Page 26

Briar

I’m curled up on a makeshift bed in this dusty cage, muscles aching, stomach growling, and head throbbing. It’s been days— days —since I was dragged here, though it feels more like a lifetime. My sense of time blurs. There’s no sun, no clock, just flickering overhead lights that sometimes stay on through the night, sometimes shut off without warning. I’m never certain how many hours pass between the rattling echoes of voices and footsteps.

Chester’s cage sits a few yards away, near the only lamp that still works consistently. The glow reveals his vibrant green feathers looking duller than usual, his posture listless. He hardly squawks anymore. It breaks my heart. The first few times I was forced to feed him, he’d peck at his food with some enthusiasm, but now he barely touches it unless I coax him for a long while. I’m starting to worry he’s as exhausted as I am.

I wrap my arms around my knees, glancing at the iron bars that separate me from the rest of the warehouse. They call it a “room,” but it’s more like an oversized cage—sheet metal walls rigged up to create a makeshift enclosure, with a single door padlocked from the outside. The Russians have allowed me just enough space to walk around in circles if I wanted, but that’s about it. Most times, I’m too tired to pace. My body screams for rest, but my mind can’t shut off. Every time I close my eyes, my nightmares tear me back to reality, reminding me I might not survive this if they no longer need me.

I peer through a gap in the metal, scanning the dimly lit expanse of cracked concrete and rusted machinery. Heath is slouched against a battered desk in the far corner, scrolling through his phone. A permanent sneer twists his lips, and whenever his eyes flick to me, they’re filled with smug disdain. He used to be so charming at the zoo, sweet-talking his way into everyone’s good graces, but now he’s shown his true self—cold, calculating, and cruel.

Jason, on the other hand, hovers near the Russians, trying to ingratiate himself. Sometimes he paces over to my cage, leaning in too close, whispering, “I missed you, Briar,” or “Why didn’t you stay with me?” His obsession makes my skin crawl. It’s like he’s gone off the deep end, his sanity unraveling with each passing day. Part of me wonders if he’s in over his head too, just another pawn of these Russian gangsters. But that doesn’t excuse what he’s done.

My heart pounds whenever the Russians speak, especially now that they’re arguing, their voices echoing in tense bursts. They’re standing near Chester’s cage, the parrot ruffling his feathers nervously at their raised voices. I can’t understand a word of Russian, but the anger is plain as day—sharp gestures, narrowed eyes, clipped tones. One of them is a tall, hulking man with a shaved head; he’s in Jason’s face, while another—slimmer but with a snake-like intensity—flails his arms at Heath. The rest of the Russian crew watch from a distance, guns occasionally glinting in the weak light.

It’s been like this all morning, harsh words snapping between them, followed by tense silence, then another round of angry debate. Chester squawks softly, but none of them pay him any mind. They’re too absorbed in whatever argument is roiling through their organization. It must be bad , I think, swallowing hard. They’re on edge.

My stomach twists. If they’re fighting among themselves, it probably means the plan—whatever twisted scheme they had for Chester—isn’t going smoothly. And if it’s not going smoothly, if they can’t sell him or leverage him… what will they do with us? My worst fear is that once Chester’s of no use, I’ll become disposable. They’ve been making it painfully clear that my only purpose is to keep him alive and healthy so he can fetch a high price, or be traded for something even more sinister. If that plan falls through, they won’t need me at all.

I hug my knees tighter, wishing Orion would somehow burst through the doors, guns blazing, to save Chester and me. Orion . The thought of him sends a fresh wave of pain through my chest. I clung to anger for a while—how he lied, how he said he didn’t care—but I can’t deny how badly I want to see him. Even if what he said was true, if he really has no feelings, I still need him. If anyone can take on these guys, it’s him. But I might be deluding myself. He’s not coming , the dark voice in my mind insists. He doesn’t care.

Yet there’s another part of me, a tiny flicker of hope, that refuses to let go of the memory of his arms around me, the earnest look in his eyes when he promised he’d protect me. That memory is all that’s keeping me from collapsing into despair.

