it is to see his scars. So many of them. “Can I get your back for you?”
Wearing an unenthusiastic expression, he huffs and twists to the side, crossing his chained arms over one another.
My stomach lurches at the sight of him. A map of rough scars covers his back in the crisscross patterns of what must’ve been inflicted by a whip. Deep, tunneling grooves pass beneath my fingertips as I mindlessly touch them, and at the twitch of his shoulder, I draw back my hand for the cloth.
Gone is the odor from before, and by the time I’m finished, he smells clean, in spite of the room’s lingering stench.
“I’ll return to check on your sutures. Make sure they’re healing appropriately.”
Pulling his knees up, he rests his elbows there. “Thanks.”
“And thank you again. Whether my situation is better, or worse, I’m grateful for what you did back at the arena.”
Not bothering to look at me, he offers only a curt nod in response.
After gathering up the supplies, I wait for the guard to close the door and hand off the dirty water and cloths to him. “How is there electricity in this place?”
“Remus stole a bunch of solar panels a while back. More than enough for this building.”
“What does he intend to do with all that power?”
“Same thing all men with power intend. Hoard it. Let me get rid of this.” He shuffles off somewhere with the blood-soaked cloths, and the sound of whispers reach my ear just as before.
Frowning, I peer in on Titus, whose mouth doesn’t appear to be moving. I tiptoe to the next door, searching through the small window, only the dim light from my side of the door offering an obscure view of beyond.
The profile of a man on his knees, in prayer, seizes my attention.
My heart slams into my throat.
No.
Chapter 12
“Will?”
Unlike Titus, he isn’t chained to the wall, and at the sound of his name, he snaps his head round and jumps to his feet. Frowning, he strides toward me, coming to a stop in front of the window, bruised skin and the purple plum of a swollen eye making me cringe. “Thalia! My God, you’re alive!”
A tremble of fear moves through me, yet at the same time, unspeakable relief washes over it at the first familiar face I’ve seen in weeks. “What are you doing here?”
“A week ago. Our transport was intercepted by marauders. They killed off my partner, and I got shipped off here.”
“Did they do this to you? The marauders?”
“No. The guards here.” The moment I swing my attention toward the one who shuffled off, he adds, “Not Tom. He’s been good to me.”
“What were they having you transport?”
“Not sure. They were steel containers.”
Steel containers. Like the one that held the mutation?
“From where?”
“The convent. I volunteered, thinking it’d be a chance to see you.”
Oh, my God. The mutations were coming from the convent? The same freaking convent I was almost shipped off to?
“Jack told me … he said your transport had been compromised by marauders.” The troubled tone of his voice makes me think he’s believed me to be dead for weeks.
“What? How …” How would he know that? The truck crashed. “And you were intercepted, as well.”
“Not entirely by chance.”
“You went in search for me. Will, do you have any idea how stupid that was!”
“Their useless search parties produced nothing.”
“Miss Thalia?” The sound of the guard’s summon snaps my spine to attention, and I back away from Will’s door to avoid suspicion. “Remus told me to come fetch you. Said you’re to bathe before bed.”
Giving a quick nod, I glance back to Will, before striding toward the awaiting guard and back up the stairs. My mind spins with how Jack would’ve come to the conclusion that we’d been attacked by marauders. The obvious is the dust storm. But, perhaps, if they searched the nearby cave, they would’ve found the remains of Gwen and the Ragers. The stolen equipment from the truck might be another clue, albeit less conclusive with scavengers roaming the desert. I suppose it makes sense that Jack would suspect marauders.
It’s not until I’ve reached the top of the stairs that the guard’s summons hits me. A bath. To clean myself.
Preparations for what Remus has planned.
I exit the stairwell to find a second guard waiting for me, and with a jerk of his head, I’m expected to follow. I glance back toward the front door, where more guards stand by. Not that I could, or would, run now that