Page 8 of To Cage a Wild Bird (Divided Fates #1)
We stepped out of my apartment and into the congested square, passing by citizens spending their hard-earned credits on food
and supplies, all of which would barely stretch to sustain them through the week. Their eyes carefully evaluated the most
affordable produce and grains as merchants packaged up bruised vegetables and loaves of steaming seed bread.
I passed by a salesman who attempted to reel in customers by shouting about heavy discounts on last season’s Endlock merchandise
and waving around pamphlets that outlined financing options for those who couldn’t afford to pay up front for a visit to Endlock.
“This isn’t all I have, miss!” the man shouted, practically in my ear, as he latched on to my arm. “If you have information
on someone who’s committed a crime, you can report them here. I’m a representative from the Endlock Experience office, so
I’m authorized to give you credit toward a hunt at Endlock in exchange for any information that leads to an arrest.”
My lip curled, and I shook off his touch. The Endlock credit program was just the latest scheme to ensure citizens didn’t
trust one another.
I glanced to my right, giving my back to the salesman, and caught sight of Graylin. He walked among a group of children, handing
out ration bars from a satchel.
When we were children, Gray and I used to accompany my mother and Aggie on similar missions. On one of those days, we’d run
out of rations and Gray had given his own breakfast to a young boy who’d missed out.
The Collective had grown its numbers significantly since we were young, with a few thousand recruits spread throughout the city. That meant more resources and that the satchel Gray carried today was comically large.
If I weren’t so nervous, I might have smiled, but I looked away before he caught me staring.
Run-down buildings circled the square, their once proud windows cracked or entirely missing their glass, bandaged with tarps
and scraps of fabric that flapped in the breeze.
Many of the merchants kept a wary eye on me as I wound my way through their stalls. They knew who I was and that I sent people
to Endlock to pay my bills. They couldn’t afford to turn down my credits but didn’t offer smiles or polite conversation.
Smoke and spices filled the air, and my mouth watered. One merchant cooked giant grubs over an open fire, and I watched as
fat dripped from the skewers and sizzled when it hit the flames.
She caught me looking. “Five credits.”
“No, thank you.” I shook my head and kept walking. Grubs and insects were standard fare in the Lower Sector, more affordable
than fresh meat and not half bad if cooked by the right vendor.
Aggie walked ahead of me, dressed the part of a wealthier Middle Sector citizen, with a forged wristband that stated her reason
for being in the Lower Sector as visiting a relative, in case a guard stopped to check her story. She was far enough away
that no one suspected her of accompanying me.
I stepped around a building, and the jail came into view. In front of it, a transport idled. Exhaust clouded the space around
the rig, and the scent of fuel was heavy in the air. Fugitives shuffled out the side door of the jail and up the stairs to
the transport—a task made difficult by the chains binding their ankles. The guards barked at them, urging them to move faster.
I paused, counting the seconds as they ticked away until—
Aggie stopped in view of the guards, carrying a basket laden with goods from the market—small bags of flour and oats, and
a few vegetables wrapped in brown paper.
I continued walking, and when I passed her, I deliberately elbowed her hard enough that she dropped her basket and all its contents fell to the street.
She grabbed my hand once and squeezed. I pretended not to see the tears slipping from her blue eyes as I turned my back on
her, running half-heartedly in the other direction.
“Guards! Guards, come quickly! She’s stolen from me!”
The guards were close enough that they were there in an instant, grabbing my wrists and hauling them behind my back as they
dragged me toward Aggie. They took one look at her in her new pants and neat button-up and me in my stained, threadbare clothes,
and I could tell they’d immediately made up their minds about who to believe.
One of them reached into the pocket of my jacket and pulled out my mother’s silver locket, and I bit my lip.
“Is this what she stole?” another one of the guards asked, his grip cutting off the blood flow in my arm.
“It is,” Aggie said, her voice unrecognizable in its disdain. “The girl nearly made off with a family heirloom.”
