They shoved me into the chair and lashed my wrists and ankles. One guard held my head still; the other brought out a knife.
Hale walked in, slow and measured, hands behind his back. He stood in front of me. “Last chance. Confess.”
I stared at the knife, then at him. “Go fuck yourself.”
He smiled, small and cold. “Very well.” He nodded to the guard. The knife flashed. I braced for pain, but all I felt was the blade, cold against my skin as it sliced through my left shirt sleeve. He peeled it back, exposing the tattoo. Then the rest of my forearm, the old scars, the club patches.
He leaned in. “What are you?”
I met his eyes. “More than you can kill.”
“You seem familiar to me,” he said.
His smile didn’t waver, but the hands at my shoulders tightened.
“We will see what it takes to make you die.” He nodded to the guards. “Start with the fingers. Take only one to begin.”
The guard drew the knife to my hand, lined up a finger, and—
Hale stopped him. “Wait.” He crouched and looked at me with renewed curiosity. “You are not like the others. I have seen rebels broken in hours. You? You look at me as if you have already seen how I die.”
I smiled. “Maybe I have.”
He stood, disgusted. “Back to the cell. For now.”
The guards yanked me up, fastened my arms behind my back, and marched me out.
The whole time, I fought to keep my face flat. In my head, I calculated: how many guards, how many doors, where the torches hung, and whether the keys were close.
Back in the cell, Moab caught me by the arm and steadied me.
Hale glared in at us, then locked the door.
“You will die at dawn,” he said, almost bored. “Unless you wish to be more... helpful.” He left, the guards falling in behind.
As the echo of his boots faded, I let the shakes happen. Scarlette grabbed my hand and pressed it to her chest. “You okay?” she whispered.
I shrugged. “Still have all my fingers.”
Moab exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease from his shoulders. “He’ll come back with more. Next time, we’re ready.”
Celeste didn’t say a word, just stared at me, her eyes shining.
I slumped against the wall, heart hammering so hard I thought it might break through. The fear was back. But beneath it, something else: a pulse, ancient and loud, telling me that no matter what, I had to get out. Not for me. For Catherine. For all the ghosts left behind. Dawn was hours off. I made a promise to myself not to die before then.
Scarlette broke the silence. “We’re fucked, you know.”
Moab didn’t disagree. He just stood, pressed both palms to the cold stones, and grunted. “We get one shot, and it’s when they come for us. Otherwise…” He let the words drift, unfinished.
I found my voice. “They want me first. Maybe we use that.”
Scarlette sneered. “And do what? Break your way through two guards and an iron door?”
Moab’s jaw set. “We’ve done more with less.” He jerked his chin at me. “If you can take one, I can take the other.”
Celeste’s eyes slid open, black and wet in the firelight. She beckoned me closer with two fingers. I crawled over, knelt so we were eye-to-eye.
She whispered, “It’s worse than you think. We’re in the bowels of Dublin Castle. Her Majesty’s executioner runs the show upstairs, but Hale…” She licked her lips, voice going ragged. “He’s not scheduled to be here for another week, Toolie.We landed days after your death, not before. You are already supposed to be a corpse.”