39. Hope

My eyelids flutter open and I’m staring up at a grey ceiling. This isn’t my room. The bed is cold and hard, a thin mattress failing to disguise the metal underneath. My head is pounding but I think whatever I’ve been given has numbed me from feeling my wrists and ankles. Gingerly lifting them up it’s clear I’ve made a complete mess of myself.

“Hello?” I feebly cough. “Hello?”

Then I turn my head to the side and realise exactly where I am.

In the cells. The silver bars enclose me and I am ready to scream in outrage all over again. On the floor waiting for me is a tray with food and drink.

So their answer to my struggling with the lockdown is to increase the harshness of it? “Bastards,” I mutter before shutting my eyes and willing myself back to the quiet sanctuary of sleep.

When I wake up again the lights have dimmed. So it’s night time. I know that much. My wolf must have been busy healing me. I flex my maroon, blood-encrusted limbs without too much pain. Still laid on the metal b