Chapter Text
“Take her away,” Warner says. “Tell Hugo we’ll begin in the morning.”
I go suddenly still.
Warner is watching me for a reaction, and I realize only then that I’ve been expertly outmaneuvered.
Hugo.
I don’t resist when I’m hauled away by rough hands, my mind surging with panic.
Surveillance is security, Rosa. Only criminals need privacy.
“Hey— Wait—”
But, Papa, I don’t want strangers to watch me all the time—that sounds awful—
James takes a step towards me on instinct, falling back only when his brother claps him, hard, on the shoulder.
Sometimes it doesn’t matter what we want, Rosa. Sometimes we don’t know what’s best for us. Sometimes a child wants to touch the fire just to feel it burn. If we want to protect the child, we have to teach him to obey.
I haven’t seen my father in ten years.
Hugo, sweetheart, can you ask Rosabelle to come here, please? She keeps ripping the blossoms off my roses—
I look back at James as they take me away, my thoughts unspooling in alarm. His eyes are burning, ablaze with feeling, and I try to hold onto this image of him, committing the details to memory. I don’t even think to struggle as I’m shoved forward, then dragged around a corner. This is not the time for action. There are dark days ahead of me. Long nights awaiting me. I need a place to rest my head, a place to sort my thoughts, a place to make my plans.
Prison will do just fine.
✧ ✧ ✧
I sit on the thin mattress of the small metal bed in my cell.
Everything is a pale gray the color of fog on an eerie morning. The walls. The floor, the ceiling. The light that comes from the high window, which I’m fairly certain is artificial.
Opposite the window is a one-way glass wall that’s likely bulletproof, and although I can’t see them, I know there are cameras.
It feels as though about an hour has passed since I was brought here from the rehabilitation center. An hour since I last saw James. An hour since we were in the tunnels, and he asked me if I trusted him.
I don’t know what prompted me to say yes, but I do know that despite my growing, strange, and inconvenient trust in him, I don’t want anyone entangled in my almost unthinkable plan but me. James’ involvement would only lead to my getting caught. He would be a weakness, a vulnerability I can’t afford to have.
Because if, somehow, Klaus discovers my true objectives, I will have guaranteed Clara’s death… and, likely, torture.
But… I can’t shake the feeling I have about James.
You’re dead on the inside, Rosa. You always have been.
But with him, the careful numbness I’ve maintained, the mask of apathy I’ve always worn—
It slips. And it scares me.
I inhale shakily, breathing in the cold, sterilized air. Then I suddenly sit straight, my ears alert, when I hear a faint buzzing sound and the release of air as a door beyond the glass wall slides open.
I wait, every muscle in my body tensed.
Footsteps ring through the silence, rhythmic and sure, then halt.
Beep, beep beep.
I listen carefully. Whoever is on the other side of the wall seems to be operating some type of control pad.
Suddenly, a small slot appears at the bottom of one of the walls in my cell, and it’s caged by what appears to be… an energy shield, which pulses with a faint glow.
I watch warily as a tray of food slides out from the slot.
Immediately, the opening closes, and the shield disappears with a flicker.
For a moment, I’m slightly surprised by the high-tech security measures they’ve put in place. I’ve always assumed that the technology of the Reestablishment was far more advanced than that of the New Republic, but I underestimated the extent of their progress. Escaping Supermax may be more difficult than I had originally expected.
I don’t linger on that thought for long, though, because soon, the warm smell of roast chicken fills the air, savory and rich. They’ve also provided me with a small heap of salad and a scoop of steaming rice.
The footsteps fade, and I hear the sound of a door sliding closed and locking shut. It echoes in the silence, leaving me alone once more.
I stare at the tray, and my fists clench against the mattress. Both my eyes and mouth water.
Back in the Pit, we endured living conditions far worse than this. Constant surveillance from the Nexus — the Reestablishment’s neural network — invaded not only our lives, but our very thoughts. Fire was a luxury. Hunger, a staple. We were trapped, locked in a miserable life where the only key to freedom was death.
Most times when I opened our cabinets, I found nothing but emptiness to match the hollowness in mine and Clara’s stomachs.
Rosa, what does meat taste like?
Rosa, we’re having a banquet. You sit there, and I’ll sit here, and we’ll pretend my bedsheet is the tablecloth, okay?
