Page 17 of Whispers of the Dead

“Too?” Damon echoes. The word hangs between us when I don’t respond.

Benji speaks up, but his usual humor is gone. “Hey, c’mon, golden girl. We’re all stuck in this hellhole together. We look out for each other. Whatever happened to sticking together?”

I glance toward his voice and blink back the burn of tears. The words stick in my throat. How can I explain this? That man alone is the reason why being captured by dregs was always my greatest fear.

There’s no way to explain all of that. I can’t say it out loud, because if I do, it’ll make it real. Then I might as well eat that candy and drink the juice myself.

“Zoey.” Damon says my name again, quieter this time. “Please.”

Benji pleads, too. “Come over here and let me see you.”

Even Cole moves, but he doesn’t say anything. He only watches me, his green eyes unwavering.

I shake my head and bury my face in my arms. “Leave me alone. Please.”

A loud thud rings out, like someone hitting the wall, but I don’t look up to figure out who. I can’t look up. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. The silence that follows is heavy, and I feel eyes lingering on me, but nobody says a word.

I squeeze my arms tighter around myself, trying to hold everything together, trying to stop falling apart. Tears slip down my cheeks. My mind races with every memory of my brother flashing behind my closed eyelids. The way he fought for me, the way he died because of me. And now, the man who took him away is here, and I’m trapped with him more helpless than I’m ever been before.

The tears fall faster, silent and unstoppable. I clutch my arms tighter, but I still fall apart piece by piece. Only this time, no one can possibly pick up my broken pieces.

6

COLE

The quiet is the worst part, and after so long in dark silence, I never thought I would crave the spoken word again.

Zoey sits curled in the corner of her cell with her back pressed against the cold stone wall and her knees tucked tight to her chest. She’s trying to make herself small, trying to disappear, but the dim shaft of light filtering through her barred window betrays her. The golden glow catches the tear tracks on her cheeks and the slight tremble of her shoulders while she cries. She’s silent and controlled, but I still see it. I can’t stop watching her.

Something about it tears at me. Makes my skin itch with restlessness. My fingers curl into fists while anger simmers beneath the surface. A slow, dangerous burn that refuses to fade since Eugene walked in here and shattered whatever small grip Zoey had left on herself.

I press my palms against the wall and suck in a sharp breath, trying to bury the rage that threatens to consume me, but it’s no use. The memory of his smug expression, the way Zoey recoiled, the way her entire body locked up like she’d been physically struck, is seared into my skull. I don’t evenknow this girl, not really, but the urge to protect her overwhelms me. Before I can stop myself, I swing.

The impact echoes off the stone walls. Pain explodes through my knuckles in a sharp, satisfying sting. The wall cracks beneath my fist, sending a fine spray of dust and rubble to the floor. A slow trickle of blood snakes its way down my wrist before dripping onto my bare feet.

I stare at the mess for a second while trying to pull myself together, which is useless since I can’t see shit. I’ve been trapped in the dark for so long, I’ve lost track of the days, along with parts of myself piece by piece while I let the numbness take over. Now, for the first time in a long time, I feel something real. Something sharp. Sharper than the rubble piercing my knuckles.

The silence stretches. When I glance back, Zoey lifts her head enough for me to glimpse her tear-streaked face before she ducks back down to bury herself in the crook of her arms. The sight sends another wave of fury crashing through me. My chest tightens with it, and I take a slow step toward the bars before gripping them with bloodies fingers. Then, before I can think better of it, I say the first word I’ve spoken in weeks.

“Zoey.” My voice is rough and rusty from disuse. It’s barely more than a gravelly whisper, but it might as well be a gunshot in the dead silence.

Benji lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit, he speaks.”

I ignore him. Zoey stiffens and her shoulders go rigid. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t move. I press my forehead against the cool steel of the bars. “Who’s Drew?”

Zoey’s breath catches. Her head snaps up, and her blue eyes lock onto mine. They’re wide with shock. “What?”

“Drew.” I keep my tone neutral, though the anger still simmers beneath the surface. I don’t care who this person was. All I’m focused on is how the aftermath is affecting her.There’s clearly an unhealed wound there. “Who was he to you? A friend? A lover?”

She huffs, a humorless laugh slipping from her lips despite the rawness in her expression. “No. God, no.”

Relief flashes through me, sharp and unexpected. A feeling I don’t want to analyze right now. I grip the bars tighter and watch her closely while I piece together the fragments of her reaction. The way her entire body tenses at the mention of his name. The way her fingers twitch against her knees, like she’s bracing for impact. This person was important to her. Important enough to have left a wound that’s still unhealed.

“Brother, then.”

Her sharp intake of breath tells me everything I need to know.

She tries to say something, but the words catch in her throat. That’s fine, I can wait.

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