The Hunted: The Complete Series: The Hunted

By Amanda Shofner

The Northern Alliance Betterment Society rose up to declare war on the Gifted and erase them from existence. The deep division between the Gifted—the illusionists and memory-bringers—made the war successful. Now the Gifted are being hunted and eliminated, but there remain a few who choose to fight back and reclaim their lives.

Elusive Memories

One false move—or trusting the wrong person—can turn the Gifted into the hunted. 

Sam Benson doesn’t know where she is or, more importantly, who she is. With her memories gone, she must piece together the details of her life—and figure out who to trust—before they take it from her.

The Unexpected Gift

When Michael gave up his Gift, he was told it'd be forever. In the middle of recruiting for the new Gifted army, his Gift comes back. Unexpectedly. 

But rather than celebrating the impossible, Michael’s carefully laid plans are about to come to naught... unless he can find a way to survive and make it right.

Hidden Illusions

Janey Jones is driven by one purpose. Will Brown has seen what blind ambition can do. 

When Will and Janey are thrown together, they’re forced to put aside their differences for a greater purpose: find a way to stay alive—and salvage the mission to cut the Hunters down, once and for all.

A Veiled Truth

She’s about to learn life isn’t like her controlled experiments.

Edie Brown's well-ordered scientist’s life unravels when her best friend Marcus proposes a different kind of experiment—one that puts her heart at risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Shofner
• Release date: Jul 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513039893

Book preview

The Hunted Series

Elusive Memories (1)

The Unexpected Gift (1.5)

Hidden Illusions (2)

A Veiled Truth (2.5)

Amanda Shofner

Text copyright © 2015 Amanda Shofner. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Jenny Zemanek of Seedlings, LLC.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, live or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

To everyone who believed in me, even when I didn’t.

Thank you.

Elusive Memories

Chapter 1

The room was cold. The passing time translated into days and hours and minutes somehow, but the numbers slipped through her consciousness before she could pin them down. She’d been stuck here long enough for her feet to become stiff and bloodless.

But the cold was gone now, replaced by numbness. Something whispered across her skin—or was that a shiver?—that it was a bad sign, but not having to worry about the cold was a relief. Especially when she was already worried about her stomach grumbling and her eyes scratchy from exhaustion.

She didn’t need to see her reflection to know her eyes were bloodshot or that the bruised look of starvation and lack of sleep grew every time she slept. If she slept.

The others huddled in a corner. Their hunched shoulders and shallow breathing told her they’d given up already; their desperate whispers had long since faded into unnerving silence. But giving up left panic clawing at her insides. She inched her way across the room.

At what point she’d noticed the door, she couldn’t recall. It seemed to fade into the dirty wall, marked by two seams. No window, not like the door leading out. After the single bulb overhead grew stronger—had someone replaced it?—she had seen the glint of its handle.

It intrigued her. Everyone avoided the door, but she knew it led somewhere other than the hallway where the guards patrolled. That alone was worth exploring. She wasn’t going to give up. And so she’d listened and waited. No sounds ever came from next door. The handle, when she flexed her hands and wrapped one around it, gave way.

Unlocked.

The door opened with a quiet snick, swinging inward. She followed the door’s path, not bothering to glance back at the others. If they noticed her exit, they kept quiet. Not that she would have heeded a warning. Maybe from the old lady. But she’d been silent, and in this prison, silence between prisoners was akin to agreement.

Amy showed no desire of escape. Instead, she poked and prodded with unanswerable questions. Unanswerable because when you could barely remember your name—hers was Sam—trying to speak of her family’s plans when she didn’t even know if she had a family outside was impossible.

Once inside, she let the door swing shut, leaving her alone. She paused and waited. No one came running. No one shouted at her. Her only companion was the silence ringing in her ears, different from the silence of the room with the others. Louder in its quietness.

Her breath echoed and puffed out in the dim light. It was even colder here.

Would anyone come to drag her back?

The chill of the floor branded her feet. But an alcove on the other side of the room pulled her attention away from her discomfort—for a brief, blessed moment—and exploring took her singular focus. She shuffled across the open space, the pain in her feet barely registering. Flexing her hands helped to beat some of the stiffness from her fingers.

