Page 114 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

“Thought you might need these,” he says, and shehastily fits them on her ears, and they only cut through a bit of the sound.

It’s a familiar thump of noise, one she vaguely remembers hearing through the floor of the lab here, as she bled and suffered.

Nalissa must’ve held her events even while cutting into her brain.

Gurlien surveys around, his eyes sharp even through the mask of eyeliner, before he nods towards the low roof.

There, amongst the femurs and phalanges, is the barest hint of a rune, painted, and there’s no way Gurlien had spotted that on his own.

“Did you memorize the protection placing?” she whispers, and she can’t even hear herself speak. He cranes down to her, before he nods. “Insane.”

It’s an easy rune to bypass, one that discourages fighting and destruction, pointing all the safety to those on the stage.

If Ambra wants, she could unravel it in a second, but it would almost certainly send alarms through the entire complex.

The complex they’re now in.

Noise, rough noise and more noise, crams into the small space, denser than the human bodies surrounding them, and a cold sweat breaks out over Ambra’s brow.

Even when they flew them, even when they marched her through the airport, it wasn’t this crowded.

“Here,” Gurlien shouts, barely audible through the din and the earplugs, and grips her by the elbow. “We’re in, now let's go deep.”

Deep.

The labs are deep underneath them, a few levels of music and noise and bone dust between her and the pristine white lights of Nalissa’s experiment table.

And she has to get there.

She straightens, lifting her chin, and pulls Gurlien through the crowd.

Lights flash, striking out at them before skating through the crowd as someone screams something raw into a microphone, the racket chasing Ambra’s thoughts down like a fox to a rabbit.

“The faster we’re out of here, the better,” she tells Gurlien, and has to repeat it twice before he can hear her.

He nods, his lips thinning, and they push their way through the crowd (and around a demon trap) to the next set of stairs.

There’s a brief touch of cool air on the winding staircase between the two levels, and she gulps at it greedily. The noise, still ever present, dulls in the background.

Gurlien’s hand on her elbow is tight, and his jaw twitches as well. “Three traps next level, two layers of guards, and a sensor scanner.”

It’s information she already knew, but it’s more for him than for her.

There’s sweat on the back of his neck, and another couple clatter into the staircase, breaking the small snap of peace.

They giggle, like they caught them doing something they shouldn’t have, before the man slams the woman into the wall, kissing her with such a ferocity that Ambra flinches.

The woman kisses back, yanking on his hair, and it’s wholly unpleasant. Bone dust settles down in their clothing at the impact.

Gurlien pulls her along, and his brows are raised, before the man stops, breaking the kiss like he’s breaking through the surface of water.

“Wait, Gurlien?” the man asks, and his voice is raw, like he had screamed into the woman’s mouth. His pupils are wide, blown out unevenly, and his sweat smells sour.

The woman giggles, befuddled, staring at Gurlien and Ambra. “Do you know them?”

The man’s brow furrows, and the smallest of scans snakes out of him, not strong enough to come close to the scar inside of Gurlien’s soul. It’s a pitiful attempt.

“You must’ve got me mixed up,” Gurlien says smoothly, his fingers tightening only briefly on Ambra’s arm. “Sorry, mate.”

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