Scarlett
The guards came for me when the wolfsbane was at its peak in my system. Every movement sent fire through my veins as they dragged me from my cell, my feet barely able to support my weight. I tried to focus, to memorize the route they were taking, but the corridors blurred together in an endless maze of sterile white walls.
We stopped at a large metal door. One of the guards punched in a code – my dulled senses couldn’t catch the numbers – and pushed me inside.
The viewing room. My heart stopped.
Peter.
Or what was left of him.
They’d positioned him like a grotesque artwork, suspended against the far wall. His missing hand. His gouged eye. The cavity in his chest where his heart should have been. The message was clear: this is what happens to those who dare to help you.
“Bea
