both guards are dressed in the black tactical Knight uniform. Aside from their uniform, neither is particularly remarkable with brown hair, brown eyes, and averagely tanned skin.

When the two stop in front of our cell, a loud buzzing sounds before the cell door slides open. Unsure what to do, I just stare at them. The one with darker brown hair rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he barks. “Take much longer and you two can skip breakfast.”

Anson places a gentle hand on my back and shoves me through the door. He follows quickly behind me and guides us over to the wall opposite our cell. The guards walk down the hallway and follow the same procedure for the other ten rooms in this corridor.

A lump forms in my throat when I see kids wander out to stand in front of me. Some of them are Ava’s age, which makes my heart squeeze painfully. Others are even younger. I’d guess that a few of them are only five or six years old. My heart splinters into a million pieces as I look into the little terrified faces in front of me. I have the urge to shove them all behind me so I can protect them, but I know that’s not how it works here.

My resolve to get out of here hardens. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m taking all of these kids with me when I break out.

I glare at the guards as they walk to the back of the line. The one with lighter hair notices my hate-filled stare as he passes. Taking me by surprise, he snaps out his baton and slams it into my shins. Gasping at the sharp, intense pain that radiates up the front of my legs, I fight the urge to crumple to the ground.

The kids stare at me fearfully, a few of them even starting to cry. I groan internally before pasting a, hopefully not terrifying, smile on my face. “I’m fine.” I try to inject cheer I don’t feel into my voice to reassure them. A hit to the shin hurts like crazy because of the long nerve running up it, but it doesn’t do any permanent damage.

The older kids shake themselves out of their shock and start comforting the younger ones, even though I can see lingering fear in their gazes. It works for most of the little ones. The blonde girl right in front of me is still silently crying, despite the best efforts of the teenage boy next to her.

If my heart weren’t already in pieces, the girl’s silent sobs would absolutely shred it. Little kids should have messy, loud, gigantic breakdowns when things don’t go their way. They shouldn’t know to stifle their fear or quiet their cries.

I crouch down so I’m at eye level with the girl, who I’d guess is around five years old. I give her a soft smile. “Hey there. I’m Briar. What’s your name?”

Her big brown eyes peer at me cautiously as tears drip down her round cheeks. When she doesn’t say anything, the boy around Ava’s age standing behind her answers. “I’m Jake. You wanna share your name?” he asks the little girl as he runs a hand through his unruly dirty blond hair.

She wrings her hands before nervously whispering, “Annabel.” Jake’s pale blue eyes light up at her answer, and he flashes me a genuine grin at her speaking to me. I smile back, and he turns to comfort another little kid, trusting me to make Annabel feel better.

“It’s nice to meet you, Annabel. Are you looking forward to breakfast?” She gives me the tiniest nod. My smile grows as her tears start to slow. “What’s your favorite breakfast food?”

Her lower lip trembles slightly. “My mama’s French toast. They don’t have that here.”

I want to smack myself for making her think of her family. I hope her family is still out there somewhere, missing her cute face terribly. But there’s always a chance her family could be dead, trapped here, or at another Knights’ facility.

“I can’t promise French toast, but I’m sure I can find you a treat at breakfast.” I exaggeratedly waggle my eyebrows at her, trying to get her to laugh.

While she doesn’t giggle, a small, hopeful smile breaks out on Annabel’s face. “Really?”

“Definitely,” I promise without knowing what kind of food they serve for breakfast. It doesn’t matter, though. I’ll do whatever is needed to cheer the little girl up. “My little sister loves the breakfasts I whip up for her, so I’m sure I can come up with something.”

Annabel doesn’t get a chance to respond because one of the guards walks to the front of the line and barks, “Move it.”

Flashing her a reassuring smile, I stand up to my full height without saying anything, not wanting to draw any attention to her. Thankfully, my shins stopped screaming at some point while I was crouched down, so I should be able to move normally.

We silently watch the rest of the line slowly start moving. “Can I hold your hand?” Her voice is so quiet I almost miss it.

“Of course. I’m new here, so I could use someone to show me the way.” She puts her tiny hand in mine, a gentle warmth radiating off her. Annabel grasps my palm like it’s her only anchor in a raging storm.

Her chest puffs up. “I can show you around. I know the way.”

My lips tilt up at how proud she sounds. We start walking down the hallway, and I slow my steps so her short scrub-covered legs can keep up with me. If Anson minds the laid-back pace, he doesn’t say anything.

We walk through bleak white tiled hallways with harsh florescent lighting for probably five or so minutes. The guards don’t seem to have a problem with us seeing where we go for breakfast. I wonder if I really wasn’t allowed to know the way back to my cell or if Ryker just wanted an excuse to hit me. The dude seems weirdly fond of knocking me out, so I wouldn’t put it past him.

When the lead henchman opens a set of double white doors, I’m bombarded with the chatter of hundreds of conversations happening at once. Glancing around, I’m surprised to see that it looks just like the standard lunchroom at a school. On one side of the large room is a serving station with a grumpy-looking woman dishing out food to the supernaturals clustered around. Worn gray tables are jammed into every available inch of the remaining space, and most of them are full.

I don’t know why, but I’m startled to find well over five hundred people in the massive cafeteria. I already knew there had to be a ton of supernaturals here, but it’s different actually seeing it in person.

Hopelessness tries to creep in. If all these people couldn’t break out, how in the hell am I supposed to? I shove that unhelpful thought into one of the many boxes in my mind. Just because no one has escaped yet, doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

Something shoving into my shoulder yanks me out of my thoughts. I stumble from the hard blow, but I right myself before I can face-plant.

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