Somewhere beyond their prison, there was a loud thud, freezing her mid-shuffle. She glanced at the door and listened. Waited. Debated the wisdom of checking what had caused the noise. Wasn’t worth it. Not when she had space to explore.

A possibility to escape.

Or at least find something to eat. Anything would be preferable at this point.

She resumed shuffling across the dank room. If she touched the walls, she imagined they’d be wet. Maybe frozen. No windows. She wondered what time of the day it was. Which day it was. How long she’d been here. But time wasn’t a concept that existed here. She counted by needs.

Food.

Warm clothes.

Sleep.

Escape.

Because these were her realities: stomach cramps, feet white from lack of circulation, hands so stiff she couldn’t rub the circulation back into her feet, and fitful sleep filled with hunger, cold, and nightmares of a systematic hunting and destructing of an entire people.

Or were they memories?

Her brain fuzzed over when she tried to examine the differences. Dreams, memories. Both seemed familiar, but memories felt… important. Vital. She shook herself. Did it matter which was which? Not when the thought of selling her soul for food seemed like a solid idea. How long could someone go without food? She had priorities.

Sam surveyed the alcove from her vantage point. It was slightly lower than the rest of the room, with a sloped walkway curving around and down to an area of shelves. Boxes lined the walls. Her hopes lifted. Those could hold something of value.

She crept down the walkway, clutching the railing so tightly she barely felt the burn of the frozen metal.

Going slow was stupid. If they were to rush in and stop her, she’d have a better chance of stuffing herself with food. If there was food. Though the guards delivered water every day through a slot in the door, she hadn’t seen anyone but her fellow prisoners in a few days—weeks? But she couldn’t move faster.

What if there was nothing? This was the precipice of risk—the moment when success and failure were equal. Anything could happen. Fear and excitement rattled through her body, angling for equal treatment. She clutched the railing tighter as she reached its end.

Letting go, she fell to her knees at the shelves, running her hands over the exterior. The bones in her knees ground against the floor, making her grimace. The wood of the drawers was smooth, like it had been sanded and polished into submission. The knobs under her fingers seemed intricate. Expensive. Oddly out of place.

She chose a drawer on the bottom and closed her eyes as she opened it. She needed this moment of pure discovery—not something that was revealed inch by slow, agonizing inch, but thrown in front of her in all its glory. A deep breath steadied her. Two made her heart pound. Her eyelids became heavy with the need to know what awaited her. She opened her eyes.

A pair of socks. She bit her lip, relished the sharp reminder of being alive, and stuffed them in her pockets before moving on. She’d need those. They were soft and fuzzy. Warm. Her mind reeled as she fingered them.

She forced her attention back to the drawer. The remaining contents were shaded in the dim light; she was unable to discern the contents. Tablecloths? She picked them up, letting the thin fabric glide over her skin. Definitely tablecloths, but they’d work for blankets.

Sam set them aside. Another drawer revealed small bags of snack food. When she picked one up, it crinkled, startling her. She dropped the bag. Narrowing her eyes, she pinched the edge, picked it up, and laid it down on the tablecloths as gently as possible. It crinkled again, but not as badly as grabbing it in the middle. She moved more bags to the pile until she had two for each person.

A few boxes to the side revealed bottles of liquid. She lifted one closer to her face to read the label, but the low light made it indecipherable. She twisted her face in frustration and added them to the pile.

Her pathetic pile. There were more drawers to explore and she eyed them, wondering what treasures they held. But her eyelids fell down, once, twice, three times before she pulled them back up. With the adrenaline of her adventure fading, lethargy returned to remind her of the energy she’d expended.

Most of the precious little she’d started with.

But the success of this trip—and the lack of anyone stopping her—meant she could return later. With the door between the rooms unlocked, she could come and go as she pleased. And a nap underneath one of the tablecloths would be the perfect reward for her hard work. It’d be the first chance at real sleep since… she didn’t know when.

Frustration locked her jaw. Time continued to slide like water through her fingers and she had no idea how to make it stop.

She picked up her stash and turned to leave, her mind focused on the comfort of wrapping herself in something warm, and froze. A guard stood at the top of the walkway, motionless and watching. He reminded her of a statute: tall and imposing. Large enough to crush her.

How long had he been there? She’d heard nothing. And she thought she’d been listening for any disturbance, for exactly this situation. It made her wonder what else she’d missed. A shiver traveled down her spine as she thought about hiding her stash. But he’d already seen it, and wasting more energy on a futile action seemed stupid.

