Page 118 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

There’s another demon trap, three hallways down and out of the way, and in the middle of it is a demon, half twisted half dead, the body they’re forced into breathing through a machine. They respond to the touch of Ambra’s mind, flexing outwards into a silent plea.

There’s a complicated series of runes, the sort to keep out nosy Wights, and inside is a human, trapped inside a tube, unconscious.

Another demon, this one older and fiercer, snapping like an animal inside of a trap, snarling at the brush of her mind and promising death to her if she ventures close. They’re in pain, so much pain it’s twisted their mind.

Ambra recognizes that. Recognizes the panic of the pain and the desperation to do something, anything, to end it.

Also recognizes that the demon would almost certainly kill her if they think she could help the pain.

There’s a human with them, half dead, unconscious.

“Bianci was right,” Ambra murmurs, as she shakesherself loose and resumes the cautious steps down the hallway. “Nalissa did try again.”

Gurlien eyes her.

“How much of this place can I destroy?” she asks, and her throat is tight. Tight as if the sympathy tied the leash itself.

“Not much,” he murmurs, pointing out a security camera, which Ambra breaks the glass with a flick of her fingers. “Not without destabilizing the city of Paris.”

“I don’t care about the city of Paris,” she informs him, something akin to fury prickling hot underneath her skin.

He gapes at her.

“What, I don’t,” she says, surly.

“Well…I do?” he says, obviously fumbling for the answer. “Don’t…please don’t blow up Paris.”

The other demon sends a trill of a scrape down her consciousness, a demand for attention, but she can’t do anything about that. Can’t do anything while they’re inside the demon trap, can’t do anything without alerting Nalissa.

But it means Nalissa is still trying, and that has to be stopped. Beyond just Ambra’s revenge, beyond just ensuring her safety, it has to be for this person. For this demon held so insane with pain that they can’t think, just act out.

Ambra understands that.

Gurlien’s hand settles in her lower back, and she twitches in surprise.

“I’m okay,” she preempts, the words falling from her lips automatically, and he gives her a fully unamused look. “This place is full of people like me.”

He tilts his head, the question silent.

“Other demons being experimented on,” she clarifies, as another claw reaches out to her. “I’m not sure if they’re just not as far along…or if they didn’t succeed.”

“You are only the second success that is known,” he says, and she wouldn’t call herself a success on a good day, before he huffs out a breath.

In the fluorescent lights, the eyeliner is ridiculous, her shirt is ridiculous, the headache is ridiculous, but she still faces down the hallway.

This deep, it’s familiar.

“Let’s go,” she murmurs, then takes off down the hallway.

It’s only forty steps before the first turn, then another twenty before the first locked door, the ones that only some of the assistants had badges that could go through it.

And alarms aren’t ringing. Yet. The lack of them itches under her skin, needling at her awareness. There should be alarms, someone has to have seen her by now, the cameras tracking their movements.

“This is too easy,” he murmurs, echoing her thoughts.

“Far too easy,” Ambra says, then lets her eyes flutter shut, snaking out a tendril of power towards the door.

It’s double locked, with a chain on the inside and an electronic badge lock on this side. She easily severs the chain—that’s almost comical—and after a few moments of finessing, cracks the badge reader off the wall, where it clatters to the tile.

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