Page 74 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
Blood sprays across steel, across Malfor’s immaculate suit. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pause. He repositions the cutters around her ring finger.
“Please!” I lunge forward only to be caught and restrained.
The cutters close again. Another finger falls. Another scream splits the sky.
Jenna looks at me through her agony, and somehow, impossibly, she forgives me.
“Cauterize the wounds.” Malfor returns the bloody cutters to the table. “We don’t want her bleeding out before the lesson concludes.”
A guard advances with a device glowing orange at its tip. Burning flesh joins the coppery tang of blood as they press it against the nubs where Jenna’s fingers once were. Her screams intensify, and then she falls silent as she collapses.
“Return them to their cells.” Malfor turns away, already dismissing us. “Miss Collins resumes work tomorrow. The calibration will be corrected.” He pauses beside me, voice dropping to an intimate register. “Remember this feeling. Remember what defiance costs.”
Guards escort us back to our cells. Jenna is carried between two guards who dump her onto her bunk. Her injured hand hangs over the edge of the bed, blood dripping onto the concrete floor.
Hours pass in silence. The only sounds are Jenna’s shallow breathing and occasional sobs from Malia’s cell. It’s Mia who breaks the silence.
“We need to check her hand.” Her voice forces clinical calm. “The cauterization should protect against infection, but it looks like she’s still bleeding.”
“How? The guards won’t release us.” Rebel shifts on her bunk.
“Pass any clean fabric to me.” Mia’s voice steadies with purpose. “I’ll make bandages and feed them through the bars.”
We all respond, fabric tearing, small bundles passing cell to cell until reaching Mia, who fashions makeshift bandages.
“Jenna.” Her voice is insistent. “Jenna, wake up.”
A low groan from Jenna’s cell is the only thing we hear.
“Your hand needs cleaning and wrapping.” Mia folds the strips of fabric. “You have to get up.”
Jenna groans, then stirs. She moves off the small cot and crawls over to Mia.
Mia works through the bars, her voice guiding Jenna through the process of cleaning her wounds with water and wrapping the stumps in fabric strips.
I remain frozen on my bunk, guilt crushing my chest and stealing my breath. Each of Jenna’s pained inhales, each rustle of bandages drives my guilt deeper.
“This is my fault.” The words hang in the darkness between our cells. “I’m so sorry.”
“This is Malfor’s choice. Not yours.” Jenna’s response comes immediately, stronger than seems possible. “Don’t apologize for what he’s done.”
“I shouldn’t have?—”
“Stop.” The command in her voice silences me instantly. “He forced an impossible choice on you. There was no right answer.”
“I chose you. I let him?—”
“You chose the person most likely to survive.” Her matter-of-factness stuns me. “I would have done the same thing.”
“How can you not hate me right now?” The absolution burns worse than any accusation.
“Because hate is what he wants.” She shifts position, wincing. “He wants us divided. Broken. Turning on each other.”
“He’s succeeding.” Malia’s voice sounds small in the darkness. “In breaking us, that is. Not in turning on each other.”
“You’re right. We won’t let him pull us apart.” Jenna’s response carries surprising strength. “We decide that, not him.”
Silence falls again, heavier but somehow different. Not the silence of isolation, but of shared pain and shared resistance.
