Page 151 of Silver Elite

At lights-out, I settle under my blanket and manage to fall asleep faster than usual. Yet it feels like only minutes have passed when I’m suddenly yanked out of bed. Instinctively, I grasp for a weapon, but there’s nothing within reach. My knife is in the lav locker.

A scream gets caught in my throat as I’m dragged onto my bare feet. I hear other noises. Gasps. Startled curses. A high-pitched cry.

Then I feel a sharp prick at the side of my neck, and everything goes black.

Chapter 34

I can’t see a thing.

Not even my own hand when I lift it to my face to rub my temples. For a moment I wonder if I’m back in the Blacklands. The suffocating blackness feels like a trip home. But I can’t smell the trees. The earth. When I inhale, it’s the scent of metal and grease. I’m indoors. But where?

My heart is pounding. I’m lying on a floor that feels like it’s made of metal and is covered with dirt. I wipe the grime off my arm as I attempt to sit up. The air is cold against my bare arms and feet.

It’s some sort of drill. I know this because I remember the gasps and screams in the barracks. I doubt an Uprising operative just walked in and managed to kidnap the entire training class. I also remember reading through the list of sections when the Program first started. We’ve been learning interrogation tactics all week.

This must be the resistance part.

I groggily manage to get into a prone position. My head is splitting like someone tried to crack it open with a hammer. I take a breath, and it’s in that moment that I realize I’m not alone. There’s someone else breathing in here with me.

“Who’s there?” I demand. Swear to hell, if it’s Anson…

“Wren?”

Ivy.

A better alternative, but not by much.

“Yeah, it’s me.” I clear my throat, because it sounds like I’m speaking through a mouthful of dirt. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She releases a pained groan. I hear the rustle of fabric. I think she’s trying to sit up.

I rest my back against the cold wall and bring my knees up, hugging them. “Where are we?”

“If it’s anything like last time, we’re at the train tracks. Railway car.”

“Last time,” I echo. Wary.

“Yeah. That’s where they took us for the RTI section.”

I was right, then. This is Resistance to Interrogation. For once, I’m grateful to have Ivy around, because she can tell me what to expect.

“So how does it work?” I ask. “We just sit here, and they come in and try to make us talk?”

“Pretty much.”

“How do they do that? Torture?”

“Nobody will be prying off your fingernails with pliers, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She sounds unhappy. “But it’s not going to be pleasant.”

“Understatement much, Eversea?” another voice drawls, and I almost jump out of my skin.

Someone else is in here.

Roe.

“Damn it, Roe,” Ivy grumbles. “How long have you been conscious?”

“The whole time.”

---