Page 10 of Stolen Empire

Then it's gone, and her expression smooths out.

She stares at me as I back out of the room and lock the door behind me.

The sky outside is starting to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon, and I feel the exhaustion from the long night settling into my bones.

But I can't afford to rest until I know what I'm dealing with.

The girl is a tool now, whether she realizes it or not.

And I'm going to use her to find the traitor in my ranks.

3

KATYA

Someone kicks the door open at six in the morning, and the crash of wood against the wall yanks me out of a half-sleep that never felt restful.

I jerk upright, my back screaming from the hours spent slumped against the wall, and Dimitri is standing in the doorway with a scowl on his face as he bends to pick up my bag.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't offer an explanation.

He turns and walks out, and somehow, I know I'm supposed to follow.

I push myself to my feet, my legs stiff and uncooperative, and stumble after him into the hallway.

The fluorescent lights overhead are too bright, and I have to squint against them as I trail him through the building.

My mouth tastes sour, and I'm acutely aware of how filthy I feel, the sweat from last night dried on my skin, my clothes wrinkled and smelling faintly of hay and my own body odor.

Damn bastard didn't even have the decency to give me a room with a toilet or shower, let alone a bed.

He leads me outside into the training yard, where four men are already gathered near the equipment shed.

They turn to watch as we approach, and I feel their eyes crawling over me.

I keep my chin up, refusing to look away, even though my stomach is churning.

Dimitri stops in the center of the group and drops my bag on the ground between us.

The canvas hits the dirt with a dull thud, and I scoff at the way he treats my only possessions in the whole world like a bag of trash.

"Open it," he says.

I don't move.

"Why?"

"Because I told you to."

His voice is flat, devoid of any emotion, and he glares at me with such hostility it makes my hands shake.

The small bag is all I have in this world, my few belongings and a pendant my mother gave me when I was small.

The rest of my "life" is in a random hostile somewhere across town, the place I found that was cheap enough to call home for a few days.

I crouch down and unzip the bag, pulling the flaps open.

My hands are shaking, and I hate that he can see it, that all of them can see it.