Page 13

CHAPTER

TEN

Paigelynn

The courtyard stretches out in front of us, wide and open, bathed in the harsh glow of floodlights.

An impossibly high fence blocks us. My breath catches in my throat as I crouch beside Cam, my knees pressed into the cold, rough concrete.

The lights sweep back and forth as they search for us, for any hint of movement.

My chest tightens with every pass.

My body aches. Every step we’ve taken since slipping out of the building has been a reminder of last night. My thighs feel tender, my muscles tight in ways I didn’t know they could be.

But the ache isn’t bad—not entirely. It’s a reminder of what happened, of what I shared with Cam. For the first time in my life, someone touched me not to control me, not to claim me, but because he cared.

I shift slightly, wincing as the soreness flares up again. My face flushes at the memory—Cam’s hands on my skin, his lips on mine, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

The wind brushes against my face, snapping me back to the present. Cam is beside me, his body tense but steady, his eyes scanning the courtyard with laser focus. My hands are shaking, my heart hammering so hard I feel like it’s going to burst, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Ignore the fence. We’ll wait for the lights to pass,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. He points to a dark section of a building, near the door. “Then we’ll move to the crates. One at a time. Stay low. Stay quiet.”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

The floodlights sweep across the courtyard again, and my stomach churns.

This place is a prison, every corner of it designed to trap me, to keep me under their control.

My fingers curl into fists as I think about The Mother, her cold, calculating eyes, her sharp voice cutting through the air like a knife.

And then there’s Makiah Rooney, with his false charm and his voice dripping with poison.

I hate him. He’s the reason I’m here. He’s the reason my parents handed me over to this nightmare. I still remember his visits to our house, the way he smiled at them, the way he told them I was “special,” that I was chosen.

They believed him. They believed every word, even when it meant giving me up.

I clench my jaw, the memory making my chest ache. Makiah didn’t just manipulate my parents—he stole my life. He stole every chance I had to be normal, to be free. And now, after everything, he has the nerve to look at me like I’m the one who failed.

Like I’m the one who broke the prophecy.

I glance at Cam. He’s crouched beside me, his body still and steady, his eyes scanning for any sign of weakness in the patrol. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak. He’s focused, calm, in control.

I envy him for it. I wish I could feel that way right now, but I don’t. I feel broken.

I feel like I’ve failed.

My breath hitches. I clench my fists, pressing them hard against my thighs to keep myself steady. But it’s not working. My hands are shaking, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I try to blink them away, but they’re relentless, like everything else I’m feeling.

The ache between my legs is a constant reminder of what I’ve done, of how I’ve changed. I tell myself it was my choice. I tell myself it was something I wanted.

But the shame doesn’t care about my reasons. It whispers in my ear, telling me that I’ve ruined everything. That I’ve thrown away whatever worth I had left.

And for what? To feel close to him? To feel wanted, even for a moment? I press my forehead harder against my knees, trying to shut out the thoughts, but they won’t stop. They keep circling, like vultures picking at the scraps of what’s left of me.

I think about the other Viking Virgins. The ones who didn’t make it.

The girl who hung herself at the auction haunts me most of all. I didn’t even know her name. She was tall, pale, with bright red hair braided like mine used to be. She looked so strong when they brought her out, standing there with her head high even as the buyers stared at her like she was meat.

Yet she wasn’t strong. None of us were.

She had been one of us.

She had been me .

And now she was dead.

What would her life have been if she’d been allowed to be normal?

What would mine have been? I wonder about it sometimes, about what my life could have looked like if Rooney hadn’t found me.

If he hadn’t pulled me into his church with promises of salvation and belonging.

How many other girls like me has he brought to the cabal?

How many of us fell for his lies?

I can see their faces, even now. Girls who sat beside me in Rooney’s sermons, girls who prayed and sang and tried to believe we were special, that we had a purpose. Some of them smiled a lot. Some were quiet. Others clung to their Bibles like they were lifelines.

None of us knew where it would lead.

I think about what I lost. What we all lost. A normal life. School dances. Movie nights. The simple things people take for granted. If Rooney hadn’t pulled me into his church, would I be running through a dark courtyard, hiding from killers?

Would I be crouching here, my body aching, my soul crushed under the weight of everything I’ve done?

