Page 93 of Cruel Master
Hadrian
Ifinallyforcemyselfto write. For a while there, loss froze me, and all I could do was look through the pictures in Juliet’s sketch book. Will she be able to create her game after I’m gone? I’d have made sure of it. But what power will she have here without me? None. She’ll be subject to Kendrick’s authority.
I write “Dear Kendrick” across the torn sketchbook page. All I can do is hope he honors my wishes, despite us not having been through initiation yet. I aim for firm, legalistic language and keep the words neat even though every second that passes is drilling into me.
How long do I have left? Not enough.
Dear Kendrick,
I write to you as Juliet’s Patron. Once I am gone, I do not wish for her to be given to another Brother unless she desires the match. I ask that she be afforded her own lodgings, the ability to pursue any interests she desires, and, most importantly, the ability to create and distribute the games she designs.
I’ve failed Juliet by not taking the precautions I should have. Please don’t let her life be one of unhappiness because of my shortcomings.
Yours, in good faith,
Hadrian Glass.
I sign the document. It’s as good as I can make it, and I hold it up toward the rooftop cameras. “See, nothing about you. I’m not implicating you. No need to torch the place or whatever you might be thinking.”
No answer.
I expected Dimitry to keep taunting me once he had me locked in here, but he’s shut the hell up, which I’m grateful for. I imagine him watching me on a laptop as the numbers count down to the end of my life. Is he enjoying himself? He must be, or he’d just hit the button and end me now.
Is he messing with Juliet? She must be scared shitless, trapped in the office with the creepy monitors, not knowing what is going on. She’s smart, though. I’m sure she’s figured out the gist of it.
This is going to traumatize her until the day she dies, and it’s all my fault.
I set the note on the end of the altar and pick the sketch pad up again. If I’m going to die, I might as well do it looking at something beautiful Juliet created. I turn the pages, trying to focus on the pictures and not think about sarin gas creeping into the room. I try, but I can’t stop myself from focusing on each breath.
Can I smell something in the air?
Was that breath more difficult than the last?
Is my throat burning?
All psychosomatic. The timer wouldn’t have reached zero yet. Unless, of course, Dimitry has gotten bored. Unless he’s decided to speed things up a bit.
There was a point, right after Juliet turned me in, where I wouldn’t have minded dying. Now, every breath is precious. I’m more alive than I’ve been my whole life. I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to leave Juliet alone.
Fuck, I just want more time with her. I need it.
I look around Juliet’s cell with new eyes. I made her spend weeks in here. Weeks when we could have been together, and I wasted the time, dropping in a couple of times a day. If I could go back, I’d spend every waking second with her. I’d take her out of here and into the sunshine.
I go to the door for the fiftieth time and try my hand on the plate. Nothing. Dimitry hasn’t changed his mind and decided to let me go. I walk back toward the altar, feet dragging. How long now? Minutes, surely. Does the air smell—
“Hadrian.”
I jump, gaze shooting up to the cameras. That wasn’t Dimitry’s voice. I don’t know what voice it is, but it’s female. Could it be Tal? Dimitry called Tal a he, but as Juliet pointed out, that means nothing. CIs can use whatever voices they want.
I clear my throat. “Who is this?”
“It’s Candice.”
What?
It doesn’t sound like her. And again, I’m a fucking idiot. Her voice is whatever she wants it to be. I just can’t help expecting the hint of Scotland mixed in with the US. Juliet’s voice.
Then my brain starts to catch up. Could this be real, or is it just another of Dimitry’s cruel tricks? All I can do is play along. “How are you here?”