You can’t have that.

His voice rumbled, nearly deafening after the silence, but it was actually soft and low. She swayed and made the observation that, under other circumstances, his voice might be appealing. Hypnotizing even. Her eyelids drooped again and she forced them back up.

She knew she couldn’t have anything in her stash. If she could, the guards would have given them to her. No creeping in and stealing necessary.

You’ll have to put it down. His leather weapons belt creaked as he shifted his stance and pointed to the floor. Without much light, his inky hair and forbidding expression combined to make him seem dark. Threatening.

If I can’t have it, why is it here? The question burst out of her before she could quash it. The filter between her brain and mouth crumbled under the weight of exhaustion.

Without answering, he started down the walkway. It was mesmerizing how noisy he was with his boots squeaking and weapons belt creaking. Only those with nothing to fear could make as much noise as they wanted.

Come with me.

She struggled to sort through the different threads running through his voice. The softness hinted at leniency, but something darker, more pungent, lurked below. Before she could put a name to it, he stood in front of her. They stared at each other. Up close, his hair was lighter, his expression less forbidding, the lines of his face naturally angular.

She counted one heartbeat. Two. They stretched into ten. Twenty. She shifted from one foot to the other as the weight of her stash grew heavy in her arms.

It was enough to break him out of his trance. He took the loot from her, his warm hands sliding across the chilled skin of her arms, and she shivered as he tossed everything. Her eyes followed the bottles, their fall cushioned only by the thin layer of tablecloths before bouncing and clattering across the floor. She winced.

Looking back up at him with his guard uniform and weapons belt and shiny boots, she felt more of a connection with the bottles than him. Tossed away and rolling at the mercy of a greater force. Something churned in her gut and his image blurred before jumping back into focus.

Having dispatched her stash without so much as a glance to where it landed, he pivoted on his foot and stalked back up the walkway. The creaking and thudding snapped her back. He expected her to follow. She stayed.

But rather than get angry, he only tossed her a look over his shoulder. I’m trying to be nice to you.

Nice? Nice people don’t toss away food and blankets others need.

Those were tablecloths. And I never said I was a nice person. Just come with me.

But that something she’d been unable to identify in his voice crept back in and made her suspicious. Let me keep one of the blankets.

No.

Not for myself, she added. She pointed to the other room. They need it.

Sam brought her arms to rest at her sides, her fingers sliding over the socks in her pocket, and resisted the urge to smile. She’d make do with the socks. At least her feet would stay warm. It was more than she’d had before.

He considered it, his lips sliding into a frown. His eyes drifted to the door of the other room and came back to rest on her. He didn’t want to. She could see it in the way his eyes narrowed slightly and he blew out an annoyed breath.

I’m worried about the old lady. She could press her cause, make him see. I’m not sure she’ll be able to last much longer in this cold.

He grimaced. Fine. Give me one of those tablecloths and follow me. He pointed at her. And no more talking.

She shrugged. Though he’d taken her stash, she’d won a blanket and a pair of socks. It wasn’t likely she’d be able to get more. Talking was unnecessary, especially with him. She just wanted out. But maybe—

Come along before I change my mind. His words came quickly and loud; he was angry. It was hard to care.

She fingered the socks and smiled. Following him didn’t seem as bad with them tucked safely in her pocket. She could almost imagine not feeling the cold anymore.

I’m letting you keep those socks.

The comment startled her. She frowned, her elation dissipating. What socks?

Lesson one: cameras are everywhere.

Her stomach soured with anger. Had he really been watching her while she scrounged for food? He was cruel, letting her rummage and filling her with hope. She flushed and swayed on her feet, gripping the metal railing for support.

When was the last time you ate?

He came closer, but his face blurred. She squinted, willing his double to become one. "Did you think I was in here for fun? Because I was bored?" The acid in her stomach boiled over into her tone.

I imagine sitting in the same room for weeks would be boring.

She jerked herself up straight. Had she been imprisoned for weeks? His hand landing on her arm brought everything into focus. She slapped him away. Don’t touch me.

But he only encircled her wrist with his hand, tugging her close. I’m worried about you.

She struggled against him, her efforts weakening her even further. His strength was overpowering, stealing the last remaining tendrils of her consciousness.

