Page 33 of They're Watching You

I scroll through the recorder’s functions, searching for a way to send this video to myself. But it’s so old, there’s no internet capability. I dig my phone from my pocket and ready it for a video. I press play on the footage of Polly.

A creak sounds behind me, and I startle as the recorder is snatched from my grip. “That will suffice,” Annabelle says, fiddling with the buttons. “There. Erased. That, my dear, was for your eyes only.”

“What did you do to her?” I growl. But I already know. The stone. Polly is being held somewhere inside the catacombs.

I scramble away from Annabelle, toward the staircase. “I wouldn’t,” Annabelle warns in that irritatingly calm tone.

“You wouldn’twhat?” I snap. “You wouldn’t try to save your best friend from an insidious beast?”

“Not when there’s a more pressing situation at hand, no.”

“What are you talking about?”

Annabelle sighs. “Polly is fine. She has food and water and plenty of air. Your friend Jordan on the other hand…”

A sensation like cold wire wraps around my heart, squeezing. I gasp, lurching toward the trapdoor. I only left her alone for a moment.

Annabelle laughs behind me. I spin on her, ready to wring her scrawny ballerina neck. “Only kidding.” She rolls her eyes. “Jordan is downstairs, mingling. I promise you, tonight is going to be fun.”

“You think I want to have fun?” I say, still pretty sure I’m going to choke her or at the very least, shove her down the trapdoor opening. “When I know Polly is being held prisoner down there?”

“We’re not savages, Maren. I told you, Polly is being looked after.”

“But why are you keeping her? I’m in the society now! I demand some answers!”

“You haven’t quite risen to that station, though, have you? Perhaps after tonight, if all goes well.”

“This is unbelievable. What’s to stop me from waking up the headmistress right now?”

“I deleted the video. It’s my word against yours, and frankly, one of my words holds more weight than your entire vocabulary.” That devious smirk slides onto her lips now. “But I don’t think you’ll tell the headmistress, or anyone for that matter. I think you’ll stay here with us, Maren. Because I think you want Polly to stay alive and well.”

“You would—” Despite fighting with every fiber of my being, a sob escapes. Tears are leaking. My nose is running.

Annabelle is winning.

“Just keep playing the games, and she’ll stay fine.” Laughter trickles up from below, and I grab my head in my hands. No one in this society understands what she’s doing. And if I tell, she’s threatened to hurt Polly. I sniffle, then fix my face into a sharp glare. But Annabelle is unfazed. “Keep winning, and I’ll be able to share everything with you.”

She descends, and I’m left standing in the drafty ruins of the old cathedral, trying to stop my tears. Behind me, wood groans, and I turn to find Remington. His black cloak dusts the floor as he crawls through the society’s entrance. “Maren?” He rushes over, and I wipe my eyes to hide the fact that I’ve been crying. “What happened?” His strong arms envelop me as he looks down.

“Like you care,” I spit, even though my body has essentially melted into him. “Go back to your perfect SAT scores and your Ivy-painted future.”

“Tell me what happened,” he insists.

I look up at his dark, concerned eyes, knowing I can’t trust him. Knowing he might turn around and tell Annabelle everything.

“Nothing.” I pry myself from his embrace and clumsily lower down into the vault.

“Maren!” Remington is still calling after me when my feet touch the stone floor. In the dim light, the faces blur together. I search for Jordan, desperate to make sure she’s okay. But I find another face. A face that forces another strangled sob to rise up in my throat.

Gavin pales when he sees me. He makes his way to me across the tunnel, and it’s the fastest I’ve ever seen him move.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, holding back, his fingers slipping around my wrists. So different—so much gentler, so much more reserved—than the way Remington met me moments earlier. I lean forward, pressing my cheek to his shoulder, an act that makes him flinch. But his frame relaxes as he takes a breath, his hand moving to my back. That sweet, smoked candy scent starts to calm me.

“I can’t say much here. But it’s Polly. I think she’s down in these tunnels somewhere.”

He wrenches his head back to look at me, eyes wide. “Maren, that’s…you can’t let Annabelle get to you. She’s practically a professional mind gamer.”

“She’s not playing with me,” I hiss. “She showed me proof.”

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