Page 12 of To Cage a Wild Bird (Divided Fates #1)
I screamed.
I might have been embarrassed by such a vulnerable display if it didn’t feel like my flesh was melting from my bones.
I inhaled, trying to count my breaths, but my nose filled with the stench of charred skin instead of clean air. I swallowed
against the bile that climbed my throat.
When I managed to tear my gaze from the sight of my searing arm to confront Vale, I found him averting his eyes as if my weakness
repulsed him enough that he couldn’t bear to watch.
In my delirious haze, I almost spat in his face.
But then he lifted the branding iron away from my raw flesh, removed the restraints from my arms, and submerged my blistering
forearm into a bucket of water so cool that an involuntary moan of relief escaped my lips.
Steam wafted from where my skin met the water.
“To keep it from burning too deeply,” Vale muttered, too low for Mort to hear.
“Fuck you.” My voice came out humiliatingly weak. So soft I could barely hear it.
It was reckless to provoke a guard, especially after the treatment Mort had shown me, but I hadn’t prepared for the pain that
came with Endlock’s intake process, and my composure slipped.
Vale’s eyes flicked up to my face and then away, but he didn’t raise a hand to strike me for my disrespectful words. Interesting.
A sudden, nauseating realization swept over me.
Jed.
They had branded my little brother. I pictured him strapped to the chair, cowering and defenseless.
Every instinct screamed for me to leap up and sprint from the room to locate him, but my arms were the only limbs freed from
the chair’s restraints, and Vale, now hovering a few steps away, still had a gun fastened to his thigh. Even if I managed
to get past him, Mort blocked the door. And there’d be more guards beyond that.
It won’t do Jed any good if I’m dead.
So I remained seated, my scorched arm soaking in the bucket of ice water for what felt like an eternity, then allowed Vale
to gingerly bandage the number freshly burned into my skin: 224.
My new identity.
Vale unstrapped my legs and Mort tossed a dull-gray standard-issue jumpsuit in my direction, as well as a pair of socks. I
used the scrap of material that passed for a medical gown to shield my body from Mort’s roaming eyes as I hastily pulled on
the clothes. The number 224 stood out in bold font on the back of the jumpsuit, and the vivid red of Dividium’s flag adorned
the front, just below my right shoulder.
A pair of utilitarian boots landed at my feet, and I laced them in silence.
I stared at my injured arm. I wasn’t sure why they bothered branding us if the jumpsuit covered the mark from view.
“Warden Larch wants to make sure you remember who you belong to,” Mort said, as if reading my mind.
I jerked my head up to find him watching me and clenched my teeth against the words I wanted to hurl in his direction.
“Take her to the mess hall, Mort,” Vale commanded.
It was time to face the other inmates. Time to find Jed. That thought alone was enough to cut through some of the rage and
fear clouding my mind.
Mort’s hand clamped around my elbow, roughly pulling me upright and dragging me out of the room and down the corridor.
“Listen careful, now,” Mort grumbled. He shot a lingering glance my way, stirring an uneasy feeling in my gut. “No talking back. No starting fights. No physical contact with other inmates. You’re only allowed out of your cell for work, meals, showers, and hunts.”
“Yes, sir .” I forced the words through my teeth. “What happens if I— someone , breaks a rule?”
Mort smirked. “Remember that friendly slap on the cheek I gave you earlier?”
My hands clenched at my sides, but I made myself nod instead of using my fists to wipe the smile off his face.
“That was a warning blow.” Mort gave a fond pat to the wooden baton hanging from his belt. “If you break the rules, I get
to beat you with this. Or worse.”
How fun. “Any other rules I should know about?”
Mort smiled wider, showing all his teeth as his eyes scanned my body with excruciating slowness. He licked his lips. “Always
obey the guards.”
I swallowed, looking away before he could read the fear and revulsion on my face. I turned my focus to memorizing my surroundings.
There’d been some kind of office directly across from the examination room we’d left, and Mort had had to swipe his key card
against a locked door flanked by a pair of guards standing with their hands placed readily on their batons. The lock had clicked,
and the door opened into a new part of the prison.
In the next corridor, we passed a stairwell and two doors labeled A and B on opposite sides of the corridor. The doors were
adorned with narrow vertical windows, and as we walked by them, I was able to catch a glimpse through the glass. Behind the
doors were long hallways, lined with cells—cellblocks. I didn’t have much time to look, but I estimated there were at least
fifty cells in each block.
