Magically, as if the word itself could transfer the symptom to her, every nerve beneath Addis’s skin tingled like she’d been bitten by a thousand mosquitoes all at once. At the same time, nausea churned through her gut.

‘What’s happening?’ She couldn’t be certain she’d asked the question out loud, or if it had joined the silent screams in her head.

Addis Penn Kensington, you need to take a deep breath and calm down. The voice might’ve belonged to Aunt Grace or her father, but it didn’t matter because it managed to stab through the splintering grip of terror that had wormed its way into the very center of her being. She sucked in a steady breath through her nose and exhaled through dry, chapped lips the way Aunt Grace had always taught her to do.

In a brief snap of clarity, she recognized she and Em were likely suffering the side effects of whatever drug they’d been given, but understanding that offered no relief.

‘How long can a person survive without food?’ Addis was so swamped in her own misery that she wasn’t even aware Em had stopped thrashing about.

The mere mention of food was enough to induce the sharp spasms that snaked their way across her digestive tract. Hunger and thirst warred for first place, so in a last-ditch effort to retain her tenuous hold on sanity, she forced herself to think back to her biology class. ‘Mr. St. Peters said the average person can survive without food for thirty days, possibly forty, as long as they’re well-hydrated.’

‘What’s well-hydrated?’ Emerson’s scratchy throat was getting worse.

‘We’re not. That’s all I know,’ Addis said. No use denying it. ‘And since we can’t manage to stay awake, there’s no telling how long we’ve even been here. It could be days already.’ Through the sudden silence, she was sure she could hear the lub dub of both hers and Emerson’s thumping hearts.

‘Do you still have that piece of glass or whatever?’

As soon as Em asked, Addis realized she’d forgotten all about it. Somewhere between hearing the vehicle they were convinced belonged to their kidnapper bumping along the road and conking out again, she’d dropped it, and now the uncomfortable bump beneath her thigh nudged her, almost as if it were telling her it had hidden itself. It took some maneuvering, but she finally managed to squeeze her fingers around it.

Behind her, Emerson wriggled, grunting as she adjusted her body. ‘Hand it to me. I’ll free you first – don’t argue; we don’t know how much time we have.’