Page 72 of Spark of Madness

Her hair shakes with her head. “It’s not that. I mean, itisthat, but notonlythat.” She turns and starts to brush past me. “Never mind. I’m fine.”

I reach out and wrap my palm around her bicep, pulling her in front of me. “You’re not fine.”

She sniffles and blinks and a strained tear slips out from the corner of her eye. “You said five minutes. I’m ready to go—”

“Pretend I said ten minutes. Talk to me.”

Her expression flickers, eyebrows dipping toward her delicate nose. “Why?”

“Because it’s clear that you’re going through something, and you need to talk about it.”

Her head jerks back and irritation creeps through her features. “Going through something? Obviously, I’m going through something. I’m going througheverything.My life is over. It’s coming to a close and all for what? Because I’ve questioned? Because I’ve wondered? Because I ran to avoid a painful death? It’s all wrong...everything is wrong, and I’ve never felt so afraid—” her voice breaks. “I’ve never felt so alone. I’ve never felt so lonely.”

Her tears break free, and she brings her hand up to cover her mouth as she tries to hold them back, but the way it strains through her body to resist the purging of her emotions is something I can feel throbbing in my chest, in sync with the beating of my heart.

Before I know what I’m doing, my arms encircle her and tug her against me. Her hands land on my chest and push, but I tighten my embrace, holding her against me until her sob breaks free and her body goes limp in my arms. And then she cries, dropping her face against my chest, her hands fisting my shirt.

My heart pounds, pulse races, breaths quicken with the swirl of emotions that sweep into a tornado within me. Holding her while she cries makes me feel equally vulnerable and safe—like I’m home and free to exist in my feelings without the mask of authority I’m always expected to maintain.

A sinner shouldn’t make me feel that way.

I sigh, allowing myself a moment to relinquish control and feel her. I know immediately it’s a mistake...because she feels like something I’ll struggle to let go of.

And I know I’ll have to let go of her.

I count to twenty in my mind, granting us both that much time to exist in this state. And then I let go, steeling myself, hardening my shell, separating myself from her emotions.

Whydo her emotions feel like my own?

I clear my throat, release her, and turn away. I walk toward the door and bend to pick up my messenger bag. “Dry your eyes, sinner. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I can prepare you for the first trial.”

ICOLLECT DELLEand Theo and lead them all back to the courtroom downstairs. Inside the dark room, there’s a concealed doorway, hidden behind the table where the Control sits for judgment.

I lead Mercy, Delle, and Theo through the door—one that all the Control knows about—and down the hidden staircase. The first set of steps are wooden, and they creak as we descend. At the bottom, our feet touch stone, and on our right is another set of steps. These are carved from stone, created from the natural bedrock that lies beneath the Homestead. This is where wooden, man-made structures disappear, and natural rock supersedes.

I light a torch at the stone landing before leading us down the next set of steps—a long staircase that takes us down, down, down into the depths beneath the Homestead. At the bottom is a long, narrow pathway, and I lead us through the twisting corridor. The ceiling is low and rock walls surround us with dark, damp grayness as we make our way deeper into the darkness.

“Is this safe?” I hear Delle ask from somewhere behind me. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere that we won’t be interrupted or watched.”

“Or listened to,” Theo adds from the rear of our line. “Somewhere with privacy.”

“Privacy,” Mercy echoes him with a sarcastic tone. “I haven’t known privacy since I was brought here.”

The torchlight casts an orange glow around us, leading us with flickering light and heat.

“We’re granted privacy for the purpose of trial preparation,” I tell them. “It’s in the Impulse Edict.”

“A serious question for you, Warden Rainn,” Mercy says. “How would one know it’s in the Edict?”

“The Elders tell us.” They’re the guardians and interpreters of the Impulse Edict, and we rely on them to guide our community based on the written word of God. What we know of the Edict is what has been told to us by each generation of Elders. The only fully documented version of the Edict is in their care.

“And you just presume that the Elders always tell the truth?” Mercy asks.

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