Chapter 9 · Twelve Hours Stolen

"Don't move." Mara's hand clamped over my mouth before I could scream.

I wasn't in the cell. I was in a wagon. Iron bars on three sides, straw under my knees, and the stink of unwashed bodies packed around me. The wagon lurched over broken stone. My head cracked against the bars.

"You hear me?" Mara hissed. Her palm pressed harder. "You scream, they separate us. You want that?"

I shook my head. She let go.

I sucked in air and tasted ash. My hands were bound. Rope, not chain. I twisted my wrists and felt the fibers bite. Around me, six other prisoners swayed with the wagon's motion. None of them looked at me. One woman had her head down, crying silently. Another man stared at his hands like he'd never seen them before.

"Where are we?" I whispered.

"Ashgate outer gate." Mara's voice was flat. "We're twelve hours early."

Twelve hours.

I died at sunset in the cell. Broke the chain. Hit the wall. Bled out on stone. I should've woken up in that cell at dawn, same as every other loop. But I was here. In the wagon.