“We could have taken them, you know? We could have gotten away from that patrol of dark faerie.” Jaelyn said as she sat down next to Tate on the stone bench. His head had been leaning back on the wall, face looking up at the stone ceiling of the cell they had all been thrown into nearly three hours ago. At first, his actions had been a futile attempt at pouting from boredom, yet soon replaced with fascination as he scoured the translucent tubing above that raced with a glowing red substance that had seemed to be the main power source for the pen.
“It wasn’t like we had a second to muster an attack anyway.” Tate folded his arms across his chest, though his eyes remained upward. “Their magic zipped us straight into this cell.”
His father’s Scottish brogue purred from across the room. “I a