Chapter 2

What the hell do you think you’re doing?

Making sure she’s all right. The voice was more rumble than sound. The world was hazy, and sleep pulled at her eyelids. A peculiar feeling came over her, something oddly familiar yet not. Warmth. She felt warm. She was so weak she passed out.

The guard.

Geez, Coop. What part of ‘leave the prisoners alone’ is so hard for you to understand? The man was angry with the guard who’d taken her food and blankets. It was a feeling she could relate to.

Relax, Coop said. She wasn’t faking. She’s not a danger.

A disbelieving grunt. You have no idea what she’s capable of.

You’re right. I don’t. But she’s not going to hurt me. Even sleepy, she recognized how sure he sounded—more sure than she was. If she could hurt him, would she take the chance?

Silence met Coop’s assertion. She counted the beats of her heart while waiting to see if the man would respond. When she reached seventeen, he said, Don’t let the boss catch you with her, Coop. It won’t be you who’s punished.

A few creaks of a weapons belt and boots later, and the footfalls faded. He’d left.

She felt herself being jostled. You can open your eyes now. He’s gone.

Her eyes snapped open. Bright blue eyes stared back at her, amusement hidden in the wrinkles in the corners. She blinked, her surroundings slowly coming in focus. His face. His chest. A wall behind him. Her arms grazing his abdomen and her legs thrown over his arms. Red crept up her face, blooming in her cheeks, and she struggled against his hold and felt the blanket wrapped around her become tangled.

His brows drew together. I’m not going to hurt you.

Sam held her glare and continued struggling. Sighing, he set her next to a chair. With her feet under her, she got her first good look at the room. Two separate stations held black and white televisions with flickering images of rooms and hallways. Opposite of the screens held a large map of a building—the one they were in. The Northern Alliance Betterment Society’s compound.

She was in its control room.

Before she could open her mouth to ask, he sat down and wrapped one arm around her hips to keep her close. To keep her imprisoned. He said, Lesson two: we’re always watching.

Sam watched his finger snake out to point at the screens in front of them. Most were dark. No signs of movement inside, though the screens refreshed themselves every few seconds, so she knew they were working.

He shouldn’t be telling her this.

I’m the night shift, so it’s quiet.

If it had ever been loud, she’d never heard it.

You’re over here, he continued, pointing at three televisions near the top to their left. The holding cells are far away from the rest of the compound. You probably don’t hear much.

She nodded without realizing it, lost in confusion.

I know you’re wondering why I’m telling you this.

The words, so close to her thoughts, pulled her back, and Sam looked down to see those blue eyes glittering again. A stray piece of hair fell across his forehead. Words deserted her, so she raised an eyebrow in question.

He shrugged. I’d be curious.

He stood up and adjusted his hold on her. Smiling, he said, But you’ll just have to wait to find out.

*****

After announcing she’d have to wait for information, he fed her—a thin, tasteless broth, but enough to restore some energy—and dropped her back off in the holding cell, which seemed like a fancy way of saying hell-hole.

When she peppered him with questions about who he was and what this place was, he ignored her. Her frustration grew as he inclined his head, said, Until next time, and shut the door.

Because there would be a next time?

She stomped into her hell-hole, slammed her back against the wall, and growled.

Amy, her friend and one of the few things Sam actually remembered, approached cautiously. Are you okay?

She nodded, not sure what to think. He may not have answered her questions, but he’d fed her. Her eyes didn’t burn with sleeplessness anymore. Her nap had been deep and dreamless. Fine.

You were gone a long time. We worried. But something other than worry laced Amy’s tone.

Sam shrugged. See? Everything intact. Maybe if they had done something, she would have answers about this place and its purpose.

Amy eyed her slowly from head to toe. Suspicion made her ask, Who gave you the blanket, Sam?

Sam looked down at herself, the blanket more like restraints than warmth or victory if this was the kind of response she got. It wasn’t the thin tablecloth she’d pulled from the drawer. It was a real blanket. She glanced at the door to the other room.

Someone came in and locked it, Amy said, following Sam’s gaze, while you were gone.

Sam nodded, unsurprised. Here. She took the blanket from her shoulders and held it out to her friend. You need this more than I do.

Amy flushed. What did you have to do to get this? They don’t just give away blankets for free.

