Page 37 of Avidian
I lower myself onto the ladder, but after a few steps down, I jump the rest of the way, landing with a soft thud beside him.
We’ve made it.
The air is damp and cold, with the faint scent of earth and rust lingering in the space. A narrow corridor stretches outahead leading to a single door, lit by a flickering bulb hanging from the low ceiling.
“Not creepy at all down here,” I mutter as we approach the door.
Malachi pulls it open instantly, as if he has no reason to believe anyone other than the Avids would be down here. I guess he figures the hatch wouldn’t have been covered if someone else were lurking.
The smell hits me like a physical blow—an unbearable mix of feces and ammonia. I gag, pressing my hand to my nose to block out the stench.
Malachi stops inside the doorway, his broad frame blocking my view. I peer around him and immediately wish I hadn’t.
The room stretches out far beyond the size of the stables above, dimly lit by wavering, uneven bulbs. Rows of rusty, decrepit cages line the walls, old jail cells with thick, corroded bars. Each one contains a bucket and a filthy, tattered mattress—if there’s a mattress at all. Some have nothing but a pile of hay.
These conditions aren’t fit for animals, let alone people.
“It’s worse than I thought,” Malachi says with unmistakable anger.
I glance up at him. For once, his usual smug expression is gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. It’s unsettling to see him shaken, though I can’t blame him—this place feels like a physical embodiment of despair.
The quiet sound of shuffling pulls my attention to one of the cages. In the dim light, I can make out a figure huddled in the distance, too still. The sight makes my stomach drop, and I grip Malachi’s arm without thinking.
“Are they even alive?” I whisper, unsure if I want to know the answer.
His jaw tightens. “We’re about to find out.”
He steps forward, the soft clink of his shoes on the concrete floor echoing through the room.
In the far corner, there are two stalls, each caging one person. The figures are huddled together on the floor, pressed against the bars, their hands gripping each other tightly like it’s the only thing keeping them alive.
I stop dead in my tracks. The world slows, my knees buckle beneath me, and I think I’m falling, but Malachi grabs my arm, steadying me before I hit the ground.
“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” he asks, his gaze flicking between the cages and my face.
“Kat.”
The sound of my name—soft but familiar—cuts through the haze. It doesn’t come from Malachi.
He freezes, his head turning slowly toward the cage then back to me, his expression shifting as realization dawns.
“Aurora,” I whisper, the name barely escaping my lips as tears blur my vision and stain my cheeks.
Her red hair is matted, tangled, and lifeless, but it’s her. Even thinner than I remember, her face hollowed and her body frail. Yet it’s undeniably her.
She’s clutching the boy in the neighboring cage, her arms wrapped around him protectively. Her hands are pressed to his skin, her gift shimmering faintly as she channels warmth into him, keeping him from freezing to death in this hellhole.
Her tired, pained eyes meet mine, and for a moment I’m fifteen years old again, back on the night we were torn apart.
I stumble forward, but Malachi holds me back. “Kat, wait?—”
“I have to get to her!” I pull free of his grip.
Aurora shifts closer to the bars, her face softening despite the evident exhaustion. “Katja, is it really you?” Her voice cracks, as if she hasn’t spoken in days.
Luckily, there’s no lock on the bars, only a handle that can only be opened from the outside. Malachi pulls the cell door open, and I drop to the floor, wrapping Aurora in the tightest hug I’ve ever given anyone. She squeezes me back as hard, her tears streaming freely now, and I feel my own matching hers.
I want to ask her everything—where she’s been, how she ended up here, what happened after Marco took me. What comes out is altogether different.
