Now that I’ve figured out how they are still drugging me, it’s hard to imagine eating or taking any of the so-called kindness offered here. I skipped breakfast and lunch. I pull the tray from its window and take it to the table.

When I uncover the entrée, steam rises. There’s a steak covered in a deep brown gravy, mushrooms, and soft, caramelized onions. My traitorous stomach growls at the sight of it. Before now there had been sandwiches and fruit, oatmeal in Styrofoam bowls, cheese wrapped in plastic—all plain and tasteless.

This looks delicious.

I could skip this meal too, I think. But when Erebus comes for me, there could be an opportunity to escape, and I’ll be too weak to run.

In the end, I decide I would rather be trapped, powerless, and full than trapped, powerless, and starving.

I unwrap the utensils from their white cloth and carve into the steak, sawing the knife back and forth until it stops abruptly.

Like it has hit something.

I nudge the blade through the entrée until I see what I’d struck: a tiny black case about the size of my thumb, underneath the gravy and beef. I dig with my fingers until I can pull the case out. There’s a thin seal around the edge. My heart starts to race.

I lift the case and stumble on my way to the kitchenette, carefully rinsing and drying it off with shaking fingers. Once the case is clear of sauce, I snap it open, and inside, nestled in dry velvet interior, is a shiny black plastic device. It’s… an earpiece. Like something you’d see in a spy movie.

No magic here. All tech.

I carefully slip the device into my ear, pressing until it’s snug, then push the button on the side.

There’s silence on the line, but I can hear that it’s live. That someone could be on the other side, listening.

“Hello?” I whisper.

A release of breath through the earpiece. “Crown Scion Matthews.” A voice I don’t recognize.

I grasp the counter’s edge, swallowing. “Y-yes.”

The voice turns muffled, like they’re facing away from the receiver. “It’s her.”

“Who are you?”

When they speak again, the voice is clear. Confident. “Someone who can create a five-minute window of escape for you. Tonight is the only option; there will be no second chance. Keep the device in your ear and do exactly as I say.”

My mouth opens and closes around a dozen potential words, all fractured beneath the weight of shock. Finally, I manage. “Wait. Who are you?”

“Someone you can trust.”

I snort. “I don’t trust anyone right now.”

“Fair. Listen, timing is everything. I can give you about… three minutes to decide if you want to stay there for months, if not years, of your life, or if you’re ready to run.”