Aside from the guards, the halls outside the cellblocks were lined with dozens of cameras watching our every move. Even if
an inmate made it out of their cellblock, they wouldn’t get far before running into trouble.
We turned left and passed more doors, with larger windows.
I craned my neck, taking in as much detail as I could through the glass.
Some of the doors led to maintenance rooms or offices with prison staff sitting behind desks.
Through one window, I saw inmates in varying colors of uniform—gray, brown, and green—loading sheets and garments into washing machines, while others folded freshly cleaned laundry.
Based on what Vale had told me, I imagined the uniform colors corresponded with Endlock’s ranking system. The inmates in gray
must have belonged to the Lower level, like me.
We reached the end of the corridor, and Mort scanned his badge on a reader, unlocking a final door and leading us into what
looked to be a cafeteria.
The room was reminiscent of a massive cave encased in cold cement, the low ceiling pressing close, threatening to crush what
was left of my composure. Artificial lights bathed the space in an almost blue glow, casting shadows. The raucous chatter
of countless inmates echoed off the walls, and plastic utensils clattered against bowls and trays.
The noise faded into the background as I scanned the room for Jed’s blond head and lanky form.
Long rectangular tables with benches on either side crowded the space and were occupied with inmates in gray, brown, or green
uniforms.
Near the front of the room, a large screen hung at the top of the wall. There were three columns of numbers on the screen,
with a symbol next to each number. The numbers in the third column all had a yellow circle next to them, while those in the
first two columns had either a red X or a green check mark.
What the hell was this?
Below the screen, more inmates floated in and out of the kitchen with steaming trays of food. They served the food to a line
of waiting prisoners.
Guards kept watch from the edge of the room, hands resting on the batons hanging from their belts, and I noted a camera in
each of the four corners of the space.
But there was no sign of Jed.
It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a big prison. He could be anywhere.
The words played on a loop through my mind, like if I focused on them enough, I could keep from panicking.
My gaze shifted to the guards surveilling the room.
I couldn’t fathom how Aggie expected me to aid in a prison break beneath so many watchful eyes. It didn’t seem like anything went on in Endlock without being recorded.
Mort touched my shoulder, leaning close to whisper in my ear. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. I’m sure
we can work out some kind of exchange.” He winked.
I shook out of his grasp, my heart pounding against my ribs as I gripped the fabric of my uniform to keep myself from slapping
him.
“412!” Mort barked, and a strikingly tall prisoner with rich copper-brown skin and a halo of curls approached us. I noted
his green uniform and that he looked to be in his early thirties. He didn’t spare me a second glance, his brown eyes resting
warily on Mort.
“Fresh meat.” Mort shoved me toward the inmate, and I righted myself before I could slam into him. “Cell 224—take her when
dinner is over.”
The inmate nodded, turning on his heel and disappearing back into the throng without bothering to see if I followed.
I hesitated for half a second before racing after him, much preferring the company of a fellow prisoner.
“I’m Raven,” I called, practically jogging to catch up to him.
“August,” he said without turning.
I committed the name to memory, even as I scanned the room again, in case I’d missed Jed the first time around.
But I hadn’t.
“August?” I began, then hesitated.
It was clear Jed wasn’t in the mess hall, but the contact Aggie had told me to be on the lookout for might be.
Sure, it was rash to bring up the Collective in front of others, but if I couldn’t find Jed right away, my next best option
was to locate Kit. Every second I waited brought Jed closer to death, and as it was, the sound of the other inmates talking
should keep the cameras from picking up anything I said.
I lowered my voice. “Do you know an inmate called Kit Casey?”
August stopped so quickly that I slammed into his back.
He spun on his heels, putting his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “What?”
“No touching!” a guard hollered across the room. August dropped his hands back to his sides but didn’t step away. His brown
eyes were steady on mine.
“I’m looking for someone named Kit Casey.” My voice was a whisper now, and August tilted his head closer to hear me.
“No, I—” He looked around, but none of the inmates nearby seemed to be paying any attention to us. “I heard what you said.
What do you want with Kit?” The last part came out rough, almost threatening, and his eyes narrowed on me, taking in every
detail.
So he did know her.
And he was obviously protective of her.