Sam recoiled from the venom in her question. How do you remember what they do or don’t do? Other than the guard who’d stopped her and the faceless guards who delivered water, she didn’t remember crossing paths with anyone else. Sam’s curiosity returned and sharpened.

Well, Amy sputtered, going over there was stupid. They don’t like you, Sam. They watch us. You were bound to get in trouble.

Sam had already figured that out. You don’t imprison people you like.

You can’t risk yourself. It’s not like we each have our own blankets. If they wanted us to have them, we’d have them.

"If we could remember. What was the last thing you remember? I don’t even know what came before this place."

Amy fell silent. Probably trying to rack her brain from some kind of memory, the way Sam had been doing since she’d woken up in the arms of that guard. A tendril of heat crept up her face. She squashed it.

I don’t remember anything either.

Sam nodded, as if that ended the argument. I didn’t have to do anything to get the blanket. A guard just gave it to me.

Which guard?

She took a step back at the edge in Amy’s question. Without understanding why, she replied, I’ve never seen him before.

It didn’t answer Amy’s question, but it was true.

Amy drew herself up to her full height and swiped stringy hair out of her face. I don’t want you sacrificing yourself. We can take care of ourselves.

I didn’t sacri—

Amy snatched the blanket out of her hands, cutting off her words, and strode over to the other prisoner. She spoke in low tones, the words so quiet Sam could only make out the murmur of sound from where she stood. The old lady huddled underneath the blanket, and as Amy joined her, she glared at Sam.

Sam turned her back and walked to the door to the hallway. There was a tall, rectangular window in the door, no doubt so the guards could peek in without dealing with the prisoners.

Because three freezing and starved prisoners were dangerous to healthy, strong men.

Her mouth thinned. But if the window allowed the guards to peek in, she could peek out. She hadn’t been interested in this door before; it was the guards’ door, theirs to open and close. They controlled it. It held no benefit for her.

She wondered at that control. The man who’d talked with the blue-eyed guard said she was dangerous. But how? As frustrating as he was, the guard had been right: she’d been cold and hungry and weakened. Even now that she had food in her stomach and a decent few hours of sleep, she could feel the weakness in her arms, the way walking often felt like dragging herself through water. She presented no threat to anyone.

But the haze of gnawing hunger and exhaustion no longer stalked her brain and Sam wondered why she was here. And why she had no memory of what had come before.

She cataloged what she remembered. She’d woken up in this room with Amy and one other person. No. She’d known Amy before this room. Amy felt familiar in a way the old lady didn’t. But how she knew Amy or for how long was lost to the haze.

She remembered nothing that hinted at who she was or what she possessed that they wanted. If they even wanted something. Maybe the old lady would know. She turned back to the group, but Amy glared at her with enough hostility to make her give up. Or maybe Amy was less of a friend than Sam thought.

Sam had meant what she’d told the guard earlier—the old lady worried her. Her wrinkled skin covered a frame that was more bones than meat or muscle. She shivered constantly, even covered with the blanket.

What did they all have in common?

Turning back toward the door, Sam breathed on the window, fogging it up around her mouth. She drew an X through the condensation. When it disappeared, she cupped her hands around her face and looked out.

It was a… kitchen?

Her head fell back in surprise, her breath escaping and fogging up the window again. She waited for it to clear and looked back out.

No, not a kitchen.

It had a sink and what looked like dishes lying around, which was why she’d thought kitchen, but no. This was worse.

It was a lab.

A shiver rolled over her body. Labs meant conducting experiments or research. What kind of experiments did the Northern Alliance Betterment Society conduct here? Something that required human prisoners and guards.

The metal counter in the middle she’d mistaken for a raised table was big enough to fit an adult. If something had happened there while she and the others were here, she would have heard it.

Wouldn’t she?

But a fuzzy memory tickled the back of her head. The more she grasped at it, the more it fizzled. The old lady, though. She was part of it; it was the reason she was declining so fast. But what had happened, Sam didn’t know.

She could find out. Sam reached for the door handle, surprised when it gave way without resistance. She stopped.

Had the guard been careless or was he setting her up? He’d been nice to her before, but maybe that was the first step. Befriend the prisoner. Gain her trust. Truss her up on the table and dissect her. Maybe he fed her because she was too skinny for what they had in mind. Guards didn’t punish thieving prisoners by giving them food and a warm blanket.

