19. Chapter 19

19

Chapter 19

Mia

T hree sharp raps at the door, and my stupid heart does a little leap.

Soren. He always announces himself this way. But he's not due here today. And his knock woke me up, so it's probably the early hours of the morning. He never comes at this time of day.

What's going on?

"Hello?" I call out.

"May I come in?" he asks – as if I have a choice in the matter.

I push myself into a sitting position, smoothing a hand over my hair. "Sure," I reply.

The locking mechanism makes a series of beeping sounds, and the door swings open. He stands on the threshold, looking awkward. He has one hand behind his back.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

"No." He shakes his head. "I was just…checking your files." He walks into the room, still looking awkward.

"Yes?" I press, wondering where the hell he's going with this.

"Well, I saw that it's your birthday today, and I know that these things are important to your kind…" He's speaking quickly. "So I brought you this." He extracts a hand from behind his back and holds out a cupcake.

My mouth drops open. It's jumbo-sized and covered in swirls of pink, frothy icing that's sprinkled with some kind of glitter. I stare at it as if he's just presented me with an alien artifact.

"It…" My lips are dry, so I lick them. "It's my birthday?"

He nods. "Happy birthday, Mia." His voice is soft.

I swallow hard. "Thanks," I say past a lump in my throat. I don't know how to respond.

"I'll leave this here," he says, setting the cake on the table by the wall. Without another word, he leaves the room.

I stare at the door after he shuts it behind him. I only realize that I'm crying when I feel the tickle of tears as they stream down my face and drip off my chin.

My birthday.

If it's my birthday, that means I've been here for eight months.

Eight fucking months!

I choke out a sob, then sink back onto the bed and curl into a ball.

How? How did it happen? How did I let so much time go by without fighting to get out of here?

You got complacent, Mia.

I let the days blend into each other, morning and evening blurring by while I've done nothing.

Nothing!

Aside from letting my life pass me by.

I spring out of bed, my bare feet slapping against the floor. Fury burns through me, hot and searing. How could I have let this happen? Eight months since they took me. Eight goddamn months I've been sitting here, playing nice, waiting for my captor to arrive like some lovesick teenager.

My eyes land on that ridiculous cupcake. Without thinking, I snatch it up and hurl it across the room. It explodes against the wall in a spray of pink frosting and crumbs. The satisfying splat does little to dull my anger.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mutter, pacing back and forth. My gaze falls on the notepad on my bedside table. The one I've been using to scribble down verses about moonlight and shadows. As if I'm on some writer's retreat instead of being held captive by bloodsucking monsters.

I grab the pad and flip to a blank page. My hand shakes as I start jotting down notes. No more flowery words or wistful musings. This is war, and it's time I started acting like it.

I scribble furiously, my handwriting barely legible as ideas pour out of me. Coded messages, anything that might help me or the other witches trapped here. I'll need to be careful, of course. Subtle. But there has to be a way to communicate, to organize, to fight back.

The garden. That's where I'll start. I can leave notes there, hidden in plain sight. A pebble placed just so, a leaf turned at a certain angle. Small things that won't raise suspicion but might catch the eye of another witch. There must be a way I can gather enough magic to cast a tiny concealment spell or two.

My mind races with possibilities as I fill page after page. I've wasted so much time, but no more. I'm getting the hell out of here.

My breakfast arrives, and I wolf it down, then wait for the guard who will take me out for my walk.

The door beeps and slides open, revealing Jake's familiar face. He's been my escort to the garden for months now, and the sight of him sends a fresh wave of anger through me. How could I have let this routine lull me into complacency?

"Morning, Mia. Ready for your walk?" Jake asks, his tone casual.

I nod, careful to keep my expression neutral. "Of course. Let's go."

As we head down the corridor, I'm acutely aware of the folded notes tucked into my waistband. Jake doesn't even give me a second glance anymore. Why would he? I've been the model of compliance for so long. Like I'm happy here or something.

My God. I can't believe it.

The garden air hits me, fresh and crisp. Jake settles onto his usual bench, pulling out his phone. Perfect.

I begin my usual meandering path through the flowerbeds, but today, every step has purpose. I kneel by a cluster of daisies, pretending to admire them while I tuck a tiny folded note beneath a rock.

"These are lovely," I call out to Jake, who barely looks up from his screen.

Moving on, I pause by a birdbath. While running my fingers through the water, I slip another note into a crevice in the stone base.

As I continue my circuit of the garden, I leave more breadcrumbs of rebellion. A message wedged in the bark of a tree. Another tucked under a decorative garden gnome. Each placement is casual, unhurried. To anyone watching, I'm simply enjoying nature.

But with each note hidden, a spark of hope grows in my chest. I'm no longer a passive captive. I'm fighting back in my own small way.

I finish my round of the garden, having placed all my notes. Jake stands, ready to escort me back inside. As we walk, I can't help but feel a tiny thrill of victory. It's not much, but it's a start.

The rebellion has begun.

