Page 20 of Splitting Secrets
The beams grow brighter until they blind me completely. I fling myself backward, hugging the stone wall to my left as the two visitors round the corner and fully illuminate the space.
Terror grips me, freezing my muscles as something slides into the lock on my door, and then the handle rattles.
“Come on, Red,” a masculine voice coos. “We’re going on an adventure.”
13
Raze
Present
Between finals and the fast-growing shit list the Syndicate keeps dropping onto my lap, I haven’t had time to make it to the cells and speak with our new prisoners. The paranoid part of me thinks that’s by design. That they somehow know I’ve got a hand in all of it. Though the other, more realistic part of me knows it’s because this whole thing is being run by fucking idiots.
The argument over whether we should kill them, torture them, or release them has been stretched over a week now. The council has kept their capture to themselves for the time being, although Divina Ellery has raised hell over their secrecy.
She wants to put her niece on a full-blown trial before the rest of the Midnight Syndicate and I can’t figure out why she isn’t rushing to kill her herself.
They’ve found her to be so insufferable, she’s been banned from their meetings until further notice.
I haven’t been so lucky. I’ve suffered through mind-numbing debates whenever I have free time outside of my finals. They often get cut off prematurely when the argument gets too heated between Supremes and fingers are pointed.
They waffled over offering her a position in the Syndicate to keep her controlled and quiet, the same way they had for Divina. Even if they don’t know for certain that she’ll end up a threat to their power, they aren’t willing to lose the potential of sharpening her into a weapon for their own personal gain—same as me. Their eyes light up at the prospect of using someone with the power of all six bloodlines against anyone who dares to question them. Eventually, they decided to give it a try, and James went to deliver the offer himself.
My brilliant little nightmare must have ripped him a new asshole, because he returned to us in an irritated huff.
“She needs a little motivation,” he promised, just to save face. But I knew her better than that. The following evening, they sent out for all three of her friends to be brought down to the cell across from her first thing in the morning.
Still, she didn’t budge, and the reality that they might not be able to snap their fingers and get exactly what they wanted from her was starting to show through.
Then, just to flex their muscles and show their over-reaching hand, they had Matilda drug from her shop one snowy afternoon and took her down there too.
That move pissed my mom off, given that she and Matilda are lifelong friends. It also spooked some people in the rebellion. Matilda is an active member. If she’s been caught, there’s no telling who else they’ll grab.
They managed to settle down when I calmly explained that the Midnight Syndicate wouldn’t recognize a rebellion member if they stood before them with a gun to their chest. Their egoscan’t comprehend the fact that there are people out there who truly detest them.
Matilda was only chosen because the four were seen in her shop a month ago, and they’re throwing anything at the wall to see if it sticks.
Each day has uncovered a new victim for them to pull in and get a reaction out of Sonny. It’s led to more names being added to the ever-growing list of lives I’ve taken—none of them actual rebellion members. At least, not until I show up at their door and offer a second choice.
It’s bullshit.
Especially when all I want to do is talk toher.
It feels like a piece of me was left behind with her in those dungeons. As if I’m missing an arm or a toe, setting me off balance. Though I have the luxury of coming and going as I please, I feel tethered to the campus, unable to leave for any long period.
I can only hope she sees how desperate they are and manages to bide her time a little longer while we scramble to get her help.
Every second I spend standing in front of a classroom of legacies or listening to the Supremes bicker is a test to my self-control. I’ve given every student a passing grade on their finals simply because I can’t bring myself to focus long enough and actually score their exams. No one cares, anyway. Not when the people who would discipline me over it are too busy weighing the pros and cons of allowing a group of their own legacies to survive another day.
I have a sinking suspicion that I won’t be here next semester to deal with the consequences of my student’s incompetence. If anyone tries to lay a hand on what’s mine, the thread that my control is hanging on will snap, and no one will walk out of this place alive.
While talking is off the table, I’ve managed to sneak down there, shrouded in shadows without the Syndicate’s knowledge, and deliver leftovers from the cafeteria. It’s not much and I have to be careful not to bring anything too fragrant that will catch the wrong attention. But hopefully enough to keep them all alive, since I heard their captors weren’t bothering with it.
The leaders of the Midnight Syndicate possess many things, but regard for human life is not one of them.
And based on the most recent quarrels between the Supremes, it seems they might be testing the limits.
I’ve finally convinced them to pause their childish arguing long enough to allow me to speak to the unlucky few who have been caught scheming against the great Midnight Syndicate. To see if maybe I can pull some more information that they might glean as useful, because this stalemate is going to cost everyone.