So how can I eat a meal like this, when I know others who can’t? How can I sleep soundly in this bed, when I know others who lie awake at night, their worries and longings flooding their minds, threatening to overflow?
The guilt replaces my appetite. As hungry as I am, I can’t simply forget the faces and the life that I left behind when Klaus first sent me on my original mission.
My heart is heavy with memories, but my eyelids are, too. And so, after a long moment, I lie down. I rest my head on the mattress and tell myself to sleep — but not because I deserve it.
I’ll need the rest to map out the first step of my plan: escaping Supermax. It’s an extremely high-tech, heavily secured building, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’ll need assistance to free myself, from either a Reestablishment spy here… or James.
The mere thought of him makes my heart race.
I remember his expression as I was being pulled away to the prison. His eyes, kaleidoscopes of sapphire and skies and oceans of emotion, burned into mine and I wish I could save that moment and tuck it away in my heart permanently, because I saw something in his eyes. Confusion, a glint of determination. Wariness… and a shimmer of hope.
And what I realize in this moment, is that as much as I fear him, as much as I am doubtful about trusting him… I wasn’t lying when I told him I did.
There’s something about James that draws me towards him. The way he can flash a smile when he’s been shot three times. The way he would die for his family, but also defy his family for me. The way he always seems to keep hope alive, to keep the candle burning even when the wind tries to blow it out.
I don’t know how he does it, in this world where unimaginable pain and evil exists. It confuses me, he confuses me, and he is my one weakness that I can’t figure out.
I curl up and stare at my reflection in the one-way glass. I want to sigh. I want to let my eyes well up in frustration. I don’t, though, because there are cameras, and, in fact, someone might be watching me right now.
I take a deep breath and push James out of my mind.
Because what I should be more concerned about is something else. Something far more personal, something Warner has surely crafted to weaken me and shatter my defenses.
I’m not sure what Warner meant when he commanded his men to tell Hugo , “ we’ll begin in the morning ,” but I’m not looking forward to it.
I haven’t seen my father in ten years.
And I don’t want to see him again.
So I close my eyes and drift off into a restless sleep, and my final wish before I lose consciousness is that the night is long, and that morning will take its time arriving.
✧ ✧ ✧
In my dreams I am safe; I have a strong hand to hold; a door to lock against the dark; a trusted ear into which I whisper my fears. In my dreams I am patient and kind; I have room in my heart for more pain than my own. I am not afraid to smile at strangers. I have never witnessed death.
How we wish dreams were true.
I wake, gasping, to the sound of a speaker crackling. Immediately, I sit up, blood rushing to my head and my heart pounding in my ears. I stand, my eyes darting around the room, searching for the source. I find none.
The tray of food is where I left it, the glass is still one-way, and silver light streams through the window, brighter than it appeared last night.
Everything is silent for a moment, as if even the air is holding its breath. Then—
“ Deactivate veil protocol. ” A voice suddenly orders over the invisible speaker.
I spin around, tense, as a short buzz sounds from somewhere in the room.
Everything appears to be still. Then, I notice what’s happening.
The glass wall is shifting, and it’s almost as if my reflection in it is pixelating, tiny squares of gray shifting and flickering, lightening and darkening. Slowly, I back away.
Then it’s as if someone is literally lifting a veil, and all of a sudden, the glass turns clear as crystal. I can see outside my cell. There’s a short hallway with a heavily secure-looking door at the end, and a closed panel in the wall where I assume the control pad is hidden.
After quickly analyzing the space beyond my cell, I’m startled by another crackling sound from the speakers.
“ Excited, Rosabelle Wolff? ” the voice speaks again.
Who are you? I think to myself, my breathing quickening, but I have a theory. It’s someone who’d want to see me uneasy, tense. Someone who’d want me to feel afraid of what’s coming. Warner.
Dread seeps into my chest, thick and heavy, as I hear the same buzz that signals the opening of the door.
Tell Hugo we’ll begin in the morning , he said.
I clench my fists and close my eyes as I hear the sound of gears rotating, locks unlatching, bolts clicking.
Ma’am, we’ve come to deliver the news of Commander Wolff’s betrayal.
The memories are flooding back, a downpour of fury and fear and pain and chaos. But none of it touches my face.
And I open my eyes as the door slowly, slowly begins to slide open.