I want to tell him yes. I clutch my watch tighter. And it soothes the part of me that wants to curl up with my phone and pretend the world is not falling apart, the part of me that wants to have a normal Saturday.

Voices outside the door snatch my attention. There are two people and their tones are strained, but it’s too muffled to make out what they’re saying. I scooch off the bed and press against the door, listening. I close my fingers around the knob and half expect it to hurt. I twist ever so slightly and, again, I’m shocked: It turns. I slip it open ever so slightly.

Peeping between the crack, I can tell the room outside mine is a little bigger—a sitting area with a couple of seats and a splintered table. Nothing fancy. My wrist shakes. But I’m fixated on a lady pacing and another woman, the wrinkly-faced one who hit me in the head.

“Well, she should be awake any moment and I guess we’ll find out,” the woman in charge says.

“As you say, then.” The wrinkly old woman nods, before backing out the door.

I slip the door closed and feel for some sort of light. The wall is icy and cold shudders through me. Metal… the walls are made of metal? My fingers close around an orb on the wall with rocks inside. I point at it.

“Forenz’o.”

Nothing happens. My heart skips a beat.

I clear my throat. “Forenz’o,” I say a little louder, my voice shaking.

Still nothing. Black dents the edge of my vision, my time in prison whirring through me like a dark spirit threatening to suffocate me.

“F-fo—”

The door sweeps open and light floods the room.

“I thought I heard stirring.” Her dark hair is short and slick across her gray complexion. “Good morning, Rue.” She moves closer, her eyes falling to my gilded arms. She lights the bowls on the wall and her blue eyes glow orange in the lamplight. She’s lean, her face chiseled and jaw firm beneath a very pointy nose.

I step backward, whispering to my magic to be ready… just in case… but the heat that slinks through me snuffs out in my hands. I gape at them. It’s not working.

“It’s the lead. The walls are lined with it.” Her fingers graze the wall. “Magic will not work down here. Down here we are equals, you and me.”

I glimpse her wrists, but they are bare of onyx. Where she would have been Bound is scarred with an X.

“You’re Macazi?”

Her lips split in a smile, but her eyes do not change. “Welcome to our home. You slept well, yes?”