Page 59 of To Cage a Wild Bird (Divided Fates #1)

“The warden wants to see you in his office.”

My head snapped up from the bench Yara and I were building, a replacement for one that had broken in the mess hall.

Vale stood before me, his posture rigid. He’d freed his hair from its leather tie, and it framed his strong jaw in waves.

I resisted the urge to reach out and brush a dark lock back from his forehead, imagining how I’d gripped it in his bed the

day before.

A swell of pleasure washed through my body at the memory.

At his words, tools ceased clinking, and conversations paused. The other inmates watched me with pity, but Kit and Yara only

looked curious.

“What?” I asked, though I’d heard Vale’s words. It was a desperate attempt to stall—to brace myself for whatever new form

of cruelty Larch intended to inflict on me. I had no idea what I’d done to deserve his scrutiny. Had he somehow realized that

Councilor Elder’s injury was my fault?

“The warden asked to see you in his office,” Vale repeated. His voice was harsh for the benefit of the onlookers. “Now.”

“Of course.” I cleared my throat, swiping my sweaty palms down the front of my jumpsuit and squaring my shoulders.

Vale trailed me to the door. “No one is to leave this room,” he announced, eyes sweeping over the inmates. “I’ll return shortly.

I need to escort 224.”

There was a chorus of “Yes, sirs” around the room, followed by the sound of the heavy door swinging shut behind us. We walked

through the dimly lit corridor, my pounding heart louder in my ears than the thud of my booted footsteps on the cement floor.

When I was sure we were out of earshot of the other inmates, I dared to whisper, “Is he throwing me back into solitary? If

he is, you need to take Jed and Momo and the others and leave this place without me. You might not get another shot.”

The idea of being separated from my brother, from Vale and the others, sent a sharp ache through my heart. But that small

shard of pain was far better than the alternative of watching them die. I couldn’t survive that.

“What? Raven, no. Hold on,” Vale said. We stopped at the entrance to the infirmary, and before I could question him, he shoved

the door open. He caught my elbow, pulling me into the room after him, and then shut the door to seal us in. The lock clicked

into place.

The room was pitch-black. I couldn’t see an inch in front of me, and if Vale hadn’t been holding on to me, I likely would’ve

walked into one of the rolling chairs or medicine cabinets.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “You realize being late will make Larch even angrier at me than he already is, right?” He was

vindictive enough to add days or weeks on to my punishment if I kept him waiting.

Vale pulled me against him, so close I felt the heat radiating off his body, flames licking sensuously against my chilled

skin. His scent filled the air around us, a cloud of soap and fresh pine. I wanted to burrow into him—curl up and pretend

we were far from Endlock.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I thought you understood. There is no meeting with Larch. I needed a believable excuse to get

you out of the workshop without making the others suspicious.”

His words rendered me speechless, and my thoughts raced to catch up. Then a laugh bubbled from me. “You pulled me out of the

workshop to spend time with me in a dark room? Vale, I want to spend time with you, too, but don’t you think it’s too risky

when we’re so close to leaving? We can’t draw extra attention to ourselves.”

Given what we’d done yesterday, it was utter hypocrisy for me to say so, but it was one thing to be intimate in his private

room and another for him to pull me out of the workshop in front of witnesses.

Vale chuckled, dark and rumbling. “As much as I want to spend more of that kind of time with you”—he traced a hand down my waist and over my hip to emphasize his words, and my breath caught—“that’s

not what’s going on here.”

He flicked a switch on the wall, flooding the room with harsh fluorescent light. I blinked, disoriented. I turned from Vale

to hide the flush that had crept into my cheeks at his words, and my gaze shifted around the room. The first thing I noticed

was the camera in the corner that was thankfully off. The second was the stainless steel countertop on the other side of the

room.

Atop the surface sat a device that made my blood run cold.

I twisted from Vale’s grip, turning for the door. I needed to get away from that thing.

The branding iron on the counter brought me back to my first day at Endlock, when Vale had pressed the searing metal against

my skin, leaving a permanent scar. Even now, I could hear my scream echoing and feel the molten heat consuming me.

Before I could reach the door, Vale stepped in front of me, blocking the exit.

“Hey, stop. It’s okay.” Vale’s voice was soft and tinged with regret. He placed his hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look

at him. “You’re okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

His words registered slowly, and the tension coiling in my stomach began to unspool. “What’s it doing in here?”

“I need you to use it on me.”