I press my hands to my knees, trying to stop the shaking. But the memories keep coming, piling on top of me, suffocating me. I think about Malcolm and Jason, about the Basher, about all the men who are dead because of me.

Because of what I am.

Because of what the cabal wants me to be.

“She’ll kill us if we screw this up,” one of the guards says, his voice cutting through the fog in my head. I lift my head slightly, just enough to hear him.

“Yeah,” the other replies. “Angelina won’t care if it’s not our fault. If we lose her heart, we’re dead.”

Her heart.

That’s what they call me. Not Paigelynn. Not a person. Just a heart. A thing. Something to own and control.

The shame in my chest twists into something sharper, something darker. I feel sick, like I might throw up right here, right now.

They don’t see me as a person. They never did.

And now, with everything I’ve done, I wonder if I even see myself as a person anymore.

I press my hand to my mouth, trying to hold back the sob that’s building in my throat. I can’t break down. Not here. Not now. Cam needs me to stay strong. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push everything down. The guilt. The shame.

The ache between my legs that won’t let me forget.

The sound of Cam’s voice pulls me back. “Ready?” he whispers, glancing at me. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the fear eases. He’s here. I’m not alone.

I nod again, and he squeezes my hand, his grip warm and steady. “Follow me,” he says. “Wait for my signal.”

He moves first, darting toward the stack of crates a few yards away. My heart lurches as he leaves my side, his shadow disappearing into the darkness.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. What if he gets caught? What if they see him? What if?—

He waves at me from the crates, motioning for me to follow.

I force myself to move, my legs trembling as I dart across the courtyard.

The lights swing back just as I reach the crates, and I press myself against the rough wood, my chest heaving.

Cam grabs my arm, steadying me. His touch feels like an anchor.

“Good,” he whispers. “You’re doing great.”

I don’t feel great. I feel like I’m about to fall apart. But he says it like he believes it, and somehow, that makes me believe it too.

We move again, slipping from one shadow to the next, always just ahead of the lights.

My body aches with every step, but I push through it.

I focus on Cam, on his steady movements, on the way he glances back at me every few seconds to make sure I’m still there.

He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t have to.

Every action, every glance, every touch tells me the same thing: I’ve got you .

We reach the far side of the courtyard, crouching behind a low wall. My legs burn, my chest tight with effort, but I don’t complain. I can’t. Not when so much is at stake.

Not when my very existence is at stake.

“Almost there,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll cut through the maintenance corridor. It’s the fastest way to the docks.”

If we can reach the docks, we can get out of here. I glance at Cam, his face sharp and determined, and for the first time, I let myself believe it. We might actually escape.

But as soon as the thought takes root, doubt creeps in. The organ cabal doesn’t let people go. They don’t lose. And The Mother—she’s always one step ahead. What if we don’t make it? What if we’re caught? What if?—

“Hey.” Cam’s voice pulls me back. He places a hand on my arm, his touch grounding me. “I can see it in your eyes. Don’t go there. Not now. We’re getting out of here. Together.”

His words are simple, but they’re enough to steady me. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Okay,” I whisper.

We wait for the lights to pass again before he takes me to a door. To my surprise, Cam pulls a plastic card out of his pocket, sliding it along an electronic panel. The door clicks. He gives me a huge grin.

"Success."

"Where did you get that?"

He just presses his finger against his lips. We slip into the corridor. It’s narrow and dimly lit, the walls lined with pipes and machinery. The air smells like oil and metal, and every sound echoes too loudly. My heart pounds as we move, every step feeling like it could give us away.

Cam holds up a hand, signaling for me to stop. I freeze, my body tensing as he leans around the corner, scanning the path ahead. He motions for me to follow, and I stay close, my breath shallow.

The farther we go, the quieter it gets. The alarms fade into the distance, and the lights grow dimmer. But the tension doesn’t ease. I can feel it in the way Cam moves, in the way his eyes dart to every shadow, every sound.

The soreness from last night is still there, a constant reminder of what Cam and I shared. It wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper, something that made me feel like I wasn’t broken. Like I wasn’t a heart or a prophecy or a tool. I was just… me .

And for the first time, I felt like that was enough.

The thought gives me strength as we move forward, step by careful step. I don’t know what’s waiting for us at the docks. I don’t know if we’ll make it. But I know one thing: I’m not giving up. Not now.

Not ever.