She couldn’t trust him.

But she wanted to know what lay beyond the door. The others might be content to hide underneath the blanket and let fate take them, but she wasn’t. She was going to get out of here. There was a way; the guard had been careless with her, bringing her to the room with all the televisions. A map of the building was mounted on the wall behind the televisions. She’d seen it. Studied it. Memorized it.

The compound was shaped like a T, with the top of the T boasting five separate stories, and the bottom of the T a single story. She, Amy, and the old lady were at the bottom of the T. The rest of the compound—whatever went on there—was at the top. The control room was at the intersection on the first floor. And the bottom of the T—the area where they were—had no exits. They were trapped.

And cameras were everywhere.

How far could she get before they stopped her?

She nudged the door open.

Behind her, Amy gasped. Sam, she hissed. What are you doing? They’ll punish you.

Sam frowned and turned around. Do you think staying here will ensure our survival?

There are guards.

I know. Sam wondered if they were all as soft as Coop, the guard who’d stopped her from stealing.

"They’ll catch you."

Maybe, she said. Maybe she wanted to be caught. What would they do to her then? She’d been caught once already and she’d been rewarded with food, warmth, and sleep. What else could she get? Answers. Limitations to the guards’ goodwill.

More than what she had.

"Maybe if you just told them what you knew," Amy insisted.

The words jarred a certainty loose. Amy had been trying to get her to talk about what she knew. What her family was doing. What the memories were like. But Sam had no words for Amy—not then or now.

Let her go. The old lady. Sam and Amy both fell silent. The guards will catch you, no doubt, the old lady said, her voice pale and weak. But you’re right: we won’t live by staying. We can die by fighting or by hiding. Which are you comfortable with?

Amy slumped against the wall and murmured something Sam couldn’t hear. Her crossed arms and refusal to make eye contact told Sam that Amy wouldn’t answer—that her answer was cooperation and capitulation. Sam wasn’t going to give in so easily. She nodded at the old lady and turned back to the open door.

She chose to fight.

The guard’s words repeated in her mind. Cameras are everywhere. We’re always watching.

She stepped through the door and shut it behind her. The cameras. She scanned the room until her eyes landed on the wall toward her left, almost to the ceiling. There. Staring at it, she stepped forward. Five more.

The camera moved with every step she took.

He hadn’t been lying. But what reason would he have to lie about that? The information alone should have been enough to dissuade her from attempting to escape again. But he’d piqued her interest and with some of the haze disappearing, she needed to know what was going on.

He underestimated her desire to learn more.

She saluted the camera and approached the area around the sink. The raised table held no storage, so she skipped over it. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself against what she might find, she opened the cabinet underneath the sink.

Soap. Paper towels.

They told her nothing.

The drawer next to the sink revealed boxes of thin, transparent gloves. She moved on. The drawer below that, locked. The drawer to the right, locked. And the one below it.

Her heart sank. But she spurred into action, tugging at every drawer she could reach, desperate to see her guess wrong. All locked. She looked back to the camera. It was still trained on her.

Sam imagined him laughing at her. Silly prisoner thinking she could take control.

Escape. Wreak havoc.

Her fists balled. She would find something.

She started for the door on the other side of the lab. The one that would lead her out of this place.

I wouldn’t do that.

She looked up to the ceiling, where his voice came from an overhead speaker she’d missed in her search for the camera. How she knew it was him, she couldn’t say. The system distorted the voice, making it tinny. Sam cocked her head and took another step forward.

Don’t make me get up and lock you in the holding cell. I just sat down to eat.

She made a face. How terrible it must be to have your meal interrupted. How rude that the prisoner wanted to escape her holding cell. Sam moved forward.

He made a frustrated noise. Come on—

Before he could finish, she took a step back and waited. When he said nothing, she stepped forward and imagined him gritting his teeth in annoyance. She smiled.

If you force me down there, I’ll take your socks back.

She frowned down at her socks. She’d forgotten about them, but they had kept her feet warm. She wiggled her toes. The threat of losing them persuaded her to back up, more than any other threat he could have tossed at her. She wanted those socks.

I know you like your socks. They’re quite adorable on your petite feet. I’d hate to have to forcibly remove them.

