Page 9 of Whispers of the Dead

For all I know, this entire thing could be a trick. A hallucination. Maybe I’ve snapped, and these voices in the dark are nothing more than fragments of my broken mind, trying to cope with this nightmare. With my worst fear. Wouldn’t be the first time someone lost it out here.

A sharp growl from my stomach pulls me from the thought, and I glance at the pathetic excuse for a meal still sitting on my tray, untouched. The most edible thing on there is a candy bar. Then there’s some kind of mush. Something sour that might have once been fruit, but I could be wrong. Regardless, it’s nothing I can eat without risking my life since I don’t have access to insulin.

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. I try to think, try to plan, but my thoughts keep circling back to the same thing.Escape.

A soft thud startles me from my spiraling thoughts. My eyes snap open and I look down to see a bread roll sitting in the middle of my cell. I freeze for a second and stare at it like it might bite me. Then, I lift my gaze and my breath catches.

Cole.

Those green eyes gleaming from the darkness of his cell. Watching me. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. The eyes seem closer this time.

My fingers curl around the bread. I hesitate, then break the silence. “Was that you?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move. His eyes don’t waver.

I roll the bread in between my fingers. “I don’t have much to trade, but I could offer you candy. Or…a moldy carrot,” I add dryly when I get a better look at my pathetic tray.

Still nothing.

From the next cell over, Benji’s voice cuts in, cheerful as ever. “I’ll take the candy bar. Pretty sure I’ve got some vegetables, but, uh, hard to tell in this lighting.”

Despite myself, I let out a soft laugh. “Fine. One candy bar for a mystery veggie.”

I grab the candy bar and slide it through the bars. A tray slides into my cell at the same time.

Our hands brush for the briefest moment. His skin is rough and calloused. A long, jagged scar runs across the back of his hand before he pulls it back into the dark.

“Much obliged,” Benji says. His voice is warm with amusement. Then I hear the telltale crinkle of the wrapper being torn away.

“Enjoy.” I glance down at my trade and raise a brow. “This mystery veggie is steamed broccoli. They’re feeding you guys much better than they are me.”

“Perspective,” Benji says through a mouthful. He must enjoy it, because I think I hear him licking his fingers. “Never been a fan of greens myself.”

I smile, watching the darkness that fills his cell. “Glad I could help.”

“Eat.” The single-word command slices through the moment.

I turn toward the voice. Damon. I can’t see him, of course. A ghost of a man with a voice like steel. A part of me wants to argue, but I don’t. It’s nice, having completestrangers willing to help and keep me alive. That’s a rare thing to find.

So, I eat my prize of broccoli and bread, drinking water in between and being grateful I’ll have one less day to worry about dying.

That still doesn’t solve my problem. I need to get out of here. All four of us do.

My gaze drifts back to Cole’s cell. He hasn’t moved. Haven’t looked away. His silence is unnerving, but there’s something almost comforting about it, too.

For the longest time, being captured by dregs has been my worst nightmare. Ever since that worst day of my life that I’ve never told anyone about. Now, the only thing keeping me sane is knowing I’m not alone in this.

With my stomachno longer growling, my mind sharpens and an escape plan takes shape in fragments. It drifts into my thoughts while I stare down at the last bit of the water in my glass.

I can’t stay here much longer. That much is obvious.

Waiting for someone else to act? That’s not happening, either. Damon already told me escape is impossible. Benji jokes, but he doesn’t sound convinced. Then there’s Cole, and who knows what the hell is going through his head?

These men have already given up, but that’s because they’ve never had someone as stubborn as I can be. Or someone like Emily, who made it impossible to ever consider giving up again.

After finishing off the last few drops of water, I set the empty glass back down and stare at it. An idea takes root. It’s crude and desperate, but it’s something. All I have, really. I pick the glass up again and run my fingers along thesmooth edge, and test the weight of it in my hand. This might work.

Before I can think twice, heavy footsteps echo from down the hall. A jolt of alarm shoots through me, and I shove the glass into the back waistband of my shorts so it’s pressing lightly against my lower back, secured. There’s a sharp intake of breath from Damon’s cell. I’m not sure if I imagined it.

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