Mia

I barely sleep that night, my mind racing with possibilities and fears. When morning comes, I force myself to eat breakfast, even though my stomach churns with anxiety. The crispy bacon tastes like cardboard, but I know I need to keep up my strength. Plus, I can't risk drawing attention to myself by refusing food.

As I mechanically spoon scrambled egg into my mouth, I go over the plan in my head for the thousandth time. It's risky, but it's the best chance we've got. I can't believe it's been ten months already. Ten months of my life stolen, trapped in this place. The thought makes my blood boil, but I push the anger down. I need to stay calm and focused.

I glance at the clock, willing time to move faster. The wait is excruciating. Part of me wants to get it over with, while another part dreads what's to come. What if something goes wrong? What if I'm caught? I shake my head, banishing the doubts. I have to try. I can't spend another day here pretending this is normal.

As I finish the last of my breakfast, I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves. I need to act natural when the guard comes. Any hint of suspicion could ruin everything. I stand up and move to the small sink to wash my hands and face. The routine actions help calm me, grounding me in the present.

I hear footsteps approaching my cell, and my heart rate spikes. This is it. The moment of truth. I dry my hands, plastering what I hope is a serene expression on my face. As the door opens, I silently pray to whatever powers might be listening.

Please, let this work. Let us find a way out of here.

Jake takes me along our regular route to the garden, making small talk as we go. So normal. As if life should simply work this way. That's how I got tricked into letting my fire die down.

I won't let it happen again.

I step out into the garden, squinting against the bright sunlight. The air is crisp and clean, unlike the sterile environment inside. I take a deep breath, savoring the scent of the outdoors. It's almost enough to make me forget where I am. Almost.

I begin my usual walking routine, careful to maintain a casual pace. Can't risk arousing suspicion now.

As I wander along the path, my eyes dart to the hidden spots where I've left my notes. Disappointment settles in my gut as I see them still in place, untouched. Has something gone wrong? Did nobody see them?

I continue walking, fighting the urge to check again.

Patience, Mia. You can't afford to be reckless.

But as I near the end of my allotted time outside, desperation wins out. I throw caution to the wind and circle back, casually bending down as if to admire a flower. My fingers brush against the loose brick where I hid one of the notes.

My breath catches. It's gone.

Excitement and fear surge through me in equal measure. The note's absence can only mean one thing: my plan is in motion. We're one step closer to freedom.

Unless…one of the guards found it.

No, Mia. Don't think that way.

I straighten up, struggling to keep my features smooth despite the hope blooming in my chest. Although there's a lingering fear that I may have acted impulsively yesterday, I allow myself a small, secret smile.

I'm about to head back inside when I spot her again – the tall, dark-haired witch I've glimpsed a few times since that first day in the garden. My pulse quickens as I realize she's timing her approach to reach the doors at the same moment as me. This is no coincidence.

As we near the entrance, I can feel the weight of Jake's gaze on us. I keep walking calmly, praying the other witch does the same. We can't afford to arouse suspicion now.

"Ladies," Jake says, his tone bored as he holds the door open.

I nod in acknowledgment, careful not to make eye contact with the other witch as we step inside. The air of the facility is cool on my skin after the warmth of the garden. As we move into the narrow hallway, I feel a slight brush against my hand. The instant she touches me, a word takes root in my head.

"Sabine."

My breath hitches. She's a telepath. Probably one of several powers; it's one of mine, too.

"Mia," I respond silently. I can't help myself. I glance over and make eye contact.

"Hey!" the guard following Sabine says sharply. "No fraternizing between guests."

"Guests?" The witch's voice is low and husky. "Pull the other one, bozo."

I like her already. I've turned my attention away when another word floats into my thoughts.

"Lion sculpture."

I say nothing as Jake leads me back to my room, but my mind is working. The huge lion sculpture at the bottom of the garden is a great place to hide things.

I step back into my room, the door closing behind me with its usual finality. But for once, the sound doesn't fill me with dread. Instead, a small flame of hope lights in my chest, warming me from the inside out.

Sabine. I roll the name around in my mind, savoring it like a precious secret. Finally, I have an ally, someone to share this burden with. The brief connection we made, fleeting as it was, has rekindled something I thought I'd lost – a sense of possibility.

My mind races with ideas. If Sabine is a telepath, what other powers might she have? And, more importantly, how can we use them? The vampires may have suppressed our magic, but they can't take away our ingenuity or our will to survive.

I close my eyes, focusing on the lingering sensation of Sabine's touch. It was brief, but in that moment, I felt a surge of energy, a connection that went beyond mere physical contact. Is it possible that our combined powers could be stronger than the vampires' suppression techniques?

A plan begins to form in my mind. It's risky, full of unknowns, but it's more than I've had in months. For the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to imagine a future beyond these walls.

I take a deep breath, feeling my resolve strengthen. I may be trapped for now, but my spirit isn't broken. With Sabine's help and perhaps the assistance of other captives, we might just have a chance.