WILLOW
The guards dragged me through the packhouse like I was some kind of criminal. Which, apparently, I was now.
"Can you at least tell me where we're going?" I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. Silence.
"Cool. Cool cool cool. I love the strong silent type. Very mysterious." Still no response. Each scream of my name from Lyra behind me was a fresh stab of pain, but the guards' grips were like iron. I tried to pull away once, but the guard on my left squeezed my arm until I gasped.
"Okay, okay! I get it. No escape attempts. Message received." We turned down a corridor I'd never seen before, lined with dark wood paneling and portraits of stern-looking wolves who all seemed to be judging me. Great. Even dead people think I'm guilty. Finally, we stopped at a heavy wooden do
