Amy wouldn’t stop pacing. Her bare feet slapped the stone, back and forth, back and forth, while her hair tangled across her face. I sat on the cot and stared at the wall while I listened to hr breathing turn sharp and shallow. She wasn’t crying, but she was clearly upset. So was I. Our rescue had failed. We had been caught and once again thrown in these cells. And we had to try and handle the fact that Maggie was dead.
“They put us back here like we are nothing,” she muttered to herself. “Like Maggie’s death doesn’t even matter,” I closed my eyes. Maggie’s face was still there every time I blinked. The way she had looked at me in the dungeon before she slipped us free. Steady. Fierce. She knew. She knew it was the last time. And the look in her eyes when she had told me to go. To run.
