After they’re gone, I crumple against the cell wall, gasping for breath as the reality of my situation finally strikes me. I’m alone, imprisoned in a foreign land. My one ally is in prison awaiting torture and interrogation, and soon I will join him. Spots dance before my eyes, and I fight a wave of spiraling panic. This is not the way I would have chosen to die.

I gouge trails into the sandy floor of my cell, thinking about soldiers coming down on Dara, burning our houses and taking my sisters captive. It will happen because of me—Arxa made that plenty clear. Sand forces itself under my fingernails, but the pain seems fitting. What do I do when Arxa comes back to question me? Do I try to stay silent and hope I have the strength? Do I confess everything? Tell him what I learned about Kiran and hope he believes me? Hope that buys something for my people?

In the corner of my eye, a tiny movement catches my attention. A lone scorpion crawls along the edge of my cell. It’s a small brown variety, not as poisonous as some we have in Dara, but with a formidable sting nonetheless. Every few steps, it scrabbles at the wall, as if trying to get out. The bricks are laid tight though, and there are no cracks for it to disappear into, but it keeps going. It doesn’t give up.

I look at the curve of its tail, the deadly needle at the end. I’m not ready to give up either.

Gathering my skirts, I creep toward the wall on my knees. The scorpion continues to move forward, and then freezes when it senses my presence. I stop crawling and send my hand closer, little by little. Then I grab for it, pinching right behind the stinger. It scrabbles its legs. I dump it into my lunch bowl while I tear off a part of my skirt to fashion a makeshift bag. And then I drop the tiny creature inside.

Over the next day, two other scorpions join the first. It seems a small number of creatures to entrust with my fate, but I can’t afford to wait to see if any more will show up.

That night, when I leave my empty dinner tray by the cell door, I drop one of the scorpions in the bowl. The creature crawls around, exploring the space, but the sides of the bowl are too steep for it to escape.

Finally, the building door opens and the late-night guard comes in. He’s a gruff umbermarked soldier, and he growls at me to stand against the back wall as he takes out the keys to my cell. In my apron pocket is my bag with the two remaining scorpions. The cloth twitches almost indiscernibly.