Chapter Twenty-OneWhen the latest crowd of Vox showed up outside the gallery wall of his cell, Swift eyed them with weary indifference. Since the disappearance of his three young friends, several such groups had shown up to taunt him; he had surveyed each crowd with great interest, searching for his allies…each time becoming more convinced that they were never coming back.
This group was different, though he didn't notice it at first.
For a while, it was the same old same old. As he watched, the Vox went through their hyperactive paces, screeching and waving and hopping around. A few threw soupy red fruit that splattered against the window; others gleefully smeared the mushy pulp over the transparent surface and each other, chattering hysterically.
"I swear," Swift said to himself.