The locket was the last thing my mother had gifted me. Her mother had given it to her, and she’d ripped it from her throat
when the guards were banging on our apartment door to drag her off to Endlock. I knew Aggie would protect it while I was away.
“Captain!” the guard called toward the entrance to the city jail, handing the locket to Aggie and pulling me away from her.
“We’ve got another one. Want her on this transport?”
Flint glanced over, bored, but when his eyes landed on me, they widened almost comically. “Raven Thorne? What’s happened?”
“She was caught stealing from another citizen. There’s still time to process her and get her on today’s transport to the prison,”
the guard reported. If he noticed the change in Captain Flint’s expression, he ignored it.
“Damn it all,” Flint huffed. “You’ll cost me a good chunk of my commission, girl.”
His... commission?
I waited for him to say he’d misspoken. To demand evidence that I’d committed a crime. To at least have the decency to look sad .
But he only stared, seeming to look through me like he didn’t know me at all. Like he hadn’t saved me from starvation when
my parents died. Like he hadn’t seen me weekly for years and asked after me and Jed.
I thought it had been because he’d seen a struggling child and cared enough to step in, but I swallowed against the sudden
realization that he’d only ever seen me as a paycheck.
I blinked away the ridiculous tears prickling at the back of my eyes and cleared my throat.
“Sorry to inconvenience you, Captain,” I retorted, my voice dripping with forced sarcasm. “Would you like to escort me onto
the transport now, or would you prefer to keep on with this stunning display of compassion?”
“I’ve never been one for pretty, hollow words,” he said, glancing at his tablet and swiftly scanning the information on the
screen. “There’s still room for her on this transport. Get her prepped.”
And then he turned his back on me and walked into the jail.
Another guard approached with two sets of manacles.
She fastened the shackles over my limbs. After that, walking became nearly impossible. My steps were slow and faltering, an
agonizing shuffle, as the guard pushed me up the transport steps. The cuffs chafed at my ankles within moments.
Inside, an aisle ran the length of the transport, flanked by rows of bench seats stretching toward the rear. I lurched toward
the first vacant spot.
“Isn’t that the bounty hunter?” a voice called from the back of the vehicle, their words cutting through the sound of the
rumbling engine.
The question froze me in my tracks, and a shiver traced its way down my spine.
Terrible fates awaited people like me in Endlock, not just at the hands of the hunters. The prisoners would view me as their
enemy, no better than the guards who kept them under lock and key.
Maybe worse since I was supposed to be one of them but had chosen the life of a traitor.
“It is the bounty hunter,” a woman chimed in. “I saw her talking to Flint.”
I forced my lips into a smirk. I couldn’t let them see my fear. If I did, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
Soon, the transport was a cacophony of jeers and taunts as the rest of the soon-to-be prisoners told me exactly what would
befall me once we arrived at Endlock.
I was about to ease onto a seat when a leg shifted into the aisle, blocking my path. I didn’t have time to dodge the limb
and lost my footing. Since the shackles effectively immobilized my hands and feet, there was nothing to break my fall. I landed
face-first, my forehead hitting the floor with a resounding thud.
A groan slipped past my lips, and a dizzying array of stars swam in my vision as I rolled onto my side, drawing my knees up
to my chest to get back to my feet. I could feel the beginnings of a splitting headache.
“Oops,” a gravelly voice called to me. I looked up to find a fugitive leaning precariously over the aisle, a triumphant sneer
on his bearded face. “Better watch where you’re going. You wouldn’t want to break any bones before your first hunt.”
I met his eyes, rage coating my throat. “I’ve broken plenty of bones, but none of them were my own.”
Then I painstakingly hoisted myself upright and slid into the nearest available seat. My nose throbbed, but a quick touch
assured me it remained unbroken.
“They’re all going to hate you,” the man called. “The other inmates, I mean. They’ll kill you before the hunters get a chance.”
“They can try,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.