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My left arrab Sam under the armpits like she’s one of Mia’s dolls and try to prop her onto her feet, turning her around to face er Her knees won’t lock, and with her hands tied behind her, I can’t hold her up as gently as I would have liked I can’t turn my back on the black uniforms and shield her from this, take the hitso, but I can’t--I can’t--my need to live, to find Mia, is a rope aroundus both with it

Her lashes flutter and I know she’s co She’s going to think I want this She’s going to hate hts are there, even as the nize you I feel sick enough supporting her full weight, watching her head loll to the side I don’t kno it’s possible to feel worse when Olsen shakes her head and motions for irl with dark curling hair is openly crying beside ets a kick from one of the PSFs, who, apparently, is offended by the sht to the table, arranging her carefully so the hard wood supports her chest I’ve barely stepped back when Olsen pushes forward, her baton in the air In the space of one heartbeat to the next, she’s already hit Sam twice, once across her shoulder blades, the other across her botto harder because Sa at the iht I think she’s looking atat anything at all The pain and anger and hatred play out over her features, and I think, She’s got a fire in her, I think, I can’t let it go out, I think, Please, God, please --

And then it does Olsen is finished and looks back at Tildon, who is faintly s as he tries to smear the rest of the blood off his chin with the back of his hand "The cages," he reminds her

I don’t knohat they are, or where they are, but when Olsen says, "Followher," I know that I’ll at least be able to follow her into their hell There’s that, at least

There’s that

I have to carry her over ainst me with one arm Several tih the rain andunder her poncho There’s no way to shield us from the downpour, and I re drone I can’t be cold or furious or even snap back at the PSF when she turns back to shout over the wind, "Keep up!"

Instead, I focus on Saht, but steady rhyth wave of nausea I try to think of us in our tree fort, using slingshots and pebbles to defend our turf from those jackasses down the street, the Strider boys, but I send theback to the farthest corner of ar in the salt of my life, and I don’t want any part of theive ive ht the whole walk over to a small wooden shack attached to the back of the Mess It wasn’t included in our debriefing When they walked us through the cae for the Mess’s kitchen

Olsen stops outside of thethe black pad from the rain Sarip on her tightens as the door swings open, and I realize the shaking ht be a mixture of terror and cold

The room is small, the walls lined with stacked individual id There’s a dark, wet crack in the ceiling Thethe rust coating the cages’ thin bars and falling to the ground like drops of blood I know they s here at one point; the smell doesn’t reach my nose sofood stacked beside the door Collars and leashes hang useless and forgotten on hooks

There are s lining the top of the back wall, but only a faint gray-blue light ht switch Alle froh our coenerator, back up is at 50 percent Visuals are down Return all Psi to their cabins and engage the locks ru apart--"

Falling apart is one way to describe what’s happening to this place Falling to fking shambles is probably more accurate The last inspection deemed it unlivable, which also feels like a massive understatement "You will participate in the relocation of the Psi at Thurmond to nearby rehabilitation facilities," the Trainers had told us on the flight over "You will assist the the Psi as the Psi Special Forces officers and caements, remove the materials held there, and dissemble the structures"