Page 53 of Glutton for Punishment

Fuck. That paints a target on both of us.

“What can you do?” I ask instead, trying to contain my absolute dread at this U-turn.

“To be honest?” She huffs. “Nothing. It doesn’t work. It showed up once when I first got to Greed and again during a…” Her face scrunches, “…session.”

My shoulders pull tight. She means torture. It takes everything in me not to get on a helicopter right this second to put a bullet in Blaise’s brain for touching her.

“That’s why they kept trying,” she adds. “To bring it out.”

I take a slow breath. “Can you try it?” I ask.

She blinks. “What?”

“Give it a shot. Try it now.”

She looks away, embarrassed. “…Sure. Why not put on a freak show for you? If you laugh, I’ll find something to stab you with.”

She closes her eyes, and the room goes still.

Then—

A violent whoosh rips through the air.

Force slams into me, knocking me on my ass as the room darkens, twisting, something unseen tearing through the space—

Arwen’s scream cuts through the air the same instant I’m knocked back. It’s over in the blink of an eye. An atmosphere of tension hangs in the air after the event.

The bed is in two clean pieces. One half is just gone. Not debris or wreckage. Gone.

The remaining half tips, groans once, and drops hard, the frame splitting further on impact, mattress stuffing blooming out across the floor like snow.

Holy shit.

I stare at it.

Then back at her.

“That wasn’t enough for them?” I ask.

Her eyes are wide.

“No—no, that’s not—this isn’t how it was.” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t get it before. No matter what they did. But this—” she looks at her hands. “It was just there. I can feel it now. Like it’s… solid.”

She’s spiraling as she stumbles over her words, staring at her hands. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “We’ll figure it out.”

I step closer again, lowering my voice. “But nobody can know. Not yet. This will only draw more attention to us. It could get even more dangerous.”

She nods. “That won’t be a problem. The last thing I want is more attention.”

“Good.” I turn, stepping over the wreck of the bed, eyeing the damage.

“Does… does Atticus know?” I ask, casual.

“Yes, he was in the cell next to me the whole time. He knows everything that happened.”

I nudge a broken piece of frame with my boot.