Her head snapped back up at the camera and she narrowed her eyes. He held the power and both of them knew it, but taking away her socks was the worst punishment he could mete out? What kind of game was he playing? She ground her teeth together.

She wanted those socks. And if giving in meant making him think she’d meekly follow his orders, all the better. Inclining her head at the camera, Sam returned to her holding cell to plot her next move.

*****

Your mother isn’t like us, a man said. Sam felt like she should know him, but no name or relationship came through the haze.

Then what is she? Her voice was small and confused. She was young, though she didn’t know how young.

She was born without a Gift. A Gift like mine, yours, and grandma’s.

Is that why she can’t be an elder? she asked, sorting through her confusion.

The man nodded. Yes.

But she wants to be one! It’s not fair.

It doesn’t work like that.

Sam dragged her eyelids open, struggling to put the memory into context. Or was it a dream? It felt like a dream, but something about it bothered her.

Someone kicked her. It’s about time you woke up. A man’s voice. Not her guard’s. Agony sliced through her side, tears pricking the corners of her eyelids. Come on, get up.

Another kick came, followed by more pain. She curled up instinctively, protecting herself. Please. Don’t.

Rough hands closed around her arms and yanked her up, whipping her head back. You think you can have the run of this place?

He let go of one arm and she sagged at the pain snaking up her side. Before she could take a deep breath and fight the torment, a fist plowed into her jaw. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. She spit at him. He pulled back and hit her harder.

The room spun as she struggled to regain balance and footing. The darkness barely revealed the outline of the man—a guard?—holding her. But maybe her inability to see was because the outline kept shifting and becoming two, three, four, before turning to one and repeating the process.

Her stomach lurched, but nothing remained to throw up. He shook her, rattling her teeth. I said, you think you can have the run of this place, memory-bringer?

The name sparked something within her. Memory-bringer. Was that what she’d been dreaming? Sam closed her eyes, willing the room to stop moving. She might not have had anything in her stomach, but that wouldn’t stop her from heaving, and the stinging sensation that came with each breath warned her that her side couldn’t take that kind of violence yet. She bit down on her lip until she tasted more blood.

He tossed her to the ground. She landed on her shoulder with an involuntary whimper and slid across the floor. The cold hurt almost as much as the landing. Get up. We’re throwing you in the hole and I ain’t gonna carry you there, memory-bringer, he sneered.

She shifted to roll onto her stomach, but stopped. Why was she listening to—obeying—this man? She slumped back down, resting her head on the ground. The cold felt good, her jaw huge and raw, pounding in time with her heartbeat. Even if she wanted to say something, she doubted she could.

He uttered a curse, bent down, and grabbed her arm, nearly pulling her shoulder out of its socket when he stood. She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from crying out. Get. Up. Before I decide you’re better off dead instead of half-dead.

Do as he says, Sam.

He spun around toward Amy, dragging Sam with him. Sam stumbled. He yanked her, causing her to bump into him. Shut up, you useless whore. We expected more from you.

Sam squinted in the direction she thought she’d heard Amy’s voice and saw a blob moving forward. No, backward. What did he mean? They expected more from Amy? A fresh wave of nausea washed over her and Sam shut her eyes. No matter what it meant, Amy was right. She couldn’t fight like this.

Chapter 3

Sam struggled to open her eyes. She succeeded with one, but only halfway. Her shoulders burned. But no fire licked around her shoulders; it was merely the effects of having her arms chained to the wall above her head. She tipped her head back, wincing at the pain in her jaw, and noticed her wrists were red and raw.

As she coughed and spit blood, she couldn’t locate a single place on her body that didn’t hurt.

Well, well, well. And the chosen memory-bringer awakens.

She was barely able to hold a thought before being distracted by another part of her aching body, but he kept calling her that: memory-bringer. It cut through the haze. Sam dropped her head again, nearly passing out when it bounced up.

He was the same man who’d dragged her here. Wherever here was. She’d barely been conscious when he’d taken her out of the holding cell. She might have been when he’d restrained her—she had vague impressions of more suffering and jerking—but little felt real or solid.

We can’t have you thinking you can waltz through any room you please. I’ve taken it upon myself to disabuse you of the notion. This is not a place for you. And though your actions suggest otherwise, I’m going to assume you’re smart enough to figure out your punishment.

