Page 1 of The Silent Note

Chapter One

ZANE

All the doors in prison creak.

Loudly.

Not sure if that’s an extra alarm or just a sign of neglect. My boots thump on a dirty floor that’s half concrete and half-vomit stains. The lights flicker on and off.

This isn’t the hallway they show to the human rights activists.

I follow the warden until he stops abruptly.

There. Another door.

Another creak.

That screaming, on-the-brink-of-death sound jars me. Metal hinges bawl out in pain. Sounds like someone’s heart being ripped out of his chest.

This time, when the door slams shut behind me, there’s a jangle of keys and the clank of metal against metal.

I’m locked in.

The room is brighter than I expected thanks to the harsh florescent light. A table sits in the middle. Two chairs on either side.

One of those chairs is occupied.

“You’re Cross’s kid,” a bald man in an orange jumpsuit says, looking me dead in the eyes.

I grab the back of the empty chair and fall into it. “And you’re Bartiste Slavno, army vet turned murderer.”

He seems amused. “Killing is a part of war. You’d call me a murderer for killing our enemies?”

“Last I checked, we aren’t at war with sixteen year old high school girls. Remind me again? What part of army training teaches you to hack teenagers to pieces?”

His face shifts. Just a slight tension of muscles in his jaw.

I feel strangely calm despite the fact that we’re alone and Slavno has at least two inches, forty years, and fifty pounds on me.

“I see there’s no need for an introduction.”

“I see you didn’t come willingly.” I eye the fresh bruises on his face and around his inked neck. There are scab marks on one of the lines running straight up his throat. It’s easy to tell where the army tattoos stopped and the prison tats started filling in.

“I have some questions about The Grateful Project.”

“What are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?” He leans forward and the handcuffs jangle against the smooth surface of the desk. “You should run back to your daddy, to your safe little kingdom on the hill. This isn’t the place for a prince like you.”

I keep smiling.

He scowls.

I shake my head, giving in. “Fine.”

An eyebrow pops high. He watches me cautiously.

“I don’t care if you answer me. My question can wait.” The fingers on my non-broken hand curl into a fist. “But I’m going to bring someone here soon. You’re going to answerthem.”

“Says who?”