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“Lex.” Stumbling to my feet, I grab his arm. “How is she?”

Not Wicker. Not the Princess. The bird. I know how that seems. Like, logically, I know, but…

I promised her I wouldn’t leave her again.

When I got back from prison, the day I came home and she refused to leave me, so distressed that she couldn’t even string a word together, I told her I wouldn’t go away again.

Ipromised.

His eyes flick over my shoulder, to the corner where the camera I installed records everything. Tensely, I exhale. Being nice to me, showing meanykindness, will result in further punishment—and maybe not against me.

“Hurry up.” Lex pries my fingers from his arm, but not at the wrist. At the forearm. His fingertips tap over the tattoos–my tallies–and with a flick of his eyes, he says, “Always a mischief.”

It takes me a second to decipher the code.

The collective noun for rats.

You’ve been gone before, he’s saying.We’re sticking together. Two nights and three days is nothing compared to nearly two years in the Pen.

The shower is in the corner of the outer room, and it’s no more than a hose with an industrial grade nozzle hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Usually this is used to clean instruments, or hose down the floor. Occasionally, if we need to remove DNA, it can make a passable effort with some bleach.

I strip, stepping under the frigid water. Lex hands me a bar of soap that I use to wash my hair and body. I’m shivering by the time I’m finished, and when Lex tosses me a towel and a clean pair of shorts, I’m confused and disoriented.

This isn’t a part of the routine.

Once dried and dressed, he says, “Give me your arm.”

I thrust it out, only barely making out the low mutter of concern under his breath. He’s quiet as he bandages my cuts, checking them for infection, and I sink into it like it’s the darkness. Familiar. Comforting. One of life’s greatest tragedies is that Lex’s hands have been trained to hurt and maim, because the world will never know just how good he is at the opposite.

His fingertips are gentle as he lifts my arm toward the light, cleaning the newest slash with a puckered forehead. When he’s finished, I expect him to put me back in the cell, but instead, he opens the door on the far side of the wall.

I look between it and him, even more lost. “Really?”

It’s a small room adjacent to the dungeon, outfitted with a single bed. It’s not exactly the height of luxury, but it’s a big step up from the damp, cold stone floor. We’ve used it in the past to sleep in if we’re watching a mark and need to sleep in shifts.

Suspicion rolls over me. “What’s going on?” Every part of this is unusual, and the feeling building in the pit of my stomach is dread. Father is too consistent for this. What’s changed?

“Wait here,” he says, as if I have any other choice. I perch uneasily on the bed, wishing I had a sweatshirt or, god forbid, a blanket. Only a few minutes have passed before Lex returns.

He’s not alone.

A blindfolded Verity stumbles clumsily ahead of him, her hands reaching out to pat the walls. She’s in a sheer white nightdress, her hair wild from what I’m assuming was sleep.

“What the fuck?” I shoot to my feet. It hits me, and the laugh that claws its way from my chest is half-hysterical. “She’s here for her deposit.”

“You’ve got an hour,” he tells me, palm dragging down her lower back. It’s such a casually possessive gesture that I doubt he even realizes he’s doing it. “Make the most of it.”

My brother closes the door behind him.

Approaching her, I yank off the blindfold, catching her when the force sends her jerking into my chest.

“Pace!” Frightened green eyes dart around the room, taking it all in. Takingmein. “I was worried about—”

I cut her off with a hard, bruising kiss, gathering her up against me with a desperation I’ll think to be ashamed of later. She’s solid and warm andhuman, and the feel of her breath on my cheek has me trembling from restraint, because fuck. I want to crush her into my skin. I want to pull her open and climb inside her flesh. I want to make her a part of me just to steal the warmth and life from her blood.

Instead, I begin pulling at her clothes, stripping the gown off with short, impatient motions when I have to break the kiss to lift it over her head. When I do, her wide eyes blink back at me, welling up with tears.

“Pace, what’s going on?” she asks, reaching for my face. “Why are you down here? Have you been here this whole time?”