Page 116 of The Art of Exiley

He mutters some more about how everyone only trusts me because of my family while he trained so rigorously blah, blah, blah. As if he doesn’t take every chance he gets to remind people that he’s the direct descendant of a Borgia.

He decides on using the rope for my feet, which he adeptly ties together at the ankles. Maybe knot tying was one of the many things I missed during those “rigorous trainings.”

I make shiin and try to conduct, but nothing happens. I’m used to repressing my Ha’i around the Families. Not to mention that with the pressure of Alfie sitting on me scratching loose the memories of being trapped in a box, I’m a far cry from the calm mindset I generally try to cultivate when summoning Ha’i.

When Alfie finally moves his weight off my body, I try to reach for my spoon, but he’s quicker than me and twists my arms behind my back, binding them together using, of all things, his ridiculous tie. Then he takes both my spoon and my phone from my pocket.

Once I’m all trussed up, he steps back, and I shimmy into a sitting position. Rafe would be furious at me for managing to get into this situation without defending myself.

Alfie is pacing back and forth while rapidly messaging on his phone. “Do you understand what you’ve done?” he asks me.

“Saved a child who was kidnapped and suffering?”

“You’ve exposed one of our most covert locations. You may have undone years of work. We could be forced to destroy this entire site if word gets out.” He shakes his phone at me. “And don’t think I didn’t find the trojan horse in your immature meme.”

“That’s right. Your lack of caution is the real reason this covert location is at risk.”

“You little…” he blusters in a contained internal tantrum, and though it’s too dark to really see, I’d like to imagine his stupid face is an angry shade of purple. “You can gloat all you want once I have one of those collars on you.”

Horror sears up my spine at the memory of antimatter stinging my palms.

“That’s not necessary.” I try to remain calm. “Just call the rest of the Inner Chamber. Call Dr. Ambrose if you don’t think my mom or Kor will be impartial.” There’s no way any of them would put me in a collar, except for—

“My father’s already on his way.”

Panic tightens my throat. Councilor Avellino wouldn’t hesitate to lock me up just like Hypatia. But I’ve already had exposure to antimatter, and if they put a collar on me for too long, I could lose my ability to conduct Ha’i permanently, when I’ve only just learned to use it properly.

My next words come out as a sob. “Please, let me go.”

Alfie turns away from me. “Don’t act like this is my fault. You brought the enemy here. I will not be the one to take the blame for any of this when I was the one who tried to warn everyone about you!”

“Please call my mother too,” I beg. “I swear no one will blame you.”

But Alfie ignores my pleas, and I know that, this time, no one is coming to rescue me.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I’m going to have to save myself.

I take stock of my surroundings the way Rafe taught me. If I could make a flame, I could burn through my restraints, but Alfie has my sparker, and there’s no way for me to generate static. Where’s a rug when you need one? I fumble my hands behind my back, hoping to feel something, anything that I can use. Weeds and mud and sticks.

Useless.

An idea surfaces. Not anything Rafe taught me, but an old memory from summer camp. We’d studied wilderness survival skills and learned about how to start a fire from the friction of rubbing twigs together. It takes a lot of effort, and I’d never managed it at the time, but I have to try.

I grapple for two sticks, and though I don’t have a lot of range of motion, I rub them together as vigorously as I can while pushing my Ha’i out, seeking any spark to ignite.

Please, help me.

Nothing happens, other than my skin getting rubbed raw. I know thatthe goal is for the friction to make the wood hot enough that it will burn, so I pause my rubbing and make shiin, focusing all my Ha’i on heating the wood. Once I feel it practically scorching my hands, I again rub the pieces together and pump my Ha’i outward. My Ha’i that is a part of me. Not separate from me.

Ada, help yourself.

A flame whooshes into being. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, burning the skin off my hands as it makes quick work of Alfie’s tie. And the hem of my turtleneck.

At my triumphant cry, Alfie comes rushing toward me, but I throw a fireball in his direction, and he jumps away. “Stay back!” I yell.

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