Chapter 3: The Golden Cage

The SUV didn't bounce over the flooded road.

It just plowed straight through the standing water like it didn't care. Like nothing on this road could stop it.

I pressed my cheek against the window. The glass was cold enough to hurt. My wrists were still throbbing — deep and hot, the kind of pain that reminded you it was there every time you forgot about it for a second.

Outside the window the city changed.

The yellow streetlights of the outer rim disappeared. The sagging buildings. The smell of fried food and wet concrete that I'd grown up with my whole life. All of it just — gone. Replaced by neon. Then glass. Then towers so tall they blocked out the sky.

I watched it all go by and kept my face very still.

Tor didn't say a word the whole drive. He just sat in the front with both hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. He hadn't looked at me once since we left the Obsidian Club.

"Where are we going," I said.

"Home," he said.

That was it. Just that one word.

The car started climbing. The road got steeper and the city fell away beneath us and the trees closed in on both sides, thick and dark, cutting off the sky completely. I watched them through the window and thought about my father and made myself stop thinking about my father because if I started I wouldn't be able to stop.

The trees broke.

My stomach dropped.

It wasn't a house. It wasn't even close to what I'd call a house. It was a fortress. Massive iron gates rising out of the fog with armed men standing in the rain on both sides, rifles held tight across their chests. Beyond the gates a driveway of black stone led up to a building that had been driven directly into the side of a cliff.

Concrete and black steel and glass. Security cameras everywhere. The red lights of them blinking through the rain like eyes.

I pressed my hand against the window and looked for fire escapes. Looked for anything I could use to get out if I needed to.

Nothing.

If Varek decided I was useless I was already standing in my grave.

Tor parked at the front steps and pulled me out by my collar. The brass doors slid open before we reached them. Inside was all white marble, too bright, too big, smelling of flowers and something underneath the flowers that I couldn't name yet.

A line of staff stood waiting. Not one of them looked at my bloody wrists or my swollen face. Their eyes were on the floor.

Tor handed me off to an older woman holding folded fabric. "Clean her up," he said. He looked at me. "Don't leave the room."

The woman's grip on my arm was stronger than it looked. She walked me up a wide glass staircase without saying anything.

The bedroom was enormous.

One whole wall was just glass looking straight down a cliff into black ocean. The storm was rolling in hard and the lightning was already walking across the water.

The woman stripped my wet jacket and boots off and dropped a silk nightgown over my head without asking. It clung to my damp skin. It felt horrible. Like wearing cold water.

The door clicked shut behind her.

The lock engaged.

I stood in the middle of the rug and counted to four.

Then I started working.

I hit the window glass with my palm first. It didn't even rattle. I checked the air vents — screwed shut. I ran my fingers along the baseboards looking for anything and found nothing but expensive flooring.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

The silk sheets slid under my fingers and I thought — if he took the finger, dad's still breathing. That was the logic I was holding onto. That was the only thing keeping me upright.

The storm broke just after midnight.

Thunder loud enough to shake the floor under my bare feet. Lightning turning the room white for half a second and then gone.

I stood up.

I couldn't sleep in a room I didn't know. Growing up in the outer rim you didn't close your eyes somewhere new until you found every exit and every blind spot. It wasn't fear. It was just math.

I went to the bedside table. Heavy brass lamp. I unscrewed the top, reached past the hot bulb, and pulled a thin piece of copper wire loose from the socket.

The keypad by the door glowed red.

I got down on my knees on the cold floor. I fed the copper wire into the tiny gap at the base of the keypad housing. Ten years of getting into locked cars in Sector Four had taught me one thing — every lock had a way back in. People always left themselves one.

I twisted the wire left.

A small spark bit my thumb.

The keypad turned green.

The door opened with a soft sound. Like a breath going out.

The hallway was colder than the room.

The whole house was quiet under the sound of the rain outside. I moved on the balls of my feet. Skipped the main stairs. Found a narrow service stairwell behind a panel near the end of the hall and took it down.

The smell changed as I went lower.

Expensive flowers first. Then nothing. Then bleach — sharp and chemical. And underneath the bleach, underneath everything else, something heavy and copper that I knew without wanting to know.

Blood.

I followed the smell to the bottom.

A long concrete hallway. Cheap lights buzzing overhead. A heavy steel door at the far end sitting open just two inches.

I heard it before I reached it.

A heavy wet sound. The kind that hit something that had stopped being able to tighten against it.

I pressed my back to the wall and moved to the door.

I looked through the gap.

The room had a drain in the center of the floor. A man was tied to a chair bolted over it. His face was ruined. Blood ran freely from his nose and dripped into the grate below him.

Varek stood over him.

Jacket gone. Sleeves pushed up. His arms mapped with old scars. His hands dripping fresh red onto the concrete.

"Who paid for the manifest?" Varek said. His voice was completely flat. Like he was asking about the weather.

The man coughed. Spat something onto the floor. "Go to hell."

Varek grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and hit him in the ribs.

The crack of it echoed off the walls.

I flinched.

My bare heel made a small sound on the wet floor outside the door.

Tiny. The thunder outside was enormous.

Varek's head snapped toward the door.

His eyes found the two inch gap immediately. Like he'd known I was there the whole time.

His hand dropped to his thigh.

The gun came up in one smooth movement. Pointed directly at the gap. Directly at my face.

The safety clicked off in the quiet.

Neither of us moved.