Chapter 9

• The air within my room on Alpha Row was heavy and oppressive, charged with the scent of pine and rain and earth, and the strong, acrid smell that seemed to slice through anything – the Alphas. They penetrated even the shut door, their scent a heavy, oppressive weight constantly present. Ash's warning stare of last night still burned behind my eyes. No refuge, he'd promised. No hiding place.
• I smoothed my hand over the rough blanket on the narrow bed, the same one I'd pretended to sleep on as Ash watched. The shame of being trapped, of being theirs, was a sour taste in my mouth. But beneath the despondency, a glimmer of rebellion remained, lit by Kai's cryptic warning: "You're not ready for what we are." What did that mean? And what had my mother, Lira, known?
• My gaze came to rest on the small, wrinkled leather-bound book I'd carried in my backpack – my history book. I reached out and grasped it, following the contours of the familiar cover with my thumb. It was something I could hold onto, a link to a time before this damned place. And then, without warning, a memory, vivid and clear, cut through the haze of my despair.