A clamoring crash makes me jump. One of the Russians has slammed a metal bar against the floor, the reverberation echoing through the warehouse. Jason flinches, backing away with hands raised in a placating gesture. The tall Russian stalks off toward the shadows, muttering curses under his breath. From the fragments of English I catch—“ no money ,” “ Chekov ,” “ this is insane ”—I piece together that things are spiraling out of control. That doesn’t bode well for me or Chester.

My eyes drift to the poor parrot. His normally bright feathers are subdued, his eyes half-lidded. The Russians gave me a cheap bag of birdseed to feed him, but it’s not his usual diet, and it shows. He misses the fresh fruits, the varied nuts, the familiar voices of trainers who cared for him. My heart clenches at the sight of him so withdrawn.

“Hang on,” I whisper under my breath, forcing myself to believe we’ll both get out of this. My lips tremble as I stare at the overhead lights, flickering in a pattern that’s become my only indicator of time passing. Three flickers means it’s likely nighttime , I told myself yesterday, but I can’t be sure. For all I know, days and nights blend together here.

Sleep hasn’t been an option. Even if I manage to drift off, the nightmares come roaring in. Scenes of Jason cornering me in dark hallways, Orion’s face twisting in betrayal, Chester’s terrified squawks echoing in my mind. I jolt awake in a cold sweat, heart hammering, sure that someone’s pointing a gun at me. Sometimes I think I hear Orion calling my name, but it’s just a cruel trick of my imagination. The insomnia wears on me, leaving me frazzled and weak, yet too anxious to rest.

Heath’s grating voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He’s stalking toward my cage now, phone in hand. Without warning, he bangs on the metal bars, making me flinch. “How’s the bird?” he demands, not even glancing at me. There’s no respect, no concern. It’s like I’m an afterthought.

I force myself upright. “He’s lethargic,” I answer, voice croaking. “He needs proper food, a better environment—”

“He’ll be fine,” Heath cuts me off, tapping something on his phone. Probably checking messages for updates on wherever this deal is supposed to happen. “And you—don’t even think about trying anything. We’ve got eyes on you.” He sneers, then jerks his chin at Chester’s cage. “This’ll all be over soon enough.”

One way or another, he doesn’t have to say. I swallow hard, suppressing the urge to spit back some defiance. It wouldn’t help. I’m too exhausted to muster anything more than a weary glare.

Heath stomps away, and my shoulders sag. Jason’s across the warehouse, chatting in a hushed tone with a smaller Russian guy I haven’t seen before. Obsession laces his eyes whenever he glances my way, but he hasn’t tried to get close today. Maybe the Russians told him to keep his distance. I don’t know. I almost prefer his absence—his attempts at conversation only remind me of how twisted he’s become, how I once saw him as sweet.

A soft chirp from Chester draws my attention back to him. I crawl over to the edge of his cage, reaching through the gap in the metal. “Hey, buddy,” I coo, my voice cracking. He tilts his head, and for a moment, I see a flicker of recognition. But he stays put on his perch, feathers drooping. My chest aches with guilt— I can’t even help him like I want to . All I can do is beg the Russians for better supplies, hope they don’t decide it’s too expensive or time-consuming.

Fear gnaws at me. The Russians’ argument keeps cycling, and from the tension in the air, I sense they’re on the brink of making some decision—whether it’s about Chester’s sale or me. I close my eyes for a moment, breath shaking. If they can’t sell Chester… if this deal goes bad… they’ll have no use for either of us.

A wave of cold sweeps over me, chilling me to my bones. I can’t die here , I think, the words a desperate mantra. I won’t . Even if I have no idea how to get out, I refuse to give in to complete despair. I imagine Orion’s face, summoning the memory of his warmth, and cling to that sliver of hope. Maybe he lied, maybe he really doesn’t care—but he’s my last chance.

“I’m sorry, Chester,” I whisper, forcing myself to stay calm. “We’ll find a way.”

He blinks at me, shifting just enough that it seems like he’s listening. My heart squeezes, and for a moment, I dare to imagine a rescue, an escape. If Orion or anyone shows up, I vow to fight with every scrap of will I have left. I refuse to let this be the end for either of us.