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Chapter 5

Cora--

Eight Weeks Ago

I slump against the bathroom wall. I’ve searched all three rooms and both closets for anything that would be easier to escape through than the main door. The only walls that sound like they might have some space on the other side are right next to that main door and the vents are too small to fit through. There isn’t a single goddamn window, the floors are concrete, and I refuse to believe that I’m utterly fucked. Landon must have purchased somewhere with a prison in it just for this occasion. From the looks of it, he hammered a few nails in somewhere and painted the walls– evidence of that is left carelessly around. I could use one of the nails for stabbing…

I take a glorious minute to think through the logistics of that. I’d have to catch him in the jugular or stick it through his eye, meaning I’d have to be very close before he had any idea what I was doing. Would that kill a werewolf? There’s fiction saying that they heal instantly, other sources that say they’re immortal, still yet others that imply the healing depends on the shift itself. I’ll have to see if I can weasel any information out of him about it.

I’ve been alone for most of the day now. Landon said he would be back sometime today, but I was almost counting on a continuous interrogation. Isn’t that what war criminals always do? Then again, interrogation is hard work, mentally, and I doubt Landon has it in him to go for longer spurts. Maybe he’s recuperating from last night. We didn’t spar or anything, just kind of circled each other warily. We’re unsure of each other, though God knows what reason he has to be nervous of me.

I put a couple of nails in the pocket of my sweater, careful to leave the bulk of them where Landon would expect them to be. It’s better to have them and not need them, and they’ll make a good test. If he comes in worried about them then I’ll know he has cameras on me. If not… he could just be too busy to watch them at the moment. Damn.

I have no idea how much time is passing. I don’t even know what time I woke up last night. Last night? This morning? I could have slept through the day and become nocturnal when he drugged me. I wonder if Logan is up for negotiations? I could start asking for innocuous things– like a clock– and slowly ask for ingredients for poison when he gets complacent. Do I know how to make any poisons? Shit. Not really.

How would Nellie Bly deal with this situation? I close my eyes and center myself. Clear mind, clear skin. Bly faked insanity so she could investigate the conditions in asylums of the time. She was drugged, too. She was beaten, mistreated, couldn’t escape. Bly faced setbacks and people underestimating her. She got slammed back to the fucking society pages. Just like me. But she came out swinging. She turned around and went into the madhouse to revolutionize journalism as the world knew it. She wouldn’t give up, that’s for sure. With a groan, I take one more turn through the one-bedroom apartment-cell. Maybe I missed something? There has to be something else here.

There’s nothing else here. It looks like the best option for me is to get close enough to stab Landon in the eye with a fucking nail. I know I’m out of time to investigate when I hear the beeping of the combination at the door. If only the inside had the combination on it as well, rather than the fingerprint lock. I tried my finger on it and only got a red blink back.

Landon comes spilling through the door like someone’s behind him, and I have to repress the flash of hope that his brother has three brain cells instead of one. Even two would be enough to know this is a terrible idea. Logan would come barreling in to fix his little brother’s mistakes. Of course, fixing it would probably mean killing me at this point. I’ll leave that hope for a last resort, then.

Landon pushes back a few curls that have flopped onto his forehead, looking stressed. Good. “Sorry, looks like the police finally figured out you’re missing. Logan and Emory came to see if I had you here. Can you believe that? No trust, and they’re family!” I’m irritated enough from the strange mix of stress and boredom I’ve endured today to just let my eyes roll.

“Shocking, that they suspected you did the thing that you did. Maybe they just know you? Where are they?” Landon looks offended, then sheepish.

He leans to the left  so I can see that there isn’t anyone behind him. “Yeah, I guess so. But I’m not as dumb as anyone thinks, either. They searched the whole cabin and had no inkling that you’re here. I have you hidden away. Logan even left an apology note!”

“I’m glad you’re impressed with yourself for breaking the trust of your family. Pack?” I really shouldn’t sass him. I resolved just yesterday to act docile, but I’m battling the unexpected removal of hope I didn’t even realize I was holding onto. Dura, foolish girl. I chide myself. I’ll have to be stronger than this if I want out of here.

Logan waves away my question, looking uncomfortable and guilty for the first time. “Pack at large, I guess, but Logan is hopefully the only one that suspected me. Or, knew that he suspected me. Otherwise, politics are about to get awkward as shit.” Excellent. “Fish again for dinner– I spent half the damn day on the lake before they finally left.”

I keep my face smooth. “Fish is fine. It’s healthy.” The nails in my pocket are a reassuring weight. I can only count on myself.

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