She narrowed her good eye and willed it to adjust to the light. With it shining directly at her, she shifted to the side. Was he close enough to spit at? Her eyes slid closer to the light to find his figure and gauge his nearness. But he held the light in front of him, and her head pounded with pain. Even if her jaw could handle the movement, she couldn’t trust her aim.

Next opportunity, then.

You’re to stay here—alone, without the usual provisions—for a couple weeks, he said.

The usual provisions? They hadn’t kept her clothed or fed before, so not getting either wasn’t much of a punishment. He couldn’t take away water; she needed it to survive, and he’d already told her they wanted her alive.

He continued, However, I’d be willing to let you go earlier for a little information.

She raised an eyebrow and, as the movement pulled uncomfortably against her face, she grunted in response.

He brought the light closer, making it impossible to escape. She flinched and closed her eyes. I’ll need to see your face for this, he explained. The giddiness in his voice suggested he enjoyed interrogating her, that he wanted to see his handiwork.

Open your eyes.

When she refused to comply, he punched her in the stomach. The hit sent a fresh wave of pain over her and made her eyes water.

This will be a lot easier for you if you listen. I’d hate to accidentally hit you too hard and piss off the boss. He does seem to have a particular interest in you.

She opened her eyes, but mostly because he sounded as though he wanted any excuse to hit her—that pissing off the boss might actually be worth it. And as much as she wanted to rebel, she needed to be conscious for it.

A couple items appeared in her line of vision. Do you recognize these?

They blurred, but came into focus after a moment. The blanket the guard had left her and the socks she’d stolen. Her toes curled at the loss.

If he didn’t know about the guard, she wasn’t going to enlighten him. She shook her head no.

You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. Though some of our tapes were unfortunately recorded over, I saw enough to know you walked into our storage room without socks and later walked into the lab with socks.

She let his words hang in the air.

Right, of course. There wasn’t a question in that, was there? No, I suppose it must be hard to talk with your jaw swollen like that. He laughed. Smug. It’s hard to believe you were able to steal the socks and blanket, erase the evidence, but leave the footage of yourself in the lab. None of the other cameras had issues, so I must conclude you had help from someone.

Ignoring the discomfort, she raised an eyebrow again.

You can nod if that’s true. That you received help.

But you’ll just have to wait to find out.

Warring desires fought for dominance. She could tell this guard about Coop—he’d obviously taken enough care to erase his part in it, but left enough to implicate her, so she didn’t owe him any loyalty. But she trusted this guard even less. And her curiosity couldn’t be denied: she wanted to know about Coop. If she gave him up now, she wouldn’t get that chance.

Your loyalty is misplaced, memory-bringer. We know you had help; it would be impossible to do it on your own. Even with your—shall we say special?—abilities. If you cooperate, your punishment will be far less severe.

He was saying all the right words, but something in his tone told her he was even less trustworthy than Coop. She shook her head. No. If she wanted to find out what lurked in this building and why they were here, her original holding cell was not where she’d find information. And she’d accepted that punishment was a possible consequence when she sneaked into the other room to steal food and makeshift blankets.

She had no regrets.

Even if Coop hadn’t found her, someone else would have. And she would have been punished, like she was being punished now. To think she would have escaped punishment was foolhardy, but that’s what he wanted her to believe. That her being here was the fault of someone else. It wasn’t.

The light rattled with his frustration. "I know you didn’t do this alone. It appears I have someone disobeying my orders—a mischief maker at best, a traitor at worst—and I intend to ferret him out. I swore I wouldn’t let anything like this happen again. If you don’t help me, I’ll leave you to rot in this cell."

She didn’t see the choice. She could rot in this cell or rot in the other one. They both involved rotting in a cell. This one had the benefit of agitating the authority. Yeah, she’d take this one.

The light bobbled and lifted from her face. Since you insist on resisting, I’m afraid I’ll have to do this. But there was no regret in his voice. He plunged a needle in her arm.

*****

Sam hurdled back into consciousness, looking around for her fellow prisoners. Her eyes felt crusty. One opened enough to see. She went to call for Amy and abandoned the action when pain streaked across her jaw.

What had happened?

She concentrated on the sounds of the room. It was quiet, even quieter than she was used to—no hushed breathing, no rustle of clothes from shifting