My mouth dropped open, but Vale’s eyes met mine, and he spoke again before I could. “Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I was going

over our plan, thinking about how to convince the settlement leaders to let us in. I realized something. They’ll never let

a guard from Endlock enter their territory.”

I bit my lip, thinking. “We can lie to them and create a different backstory for you. You don’t have to mutilate yourself.”

Vale’s eyes drifted to my forearm, where the brand still marked my skin.

A ripple of guilt washed over his features.

Taking my hand, he looked me in the eyes, his own brimming with sincerity.

“I never said I was sorry for doing that to you, Raven. And I am sorry. I wish I’d never hurt you, and I’d take it back if I could.

I’d take on every bit of pain that’s been inflicted on you if it were possible. ”

“You had to,” I said, softening. “Someone would have noticed if I was missing a brand.” It wasn’t as if he’d wielded the branding

iron for pleasure. I knew now that he hated inflicting pain on us.

“Probably. But I still should have tried to get around it.” He cleared his throat, entwining our fingers. “I need you to brand

a number onto me. If we’re going to lie to the leaders at the settlement, we need to have our stories straight. Not having

a brand like the rest of you could be what gives me away.”

His eyes were steady, solid in his resolve. As much as the idea of branding him, of pressing that torture device to his beautiful

skin, made me cringe, I knew he had a point. We couldn’t give them a reason to doubt our story—it could be the thing that

ended our lives.

“Okay,” I conceded, my voice quivering despite my efforts to remain calm.

He dropped my hand and crossed the room, taking up the device. He waved me over, then flipped the switch on the side of the

branding iron. “It’ll need a minute to heat up. After that, press it to my forearm for about five seconds.”

Nodding, I watched as he settled onto one of the wheeled chairs, the seat creaking beneath his weight.

“You don’t think you’ll need restraints?” I asked, arching a brow. I might’ve killed him if he hadn’t restrained me when he’d

branded me.

“If we had a chair like that in here, believe me, I would use it,” he said. “But getting you into that examination room without

anyone noticing would have been too risky. And Dr. Row’s there now, examining new arrivals.”

It made sense. An inmate getting escorted across the prison, nearly to the building’s entrance, would raise far too many questions.

I hadn’t been back in that area since my first day at Endlock.

As my hands found Vale’s wrist, I rolled up his sleeve until his forearm was exposed, then released him, taking the branding iron from his outstretched hand. The device shook in my grasp. “Are you ready?”

I wondered whether I was more nervous than he was, with the way my breath came in short bursts, and my heart pounded desperately

against my chest in a futile attempt to escape the cage of my ribs.

I looked down to see the number 242 glowing up at me, an angry orange.

“I am.” Vale steeled himself as he stretched his right forearm across his thigh. His left hand reached out, seeking comfort

in gripping the curve of my waist.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, bringing the scorching branding iron down onto his arm.

A deep groan emanated from his throat, giving sound to his pain, piercing my heart. But he didn’t scream.

“Almost there,” I whispered, knowing I could provide no real comfort. I avoided looking directly at where the branding iron

touched his arm, but the acrid smell of burning flesh made it impossible to forget what I was doing.

His fingers dug painfully into my waist, but I knew it was nothing compared to what he was feeling.

Finally, my mental countdown ended, and I lifted the branding iron from his skin, hurling it onto the countertop. My hands

seized the nearby bucket of water that Vale had prepared, and he plunged his forearm into it.

His head slumped forward against my abdomen, and he released a sigh heavy with both pain and relief. I wove my fingers through

his thick hair, soothing him as his free arm encircled my waist.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s over.”

We stayed like that for several long minutes, not speaking but wrapped up in each other. The idea that soon we’d be on our

way to a new life, able to touch freely instead of in darkened alcoves or behind closed doors—I’d never thought I would find

myself longing for those things.

Maybe it was okay to want someone who would look out for me. Someone I could turn to when things got hard instead of bearing the impossible weight on my own.

After a while, I tenderly bandaged Vale’s branded arm, taking care not to apply any unnecessary pressure.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For melting your skin off?” I asked incredulously.

“For helping me,” he replied. He stood up, cradling my face gently in one hand, and his lips met mine in a soft kiss.

My breath hitched in my throat. Vale was gentle, his tongue grazing my lower lip before coaxing my mouth open. His fingers

ran up my neck and tightened in my hair.

It terrified me, this intimacy.

I opened up as if he were peeling away the layers of my soul. It made me feel more vulnerable and exposed than when I was

stripped naked in his room with him.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Little Bird,” Vale murmured as if he’d read my mind.

But I didn’t know how to stop.